The List

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.

the list

For the first time in a long time, Harry Potter is sitting in a compartment on Hogwarts Express completely alone. Of course he isn't going to sit with Ginny, no, they have history now, so he sits by himself, waiting for Ron and Hermione to come back from their rounds around the train. It is their duty as prefects, of course. Sighing, he looks around the compartment for some sort of amusement.

Next to him is Hermione's small bag of reading material and some quills, and on the floor beside it is an old piece of folded parchment which looks flattened, almost as if it has previously been squished in a book. He carefully unfolds it, and scans it slowly. Strangely, a strong feeling of foreboding crosses his mind. Some part of him knows that this piece of parchment contains information he absolutely should not know. Curiosity killed the cat, didn't it?

`1. No matter what you do, you will always get totally fucked over. You know this from experience, so let it go.

2. When Harry enters the room, you must always divert your attention to your books, homework, RON, even, to make sure he doesn't notice the way you look at him. Distraction is always the best way to play the game.

3. When he gets himself in a scrape and finds you standing over his bedside with your eyes all puffy and red and swollen the moment he wakes up, play the role of the motherly best friend. If he thinks of you as his nagging mother, he'll never develop feelings for you, because that would be disgusting. And it would sort of be incest. Which is gross. So, hopefully, he doesn't think of you as his mother. Urgh. Well, you're kind of contradicting yourself here...

4. But, if he never develops feelings for you, nothing is sacrificed in the friendship except for your happiness.

5. It's not as if that matters to you anyway, as long as both of them are alright, because you couldn't bear the thought of losing them.

6. But strangely enough, it always seems to be Harry who gets himself into these sticky situations, and sometimes you just want to shake him until he's forced to realise what he got you into by becoming his friend.

7. It's all his fault anyway, you know, that you feel like this all the time. If the boy wasn't so bloody brilliant, and didn't make your breath catch in your throat every time you look at him, maybe you wouldn't love him so much.

8. And as hard as you try to deny it, because you are sure that it will make your life so much more difficult by admitting it, you really do love him.

9. You love the way he ruffles his black hair around when he's nervous; the way his green eyes sparkle when he's just won a Quidditch match; how he tries to hide from you his bad marks because he knows you'll be terribly disappointed in him, and he just hates the look you give him when you see the big, ominous red letter `D' in the right-hand corner of his parchment. It's priceless, and you wish you could offer to have some late-night potions studying with him in the library (even though 'the Prince' helped him out this passed year), and tell him you just want to help him for NEWT preparation, when you'll really be wanting to do...

10. Other...things...ahem...

11. Ha ha ha. That category, “other things”, deserves it's own list in itself. Just because of how bloody fucking fun it would be to write it. You KNOW you want to write it. Desperately. This is a note to you, self, to begin that list later.

12. But you digress. Continuing what you were saying before, you must must MUST make sure that you keep your eyes steadily focused on Ron. Everyone knows he has a bit of a thing for you - and you must admit, you truly don't understand it; you were over here thinking that the two of you couldn't stand each other, but that must have been just you - and, although you know it's terrible for you to use him like this, he can be sort of another distraction. With Ron in the picture, it will be incredibly difficult for you to find time for Harry in your thoughts.

13. Hopefully.

14. You are such a malicious person, you do know that, don't you?

15. Then again, it's not as if you would actually date Ron, so it's not like you're going to make Harry jealous by potentially hurting one of your best friends...but you are leading him on a bit. Maybe, if Ron's as thick as he makes himself out to be 99 percent of the time, he won't notice your advances, while Harry, on the other hand, most definitely will.

16. You're not sure whether or not he thinks you and Ron would make a cute couple. It's not like you'd ever ask him or anything, obviously. Still, you sometimes wonder...like, last year, when Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place, and you were so excited to see him you nearly killed him. You remember Ron told you to `let him breathe'. Oh, Ronald, that sad, sad little dear. How DARE he ask you to `let him breathe'? `Let him breathe', as if you were suffocating him or something? Yeah bloody damn well right like you're going to `let him breathe'. `Let him breathe' your fucking arse is what you think he should `breathe'. Fucking Ronald.

