Wow! I was able to write this chapter. Truthfully, I was about to update with an author's note, apologizing for the fact that I wouldn't be able to update in a long time, due to writer's block. Thankfully, however, my muse returned for a bit, and I was able to write this up. I don't know when the next chapter will be posted, however. It's near the end of the school year, which means final projects and final exams, so I might not be able to update until late June. Hopefully this will tide you over.
Oh, and another thing I wanted to address, even though it hasn't appeared to be a problem: I am, as many of you have probably realized due to my use of Z's and lack of ou's in my author's notes, American. I try my best to use a British style of writing, to try and keep with the tone of the books, but often times it doesn't work out. I've been to Britain many times (lovely country by the way - just wanted to put that out there. If I was forced to choose only one country that I could visit for the rest of my life, I would choose Britain in a heartbeat - there's just something about it that entices me, even more so than France, or the Caribbean, or anywhere else, for that matter), but nonetheless, I do not have that great a grasp on the language (yes, I consider US English and UK English different languages - I'm not alone, am I?). I also know next to nothing about British idioms. So, if something sounds really out of place, because it's an American saying, or something of the sort, my dearest apologies. I really am doing my best. I do research for my fics, but there's only so much that research can tell you.
Anyway, on to the story! It certainly isn't one of my better chapters, but I hope that you will enjoy it all the same.
*****
Why we should've stayed at Hogwarts
By Hermione Jane Granger
No crazy mothers trying to set me up with my best friend (although there is a crazy Ginny, but after what's happened so far, I've come to appreciate Ginny's antics)
No worrying about whether or not my father will murder Harry (imagine if Daddy was a member of one of those target shooting clubs and had access to a gun, even if it was locked up at the club?)
There's not crazy woman right out of college who thinks it's cute to torment a male and a female who are clearly friends simply because she has no romance in her life. (Was that a bit cruel? I feel that may have been uncalled for…)
Furthermore, there isn't an ice-skating rink at Hogwarts. Now they have the right idea.
I have more control at Hogwarts. It's up to me whether or not I'm in a bedroom with Harry. At my house he can just step into my room when he pleases. Not that he's done anything, of course. He's too much of a gentleman to dare to do the obvious such an idiotic thing.
Even when I'm in such a room with Harry, there is usually at least one other person there to keep us from snogging.
No awkward silences at dinner. Someone's always talking. Even if it's Ginny talking about something that none of us cares about to thin air.
Once in a while Harry and I can take the scrutiny away from our relationship and on to the impending Ron and Luna relationship. Those two are bound to get together. I think they complement one another quite nicely, actually.
The room in which I sleep isn't covered in pictures that are supposed to be the three of us, but thanks to Ron has become a shrine to Harry and me. Even the sanest girl would end up thinking that perhaps there was more to a friendship than what meets the eye.
I wouldn't have realized that I'm in love with Harry Potter
*****
There's a lot to be said for self-delusionment when it comes to matters of the heart.
~Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider
*****
It had been silent for the past few minutes, save the clinking of silverware and the slight bang whenever Hermione slammed a plate onto the table. It was at this moment that Harry realized he best talk to Hermione about what had happened, or risk having her destroy the china, which, of course, would result in Mr. Granger burying him alive.
"Don't you think you're overreacting?" Harry asked softly, staring at her as he watched for her response. Hermione blinked and looked up, a plate held precariously in her left hand.
"Overreacting?" she repeated in disbelief. "Harry, what happened was…I mean…it was mortifying!" She placed the final plate on the table and then turned away, her face turning red as she spoke.
"I think it was easy enough for them to make such a mistake, though," Harry reasoned, walking over to her. "After all, we were holding hands." Harry held his breath, waiting once more for another reaction. It never came, and Harry wondered what it was, exactly, that he wanted Hermione to do.
"But that didn't give them the right to insist- "
"I know, Hermione," Harry said, attempting a soothing tone, although he was fairly certain that he was failing. Being "suave" wasn't exactly one of Harry's best traits - or one of any of his traits, for that matter. "Just ignore it. It's just like what happened in fourth year, remember? Forget about it. What does it matter what every one thinks, anyway?"
Hermione bit her lip. The truth of the matter was it wasn't mortifying because of what the people at the ice rink had done. It was mortifying because for that split second …
"I think you've really gotten the hang of this!" Hermione exclaimed, laughing as Harry sped up their pace. "Dare I say it, you might be ready to skate on your own, without my help."
"No!" Harry said, looking over at her with a horrified expression. "Clearly I'm only skating well because I'm channelling your spirit. And grace of course." Hermione rolled her eyes. "What?"
