obvious
You know what the most obvious part in the world is about us being a couple? It's the fact that we are the most obvious couple in the world. It's kind of ironic, really. You see, with Hermione and I, it's always public displays of affection, snogging in front of people, sitting in each other's laps constantly, having gigantic rows for everybody to witness. It can get old easily. People come up to us and tell us to get a room, and we smirk and continue right on, but soon the thrill's gone and the mystery's dissolved.
But when she looks at Harry, it's something much different. She doesn't have that annoyed, loving expression on
her face, an expression reserved for me especially. So, for Harry, she has another look. She's worried, and scared,
and sad, and confused all at the same time. You can see it sometimes, when he's fallen asleep on the counter at one
of the pubs we're getting drunk in. The look is right in the corner of her iris, full of feeling and life; her
pupils dilate and then, the way her button nose scrunches up in an emotion I can't quite grasp.
But that look is only for Harry, and never for me.
Sometimes I wonder if she…well, no, they couldn't possibly be…but I think about it a lot.
When we're leaving another inn the morning after we've gotten completely shit-faced, sometimes Harry's hand
lingers on hers just a little too long while handing her some food to pack for our impending journey.
One day, we're walking across a busy street when Hermione trips. A car is coming her way and I go to pick her up -
but, as if on instinct, she grabs hold of Harry and he pulls her out of harms way. The hold each other for a moment
before they see that I'm staring and she turns, almost dutifully, to my side and allows me to envelop her in my
arms.
But it's just because he was right there next to her. Had I had been just a couple of inches closer, she would have
picked me…wouldn't she?
Once, we had all been in Scotland, looking for something we didn't know to begin with, and I could have sworn I
heard moaning coming from Hermione's room.
Usually she's quiet during sex, so I let myself assume she had been having a nightmare or something. I got out of my own bed and opened quietly knocked on her door. A soft creaking is coming from inside. There is a shuffling sound, and then silence. I knock again, louder this time, trying to push the creeping suspicions from my mind. I end up letting myself in, readying to find her with someone else, a certain dark-haired, troubled someone else. But when I enter, I see the window is open, letting into the room a rush of icy wind and spilling moonlight over Hermione's face and neck. However, a heat is radiating so strongly from Hermione's body that I'm surprised she doesn't spontaneously combust.
The sheet is pulled up tightly over her torso. Her lids are shut over fluttering eyeballs; she must be awake. Her
cheeks are rosy red and a thin layer of sweat covers the visible parts of her body. She's naked underneath that
sheet, and I know it. I know the contours of her body well enough to know whether or not there are clothes covering
them.
Confusion fills me, but I leave the room, and pray she was just masturbating.
But why did she originally ask for separate rooms then? We haven't fucked for days, and I've become curious as to why she wanted to sleep alone. She had playfully said she desperately needed some sleep, and that if she was in my bed, sleep was not what she was going to get.
I had thought it was funny then, but not anymore.
The creaking resumes from behind my wall. There was something very subtle about her rosy cheeks, and the way the
creaking forms an even rhythm in my brain, something so intricate that I can't even force myself to be upset. I
just pull myself deeper underneath my bed coverings and listen.
Creak, creak, creak, creak, creak…
And suddenly, Hermione and I don't seem as obvious as we did before.
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