17. He got really angry though, that day, you remember that so clearly. You could never forget the first twinge of fear as he raised his voice so loud that you had to fight to control your tears, and looked at you so angrily you were afraid he might attack you. He looked at you as though you were the last thing in the world he wanted to see, and that in itself is what hurt you the most. When you love someone so much you never expect them to misunderstand your intentions so strongly and unyieldingly. You expect them to understand, forgive and forget, and be done with it. That is most definitely not the Harry you know.

18. Maybe that's why you love him. He's strong-minded, like you. You like that in a man. Makes for a good husband, a good father.

19. Not that you're assuming you will someday have his babies.

20. Because you won't.

21. Unfortunately.

22. Unless you force him.

23. But that's called rape and is looked down upon in most societies.

24. Besides, it's not like he'd ever want someone like you anyway. You're just...you. Boring old you. He's not going to randomly realise he suddenly wants to be with you for the rest of his life. People just don't wake up one morning and have that sudden kind of life-changing epiphany. It just doesn't work like that.

25. Sigh.

26. If only they did, though. If only he could see how much you care about him, and how much you mean to him. If only he understood that you kept your distance this year to make these feelings go away, to make yourself fall for the boy you should love, the boy who deserves your love. If only you could wake up one morning and fall in love with Ron.

27. If only Harry could wake up one morning and fall in love with you.

28. But you must do what's necessary to protect yourself. Goodness knows, if Harry ever found out, it would destroy everything you hold dear in the world, and leave you alone with no one...you shudder even thinking about it. Luckily, he's not going to read this. Not now or ever.

29. But, remember, no matter what you do or how hard you try, you will always get fucked over, so you might as well simply let him go.

30. So, onward, onward It's time you move on with your life, and maybe he'll someday have a sudden, morning epiphany and you'll find him standing at your door with daisies and an apology for missing all of the signs over the years. Maybe...just maybe. And strangely, you're finding that to be enough for now.

31. Jolly good, old girl. Jolly good.'

And so, Harry finishes reading the contents of the parchment. His eyes widen in complete shock as he begins to recognise the curly, neat handwriting on the page.

When his bushy-haired best friend enters the compartment with a spitting Crookshanks in her arms, he quickly hides the parchment in his pocket.

Hermione sits down across from him and smiles warmly, and for some reason her smile looks different to him now that he sees it with this new knowledge. He sees kindness and trust and...what is that...could it be...love? No, no, this whole list was just a joke...someone was trying to fool him, play a nasty trick...there is no way he could have only just noticed those kinds of feelings in here smile because of a silly list.

But he can't understand why her smile is so different; he can't understand why, when she wipes a stray piece of hair off of his forehead there is a jolt of electricity that runs through his body, and feels a magnetic urge to do the same to her. But he knows it doesn't make any sense; he remembers when he kissed Ginny for the first time in the common room after they had won that Quidditch match, she had been beaming at him, like she was really proud of him.

“Why-why were you happy when I first kissed Ginny?” Harry squeaks out, bewildered, knowing full-well that this is a completely random question. Hermione looks completely taken aback, and pauses, then leans back into her seat to answer.

“Because you were happy,” she whispers. Her eyes glisten with tears, and he pulls the parchment out of his pocket. She doesn't look angry, or even upset...just resigned. She actually nods her head, and quietly says, “I guess I just figured that if I couldn't make you happy, at least someone can.”

And suddenly, Harry understands.

end

-->

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.

the list

It's the first of July and I lie awake, staring silently up at my ceiling. I can hear my parents gushing to one another downstairs. Their dinner must be going nicely; it is their 22-year anniversary, after all. I sigh and stuff my pillow over my face, concentrating on only one thing: Harry.

He hasn't contacted me in over five days and I'm beginning to worry that his plan has gone awry and he has decided that he doesn't want Ron and I to come along this summer. That would be the Harry thing to do, of course; he would go off without telling us and then send us an owl, saying not to worry and that it was something he had to accomplish alone. There is no way I could bear the thought of that happening...I love him so damned much, after all. I get up in a huff. I have to see him, I have to get to him and find out what's going on.

But...no, I couldn't! I couldn't possibly! Going to Privet Drive at this time of night, in the midst of a war is very unwise. But then again, Harry could be in danger right now. He could be fighting off a hundred Death-Eaters who have attacked his home!