"If you ever hope to win another girl, you're really going to have to come up with some better lines," Hermione answered, shaking her head. "`I'm channelling your grace.'" She burst into another fit of laughter, which was cut short when the lights began to dim and a voice announced over the speaker, "Couples, now's the time for you. Grab your loved one and enjoy a romantic skate around the rink!" A slow tune began playing over the loudspeaker.
Harry and Hermione exchanged dubious looks. "I think it's about time we leave, don't you?" Hermione asked.
"I couldn't agree more!" Harry looked rather anxious, and the two, still holding hands, skated their way towards the exit.
A young woman who reminded Hermione of a future Lavender stopped the pair before they could get off the rink. "Where are you going?" she demanded. "Don't leave now! You're the cutest couple on that rink. If every one sees you leaving, they'll feel that they have to leave, too!"
Harry and Hermione blinked, and then their jaws dropped. "I think you've misunderstood…" Hermione began hastily, only to be interrupted by the annoying woman.
"Don't be embarrassed!" she laughed. "I was young and frivolous once myself."
Once? Hermione thought warily. How old could this woman possibly be? No older than twenty-five.
"I know how, at this age, expressing your affection for one another in public can be rather difficult, but you were doing so well before…"
"Listen," Hermione began again, but the woman simply stepped forward and pushed Hermione, whose fingers were still firmly intertwined with Harry's, with all of her might. A moment later, Hermione toppled to the ice, and Harry quickly followed. People on the rink, having heard the commotion, hurried over to witness a flustered Harry lying on top of an equally red Hermione. There was a chorus of, "Awwww…" and a call or two of "Kiss her!"
Hermione, who had been trying to look anywhere but at Harry's face, found her eyes flickering up. Harry stared back at her, breathing deeply as he tried to get back the breath that had been knocked out of him. She could feel his breath on her face, and in that split second, for reasons unknown to anyone (or so she thought), especially she, Hermione wanted nothing more than for Harry to lean down and kiss her. That moment disappeared as Harry coughed and then finally rolled off of her, muttering several apologies and looking as red as ever.
"Let's go," he said, hoisting her up. The two managed to escape, the young matchmaker now annoying another group of "youngsters," as she'd probably call them.
As hard as Hermione tried, she couldn't get that one, short moment out of her head. Why was it stuck there? And for Merlin's sake, what had driven it?
She gave a small moan and slid into the nearest chair, her face buried in her hands. There had to be a rational explanation for this. She wasn't in love with Harry. She had fallen for a best friend before, and it had resulted in an unpublicised, one-week relationship that ended with a, "This isn't working, is it?" If it hadn't been for the fact that Ron was rather obtuse when it came to awkward situations, Hermione was certain that she and he would've had a falling out. Harry, on the other hand, although not the brightest at Hogwarts, was certainly more intuitive than his original partner in crime. It would be the end of them if it were true.
So it's not, Hermione said firmly to herself. I'm not stupid enough to let that happen. I must be PMSing or something, and my hormones are simply out of control. She breathed in as she let this thought reassure her, even though she knew that such a time wasn't due for another two weeks.
"Hermione?" Harry asked, staring at his friend who looked as if she were in the middle of a mental breakdown. "Are you sure you don't have a headache?"
"I'm fine," Hermione said weakly, looking up. "I'm just a bit sick of this situation at the moment. How hard is it for people to understand that a male and a female can be friends without any feelings between the two?"
"I don't know," Harry mumbled, looking away. He half wanted to say, "Because maybe they're right?" but he knew that such a statement simply wasn't true. It couldn't be true, he continually reminded himself.
"Dinner's ready!" Mrs. Granger's voice rang through the dining room, and Harry quickly took his place next to Hermione, who looked rather pale, as the Grangers brought in dinner: a roast chicken, garnished with onions and potatoes, followed by a large platter of various cooked vegetables.
"This looks delicious, Mrs. Granger," Harry said, hoping to avoid a painful silence. Hermione, who normally spoke non-stop during dinner, was absolutely quiet.
"Thank you, Harry." Mrs. Granger gave Harry a very familiar beam, while Mr. Granger seemed to take in the scene. Harry was relieved to discover that no frown fell on his face when his eyes landed on Harry.
"So, how was your little trip?" Mrs. Granger asked, setting her elbows on the table with one hand on top of the other. This, remembering the scolding she received as a little girl - Elbows do not belong on the dining room table, Hermione! - shocked Hermione, and for a moment all she could do was blink. Shaking her head, she finally comprehended what her mother had said, and her reassurance slipped away as her doubt slowly returned.
"I said that I don't want to talk about it," Hermione answered in a soft voice, stabbing her chicken with her fork.
