Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I own nothing. I'm just an oppressed proletariat.
Author's Note: Once again, thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate it! I was quiet hesitant to use this style of writing at first, but when you guys tell me that you like it (or that it starts to grow on you), then I'm happy! :-)
Anyway, while reading this, please keep in mind that these are Harry's thoughts and of course, they're very subjective (as we know from the Canon). :-P
Chapter 3
This is the story of your life. It alternates between abandonment and companionship. Sometimes, you're alone and against the world. Sometimes it's just you. Sometimes, it's just you and your name. And you don't like that. You don't like that because it invites hypocrisy, and false pretenses. You don't like that because people praise you, and honor you. You don't want that because it brings back so much of the past, which by all accounts, is not something you want to spend your days on.
And then there's the fact that you're lonely. The fact that you get so lonely that you sink into what is clinically known as `mild depression'. To hell with that you say, but you can't deny the fact that you're lonely because it's true. No matter how much you try to remedy that loneliness, still nothing happens.
You fall in `love' with Ginny but you're still lonely. You do it with Katie but you're still lonely. You take muggle antidepressants but you're still lonely. You mutter countless spells and incantations but you're still lonely.
So you think that you're always going to be lonely. But then you fall in love with Hermione, and suddenly, you don't feel that lonely anymore.
So you begin to wonder. And you realize that whenever Hermione's around a portion of that loneliness drifts away. When you're with her, you're suddenly able to immerse yourself in that great feeling of companionship. And you find it funny that you only realize this now. This is why you feel at home at Hogwarts, this is why you hate going back to the Dursleys, this is why you're still living, albeit `platonically', with her, you tell yourself.
This is the story of your life. You're still lonely, you admit, but you're not that lonely anymore. You're still lonely because although you have her by your side you don't have her the way you want to have her. But you're happy to go along with it. Everyone needs to be a little lonely sometimes. Besides, you won't change that for anything in the world. You're living with the two most important people in your life. The two people who love you and who care for you and who stood by you through time.
And that's why you don't complain.
You don't complain about not having the things you want to have.
You don't complain about having the things you don't want to have.
You do complain however when Ron starts to make a complete ass of himself. Like's he's doing right now.
"... And then she tells me, Ronny, right there, right there! So of course, I go right there! And then she just twists and turns, and that is why I'm such a bloody good -"
So you decide to cut in. You decide to cut in because you can see Hermione's eyes turning into slits. And when her eyes turn into slits, you're all too aware that what's coming is not good. So you intervene. And you tell your oversexed friend, teasingly,
"I wonder if Luna's story matches yours."
As expected, he rolls his eyes. And he tells you that of course it's true because he's in such a good mood. He tells you that if he didn't just have that fantastic sex then he'll be lecturing you on why you shouldn't paint your toenails on his beloved table.
So you shut up. You realize that it's true. And she shuts up too. Because she'll rather have him have his play-by-play account of today's sex with Luna rather than have him pester the both of you over his table.
So everyone's happy.
Until your oversexed best friend starts questioning you on your sex life, which by all accounts, is non-existent for the past year. You scold yourself about your slow reflexes. You should have known this was coming when he starts with,
"By the way, how come you're not getting any?"
How slow, Potter, how slow.
You decide to play dumb.
"What's that?"
He takes a deep breath and looks at you like you're in kindergarten and you can't even spell the word "cat". For a brief second, you expected him to spell "C-A-T", but then he says,
"Sex, Harry, Sex."
Fortunately, however, before you can answer, she stands up. She gives a little `huff' and says,
"I'm going to bed before I succumb to male idiocy."
And with a little glare, followed by an `OK, I admit it, it's amusing' smile, she says good night, kisses you both on the cheek, and heads for her room. And when she finally closes the door, Ron says,
"I swear she's turning into an old maid. What's up with the two of you? You're just staying home, not dating, wasting away your most precious gifts. What? You two decided to take an oath of celibacy?"
All you can do is roll your eyes.
Later that night you're in bed. You have the sheets around your waist. Your chest is bare. You don't sleep with any shirt on. It never occurred to you why, but it's always been that way as far as you can remember. Except when you were at Hogwarts. Or at the Dursleys. You imagine Uncle Vernon peeking and you give a shudder. You decide to switch your train of thought to something more appealing.
Hermione.
Again.
But you can never tire of her. You can never tire thinking of her and what is and what will and what can happen because you know it will never happen. She's that big dream of yours that you hang unto desperately, even though you're well aware that it is nothing but a dream.
So you think of her.
You wonder what she's doing. You picture her with her sheets tight around her chest. You picture her scratching her leg with a toe. You picture her twirling a stand of her hair.
And then you face the wall. The wall dividing you from her. That one wall that can make all the difference in the world. The wall exists because you're not together that way. The wall exists because you're a boy and she's a girl, and boys and girls, with no special relations, don't share a room together.
So all you can do is touch that wall. Like you always do at night. You slide your hands, you glide your hands. Sometimes, when you're courageous enough, you even drum your fingers softly.
You wonder if she hears it.
And this makes you very curious. And when you're curious, nothing can stop you. So you drum your fingers against the wall a little louder.
You wait.
Nothing.
You drum your fingers again.
You wait.
Nothing.
You decide to stop.
She probably doesn't hear it, you tell yourself. Or maybe she does and she'll mention it tomorrow.
As of tonight, however, you'll just go to sleep.
And dream about her.
And her drumming her fingers softly against the wall. Like you do.
And her drumming her fingers a little louder against the wall. Like you do.
Suddenly, you realize, you're not dreaming. You're still awake. It's still dark outside. It's just a minute past eleven in your clock. You're still awake and she's still awake and she's drumming her fingers against the wall. Like you do.
So what do you do?
You knock.
You give a little smirk. You can picture her huffing.
You wait for a few seconds.
And then she knocks back.
This time, sleep is the farthest thing from your mind. So you decide to continue with your little game.
You knock twice.
She knocks back twice.
You knock thrice.
She knocks back thrice.
But when you're about to knock your next set, you suddenly hear a soft `crack'. Next thing you know she's in the room.
Hermione. In your room. At the middle of the night.
This time, you tell yourself, you're probably dreaming.
But you're not.
Because she's really there.
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