That's ridiculous, Hermione. There is no way in hell that a bunch of Death-Eaters would attack a muggle home randomly, just for the sake of-

...Well, he is Harry Potter...Oh goodness. I imagine reaching Harry's place and seeing a gigantic Dark Mark floating in the sky above it...

I shudder. A sudden chill runs up my arms and spine, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. I have to go. I must make sure he is alright. My parents are in another world at the moment, and I'll only be gone a few minutes... I pick up my coat, pull it over my shoulders, and shut my eyes, thinking desperately, Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, London, Great Britain...

Suddenly I feel compressed in all directions, my body is folding from the inside out, surely the pressure will kill me-and then, I'm no longer standing in the stuffy heat of my bedroom; when I open my eyes, I see a street full of houses looking exactly the same, all with immaculately-groomed green lawns and ordinary cars. I sigh in relief. There is no Dark Mark within sight.

When I reach the door, I ring the doorbell and wait, only then fully realizing what I'm about to do. Harry lives with a horrid muggle family who would be rather angry if a witch or wizard friend of Harry's just showed up on their doorstep. I cannot just intimidate someone or demand their respect like Professor Dumbledore did last summer. I-

The the door opens. I look up to see a woman with dark brown hair and sharp blue eyes, a small, tight mouth, and a look of impatience on her stern face. She reminds me strongly of Professor McGonagall.

“He-hello, you must be Mrs. Dursley. I'm Hermione Granger, I've seen you at King's Cross Station before. I'm a friend of Harry's from-“

“Yes, I know very well who you are.” The woman radiates with every pore of her being a strong feeling of dislike. Her mouth slowly morphs into a thin, white line.

“Erm, well, I'm terribly sorry for showing up this late. I didn't realize when I came how rude you might think I am, but, you see, it is extremely important that I speak with Harry. It's an emergency, Mrs. Dursley-“

“I'm sure it is. Unfortunately, Harry isn't here at the moment, so I guess you'll have to come back another time.” She begins closing the door, but I shove my hand against it determinedly, astounded at my own boldness.

“Mrs. Dursley, where is he?” I half-shout. Her eyes narrow in disgust.

“How should I know where he is? He goes out like this every evening and doesn't tell us where he's going. I suppose he's off getting hyped up on drugs or using ma-some form of his abnormality on innocent passer-bys,” she remarks nastily. I frown.

“Well, what time do you imagine he'll be back then?” I've developed a bit of an attitude towards this woman and her complete disregard for Harry's safety. Does she understand what is happening in the wizarding world right now, what is crossing over into the lives of muggles as well?

“I have no idea. Now, I really must go tend to...something.” Her voice is unsure and completely unconvincing. I sigh.

“Could I wait here, then, until he gets back?” Mrs. Dursley shoots daggers at me with her eyes.

“I'm afraid that is impossible. I have guests inside and it would be sincerely inappropriate for you to come inside at this time,” she says.

“But-“

“Goodnight, Ms. Granger!” she screeches, and slams the door in my face. I pound on the door a few more times angrily.

“NO NEED TO BE SO BLOODY HOSTILE, YOU CRAZY OLD BAT!” I shout at the door, shocked at myself for the sudden outburst. If it were anyone other than Harry, there is no way I would have said that to Mrs. Dursley. Wait a moment...I'm a bloody witch. Why on Earth am I standing here being harassed by Petunia Dursley? Sighing, I close my eyes and feel that familiar sensation of being compressed in a very small space and shrinking abnormally, and I open them a second later to look around, what seems to be, Harry's bedroom.

Hedwig's cage is full of droppings and rodent bones. It looks as if it hasn't been cleaned. Ever. Dirty clothes occupy the space of the floor, spell-books and parchment are scattered all over the place. The trunk on the bed contains unfolded and foul-smelling clothes and his invisibility cloak, with a large leather pouch which, I am assuming, contains money, and-

Oh my god, an almost fully-packed trunk. I was right. In this moment, my worst fears are confirmed. He was planning to run off without so much as an explanation or a location. I feel angry tears welling up in my eyes and brush them away in exasperation.

There's no time to get upset now, Hermione. Just do what you came here to do. Talk with him, talk him out of being the hero for once. I move a pair of boxers from a spot on his bed (with shaking hands, of course, as these have touched his...well...) and sit down, thoughts zooming through my head about what to say and how to act. I hope he comes home quickly; I really do not want my parents to realize that I've gone, but there's nothing else for it. I fold my arms, and I wait.