"Now Mione…" her mother tutted.
"Don't call me `Mione'!" Hermione exclaimed, her head shooting up. "You know that I only let you call me that when I was too little to be able to pronounce my own name."
Had this been another situation, Harry was positive he would've burst into laughter. He instead chose to remain quiet, pushing his peas aimlessly across his plate. He was fairly certain that the first meal he had at the Weasleys following his break up with Ginny was less uncomfortable than this.
"Well then start acting like an adult and less than a child," Mrs. Granger replied, eyes flashing.
Hermione grit her teeth. It was times like these that she absolutely despised her mother. Why did she have to be so stubborn? Couldn't she see that her daughter was distressed?
"I don't understand why you're so angry," Mrs. Granger went on, placing her hands in her lap and straightening her napkin. "Nothing that bad could have possibly happened, and even if it did, it's no reason to take it out on your own mother."
Outraged didn't even begin to cover how upset Hermione was. But what no one seemed to understand (not that she would ever tell anyone) was that it not Harry, not her mother, but herself at which she was mad. All because of that one minute. The scene seemed to play over and over in her head, Harry falling on top of her and his eyes boring into hers, her heart beating so fast and the only thought in her head being…
There just had to be something wrong with her. Clearly there was no other rational explanation. And all signs pointed to her wanting to destroy her friendship with Harry, because there was no way on the face of this earth that she could possibly have non-platonic feelings for Harry. No way in Hell. Clearly she was set on sabotaging her life, because that was the only obvious explanation.
Other than the actual obvious one, of course, a voice that sounded very much like Ginny's whispered in Hermione's mind. Hermione felt her face flush and, pretending that her headache had worsened, she excused herself from the dining room and fled to her room before her parents actually gave her permission to do so. Harry could only sit there as he watched her run up the stairs. He pushed his plate away, no longer hungry, and excused himself as well. Following Hermione upstairs, he felt his heart sink as he wondered if his friendship with Hermione had been damaged forever.
*****
"Ron, I'm tired," Ginny groaned as Ron checked her King for the fourth time that night.
"But it's only seven thirty!" Ron exclaimed, looking at Ginny with wide eyes.
"I'm tired of playing this game." Ginny growled as she came to the realization that Ron was about to checkmate her.
"That's only because you're losing," Ron grinned at her.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't get use to it. I beat you in every game we played two days ago. You just happen to have luck on your side."
"There's no such thing as luck in chess, Ginny." Ron looked very offended.
"Oh come off it. Let's go eat."
"Just one more game!" Ron pleaded.
"Why? So you can finally feel as if you're better than a female?"
"Yes!" Ron exclaimed. Ginny glared at him. "Er, no. Of course not. Just…please?"
"If we go down now you might get to meet up with Luna," Ginny said in a singsong voice. "She's staying here over the hols, you know, and this is when she normally eats dinner."
"I know that," Ron said, his ears turning a slight red. "I just…I just don't want to go down now."
Ginny furrowed her brow. "And why not? Everybody knows how you feel about her. You've made it painfully obvious, actually."
"I just don't want to face her," Ron mumbled, turning away slightly.
"What, did something embarrassing happen?"
Ron narrowed his eyes at her as he turned as his entire face was subject to a blush.
"Oh, so something embarrassing did happen," Ginny crowed. She grinned and plopped herself onto her stomach, supported by her elbows, as if this were another one of her gab sessions in the girls' dormitory. "Come on then. Tell your darling little sister."
"I'd rather not, thanks."
"Ron." Ginny gave a small pout. Ron remained firm. "Look at it this way: either you tell me now, or I do some snooping and, inevitably get it spread through the whole school. It's your choice." Ginny smiled up at her brother innocently.
"I don't know why I bother hanging out with you when you're such an annoying little git," Ron snarled. "If you must know, I bumped into Luna on my way back from lunch today."
"And?" Ginny prodded.
Ron looked at her blankly. "And what? That's what happened."
"The embarrassing moment that's keeping Ron Weasley, who might possibly value food over his friends, from eating is bumping into someone?" Ginny demanded incredulously.
"Well, I made one of her books fall to the ground!" Ron protested.
"Did Luna look mad?"
"Well, no. She kind of, er, gloated when I offered to walk her back to Ravenclaw as an apology, but still."
"You might possibly be thicker than Harry and Hermione," Ginny spat at him. She jumped up and grabbed Ron's arm, pulling him up. "Come on. We're going to dinner. You're not only going to see Luna, but you're going to talk to her and sit next to her, you bloody moron."
*****
Having finally reached the top o the stairs, Harry noticed the door to Hermione's room was open, and he paused outside of it. Hermione was sitting on her bed, knitting something furiously as she mumbled words that Harry couldn't decipher. Wondering if he was determined to kill himself, Harry knocked on the door.
"Mum, I don't want to talk to you!" she exclaimed from her position.
"It's me," Harry replied awkwardly.
Hermione looked up, and her anger immediately melted. "Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry. I thought you were- "
"I know." Harry took a step closer to the threshold. "May I come in?"
"Oh, of course!" Hermione set her knitting down as Harry entered and sat on her bed.
"What are you knitting?" Harry asked, pointing at what appeared to be a misshapen pair of gloves.
"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "Sometimes when I'm stressed I just knit. I figure that if I'm upset I might as well do something productive for S.P.E.W. And it's rather relaxing."
"Well, I'm sure the house el- " Harry began, but then corrected himself. He didn't want to give her false hope. "I'm sure Dobby will love it."
"He has become fond of them over the years, hasn't he?" Hermione said, but with a slight frown. "I just feel that he takes too many. It's not really fair to the other house elves, is it?"
"I'm sure Dobby passes it around to whomever wants one," Harry added quickly, and then decided to change the subject. "So who's going to be here for Christmas?"
"My mum's grandparents, but you already knew that," Hermione said. "My aunt and uncle on my mum's side, their two children, my dad's sister…and that's it I think."
"Anything I need to know so as not to mortify myself?"
"Well, I should probably tell you my cousins' names, so as to lessen the shock."
"What are you talking about?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Well, my mum and my aunt have been highly competitive since they were little. After my mum decided to name me Hermione, after Hermione in The Winter's Tale, my aunt felt like she was trying to compete with her again. So when she had her first child, my aunt named her Desdemona."
"Desdemona?" Harry repeated.
"Yes. You know, from Othello? But it's rather awful, because Desdemona was called a `strumpet' and a `whore' for almost the entirety of the play, and in the end she's smothered by her husband, who's convinced that she had an affair. Not the nicest of names to give to your child."
"You can say that again," Harry muttered.
"And, worse, Desdemona comes from the Greek `Disdemona,' which means `unfortunate.' So they decided to call her by her nickname, Mona," Hermione continued. "So make sure you call her that, even if my aunt tries to do her `I'm just as good as you' routine with my mother and introduces her as Desdemona."
"Got it," Harry said. "And what about the other one?"
"Ophelia," Hermione sighed sadly. "Another mistake, in my opinion, seeing as Ophelia goes crazy and commits suicide. We call her Lia, though mostly she's too young to pronounce Ophelia. She's only three, and it's rather complicated for her. When asked to say her full name, she usually replies, `Fell-ya.' So, yes, there's Lia and Mona."
"I assume that Hermione in A Winter's Tale doesn't have any embarrassing story behind it," Harry commented.
"Not really," Hermione shrugged. "I mean, she's accused of adultery as well, but she's determined innocent by the courts. Her husband, Leontes, defies the courts, however, and then his son dies out of grief. Hermione learns of this and faints and is presumed dead. Leontes, of course, laments his mistake, but in the end it's discovered that she's alive, and had simply been in hiding. Every one lives happily ever after, of course. So no, nothing too embarrassing."
"That's…good." Harry nodded awkwardly.
Hermione smiled and then looked out the window, staring out at the night. "I love when the moon is full," Hermione sighed. "It makes up for the fact that the city lights dim out the stars."
Harry could only stare as he watched her whole face light up as she spoke. Recently, he had found that he was amazed by how the smallest things could invoke such passionate emotions within her. It was what made her different from any girl he had ever known. Cho would've admitted that it was rather nice, but then she would've turned the subject back to what she considered a more interesting subject - most likely something involving herself. Ginny would've rolled her eyes and said that people get too carried away with such useless things. "It's just a satellite," he could imagine her saying. "Why bother with it? It's here one night, gone the next. I wouldn't consider it much of a novelty. Anyway, if you're so obsessed with seeing the stars, just apparate to the north." And then Parvati and Lavender would probably burst into fits of giggles, for no apparent reason, and return to their gossip.
Perhaps it was easier for Harry to relate to Hermione because she too had grown up as a muggle. Despite nearly seven years at Hogwarts, she, like Harry, was still astounded every time she discovered a new spell. And, of course, the idea of apparating up north in order to better see the stars would never occur to her. She would instead choose to patiently await the full moon.
Hermione finally turned back to Harry. "Isn't it gorgeous?" she beamed at him. "I can't think of anything more breathtaking than knowing that the sky is brighter than London. Can you?"
Staring at Hermione, Harry found himself unconsciously nodding his head.