By the time Harry enters his room, I have picked up a spell-book on advanced transfiguration and am flipping casually through the pages. When the door swings open, I see messy black hair and shocked green eyes staring back at me. It has only been a two weeks since our last meeting, but for a fleeting second it feels as if I haven't seen him for years, eons. I drop the heavy book and it lands with a loud thud on the floor, and I throw myself on him like I did when I saw he had arrived at Grimmauld Place a couple of years earlier, holding him close, but this time in desperation and relief instead of eagerness and excitement. It must be strange for him to be holding me like this, considering he knows how I feel about him now, ever since that train home. I reluctantly pull away from him as he stutters my name in surprise.

“What-Hermione, I-how did you-oh, apparation, of course, but-I mean-why are you-is Ron with you?” He looks anxiously behind him, as if expecting Ron to come bursting through his door, but slumps in disappointment when he realizes that I'm alone. I feel a twinge of annoyance at the look on his face.

“Oh...well, that's alright, what are you doing here? Are you alright? Did something happen?” He holds my face in his hands and looks me over with a concerned glance in his eyes. I smile. That's much better.

“I'm alright, Harry. Everything's fine. But when I hadn't heard from you for so long, I thought something awful had happened, or that you had decided to go all heroic on us and leave without us. And I guess I was right, wasn't I?” I turn toward his trunk. “Going somewhere?”

He sighs and messes up his hair in embarrassment. “It's nothing personal, Hermione...I just...”

“You just what, Harry? Why would you even consider leaving me behind? Leaving Ron behind? I don't understand why you think you have to do this every time we're put in a dangerous situation.”

“Hermione, you know what could happen to you if the Death-Eaters found you? They would kill you, Hermione. They would torture you, and then kill you.” He sighs, and I can feel the colour drain from my face, but I must conceal my fear no matter what happens.

“Wow, thanks for that incredibly astounding realization, but considering I am actually a very clever witch, you would THINK I would have enough common sense to have figured that out by now.” My nostrils flare.

“You just don't get it, do you?”

I throw my hands into the air. “Get what?”

“I'm not going to take the chance of you dying! I refuse to let you risk your life for this!” He shouts at me.

“Fortunately, that isn't your decision to make. I'm coming with you whether you like it or not.” A small batch of tears find their way into my vision and I wipe them away hastily. “Because I'm your best friend, and best friends don't abandon each other.”

We stare into one another's eyes for an eternity. I search his for any recognition of what I'm trying to express to him, what I know he sees, but he can't admit it.

“Do you care about me, Harry?” I whisper. He frowns, and suddenly looks very tired.

“Of course I do, Hermione. I care about you very much.” I bite my lip. In what way?

“Would you die for me? Would you kill for me? Would you do anything to make sure that I was safe, even if it hurt you?” I'm desperate. I need to know if there's something inside him that really feels anything.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Just answer me!” I scream.

“Okay, fine! Yes! Yes! I would die for you, Hermione! I would kill for you, I would do ANYTHING to protect you, alright? Are you still questioning my loyalty to you or do you need further convin-“

But he never finishes his sentence. I rush to him in the heat of the moment and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him like I have never kissed anyone in my life, kissing him like the sky is about to collapse and I have only this moment, this instant in time to show him how much I care. How deeply I care.

When I pull away, his eyes are half-closed, his mouth swollen and open in shock. I look away from him. What have I done? Where did that come from? “Same with me, Harry.” I mutter. “Same with me.” And with a blink of an eye, I am once again standing in my bedroom, my head filling up with worry about what I have just done. Listening carefully, I can hear my parents' silverware scraping against their plates, and the sound of their heart-felt laughter carrying up the stairs. They haven't even noticed I left.

I sit down mutely on my bed and stare at my knees, allowing myself to ponder upon the one thought that surfaces above the rest of the clutter.

I should not have done that.

But it's not as if anything will ever come of it, right? I mean, we're never going to date or be a couple or anything. I snort at the thought, but then immediately frown. Never is a pretty strong statement...


Well, it's only the first of July, and I've got all summer to figure it out.

end

.

-->