Hermione looked at him curiously. "Oh really?" she laughed. "What on earth have you seen that's more beautiful than this?" She pointed towards her window.
Harry felt his throat go dry. "I…er…" He felt as if he was choking on air, and his face felt as if it were on fire.
"Well?" Hermione asked. She breathed in, and suddenly she felt her whole body go still. The look on Harry's face couldn't mean anything, could it?
She felt her body shake with shock as Harry exclaimed, "I'm going to head off to sleep!" and proceeded to clamber off of Hermione's bed.
Hermione, hiding her disappointment, pointed out that it was only 9:30, which was rather early to be going to sleep.
"I want to write Ron a letter," Harry said quickly.
Hermione nodded her head in understanding and then stopped. "And how do you plan on sending it to him?" she demanded. "We don't have any owls, remember?"
"Well Mrs. Weasley is bound to send us some gifts. I-I'll just give the letter t-to Errol." Harry emitted a small nervous laugh.
"All right…" Hermione said, clearly unconvinced. "Well, good night then."
"Night." Harry rushed out of the room and Hermione shook her head.
"He can be so odd at times," she murmured to herself. She tucked herself into bed and grabbed The Scarlet Letter from her nightstand and eagerly opened the book to its centre.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione firmly closed the book, a disgruntled look settled on her face. She had just read the same page thirty times over, her mind so scattered that she couldn't concentrate on the literature in her hands. She glanced curiously at her nightstand, where a picture of she, Ron, and Harry, with their arms wrapped around one another, should have sit. She unconsciously wrung out her hands as she stared at the picture that was now of just Harry and she, biting her lip as memories from only hours earlier came flashing through her mind.
"They can't be right, can they?" she whispered to herself, hugging her comforter up to her chest. She looked back at the picture, and her heart began to speed up.
"Stop it!" she ordered herself, setting her lips into a thin line. "This is getting ridiculous. Clearly you're just confused, because you're eighteen-years-old, and society has brainwashed you to believe this ludicrous notion that a male and a female cannot remain friends once they're older than fourteen."
She breathed in deeply, willing her heart to return to normal. As she did so, she heard a light pattering outside her door. She furrowed her eyebrows, left the warmth of her bed, and opened her door, only to find her best friend sneaking downstairs.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, staring at him.
"Hermione!" Harry looked surprise. "Sorry. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, of course not. It's only five of ten." She placed her right hand on the doorframe and tilted her head. "Anyway, my light was on. Didn't you see?"
Harry shook his head. "I guess I'm a bit inattentive when I'm tired."
"That makes sense," Hermione nodded. Harry looked up, not knowing whether or not to be offended by the fact that Hermione agreed with him. Before he could make up his mind, however, Hermione asked, "What're you doing? I thought you were going to sleep."
"I got thirsty," Harry explained, climbing back up the stairs.
"Ah," Hermione nodded. A silence followed as the two looked at one another. Suddenly, Hermione found herself asking, "If someone demanded us to explain our friendship, what would you say?"
"What?" Harry felt his palms sweating. What was she saying by asking such a question?
Hermione was currently mentally beating herself up. What in Merlin's name had compelled her to ask something like that? She sighed inwardly, and accepted the fact that the question was now out in the open. No use avoiding it.
"If a person came up to us and asked us to explain how on earth we can be `just' friends, what would you tell them?" Hermione repeated, the fingers on her left hand fidgeting with the cloth of her pyjama top.
As Harry considered this question, Hermione could've sworn he turned a tinge of red, but moments later his face was a normal colour.
"That's easy," answered Harry, hoping that his voice wouldn't break due to nerves. "I'd tell them that we're at the `we're comfortable enough around one another so that we act around one another as if we're attracted to one another when, in reality, we aren't,' stage of our friendship."
Hermione blinked at her best friend for a moment before she finally replied, "Well that's an interesting way to put it. How did you come up with it?"
Harry shrugged, thanking Merlin that Hermione believed the rubbish he had devised. "Just came to mind. I'm going to get that water now, okay?"
"Right. Good night." Hermione walked back into her room, closing the door softly behind her.
"See?" she said softly to herself. "That was a perfectly reasonable explanation. It makes sense. Why didn't you come up with that? `"Comfortable enough around one another so that we act around one another as if we're attracted to one another when, in reality, we aren't," stage of our friendship,'" Hermione repeated to herself. She nodded firmly. "Yes, that must be it."
And as Hermione began focusing all her brainpower on accepting this idea as truth, Harry sat on the steps outside of her room, wondering when their relationship had become so complicated that he was forced to do the unthinkable - lie to the only person who had always trusted him.
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