Disclaimer: It's kinda like the tag on your mattress. You wanna tear it off but it's by penalty under the law if you rip that thing off. So I guess I'll still tell you, just in case something changed…Harry Potter- don't own him.
Was it silly to miss her? She was his friend; he was allowed to miss her. Of course he could miss her. Should he be wallowing around like a lost puppy? Probably not. Should he be having more trouble than usual to get to sleep at night? That probably wasn't normal either. He should definitely not be thinking about her as much as he was, but did it really matter? They were just his thoughts. He could think whatever he wanted to think. He could think about rainbows and clouds, sugar quills and kissing Hermione. What? No, he shouldn't be thinking about that at all.
He pulled the covers up around him tighter as he flipped his pillow over so he could feel it cool against his cheek. She had been gone for what… two days now? Merlin, was it only two days? Well of course the time has been going slowly. Usually when he wasn't hanging out with Ron or when he was bored he would go see her. Now instead of seeing her he got to stare at the wall or pace the hallway (twenty-one strides from one end of the hall to the other). Once in a while he would go into the library, but it seemed so empty without her. He could almost smell her in there too, or maybe he was just too used to associating her scent with books. Somewhere along seven years the two had meshed together seamlessly. Hermione and books.
He turned over again. When did his bed get so uncomfortable? Somewhere in Hogwarts Hermione was soundly sleeping in a big comfy bed. Maybe she was able to stay in Gryffindor; she'd like that. Somewhere along seven years something had shifted with his feelings for her. Suddenly he found himself lying awake at night when she was away. She was safe and he still couldn't sleep. How pathetic could he get? The thought of dragging her into a war she didn't have to fight made him sick. The thought of dragging anyone into the war made him sick. He didn't want to have to worry about her like that. That was why he had ended things with Ginny when he did. He couldn't have that kind of distraction. He couldn't have her in that kind of danger. Hermione could handle herself though. Ginny still had a few years of growing.
He'd write to her right now if he could, Hermione that was. He'd write to her if the post hadn't been stopped. It was too unsafe to owl anyone now, too much of a chance of getting caught. He'd write her a nice letter if he could.
Dear Hermione,
How are you? What's new with you (see I do ask you that sometimes)? Is it too soon to say I miss you terribly? Can I ask you to come back yet? It's terribly lonely here without you. I can't wait until you come home. Wish you were here!
Love,
Harry
But he couldn't send something like that. He wouldn't write it even if he could owl her. No, he had to get control of his feelings. He couldn't think about her like this. Not only because she was his best friend and it could ruin their relationship but also because he was Harry Potter, he was The-Boy-Who-Lived; he can't like a girl; it could get her killed.
She had told him one time that that wasn't true. He didn't kill people. Voldemort killed people. Anyone was in danger, regardless of his feelings for them.
He remembered that night. It had been late and the reception had just ended. He had sat far back in the Weasley's garden, away from the candelabra of the party. He was more vulnerable than usual due to the strawberry butterbeer that had been given liberally during the reception. He had spent the whole night in a series of awkward run-ins with Ginny. He wanted to kiss her then he wanted to push her as far away from him as possible. She kept looking at him through those huge deep hazel eyes with her red hair curled all pretty. He still missed her sometimes.
Hermione had come up to him in her pretty light blue dress. She got it dirty by sitting on the rotting tree trunk with him. He wouldn't talk to her. He wouldn't talk to anyone, but they never really needed words when it really came down to it. It was a bit fuzzy but he remembered hugging her tightly as she stroked the back of his head. He was still in like with Ginny then.
"It's not your fault Harry. You know it's not your fault. No one is safe anymore. You know that. We all know that. It's not you Harry. That's what he wants you to think, but it's not you. We all know the risks. You can't do this to yourself, Harry, you can't!"
She had broken down. Getting sad, getting angry, at him, at herself, at the situation. The wedding had been a very agonizing night. But as he laid awake in bed he remembered back to that night, the night he got pissed and hoped to forget it all in the morning. He always went back to that night when he needed to feel safe. He remembered the feeling of being hugged, being truly hugged and cared for. But he could never shake that feeling that it was all his fault that those he loved always died. He couldn't do that to her. He could never do that to her.
He turned over to stare at his dresser. Inside the top drawer were two lockets. One was fake one was real. One was cold, one was warm. He promised Hermione that he wouldn't do anything with it until she returned. Now he wished he had never promised her anything. He didn't want her near that thing. It put him on edge enough, but he didn't want her anywhere near that locket. He didn't want Ron near that locket either. This was his problem. He was the Chose One. He was The-Boy-Who-Just-Had-To-Live. He had thought about packing up and slipping away silently.
Oh Merlin how he had thought about it! He was going to after sixth year, after Bill and Fleur's wedding. He had had it all planned. He was going to leave them all behind with some cryptic note that didn't divulge anything. Then they would all be safe, furious with him, but safe. But Ron had to find out about his plan. That night he got pissed? Yeah turns out strawberry butterbeer is better than Vertiserum on him. In an angry fight with Ron over dumping Ginny he suddenly blurted out that he was going to be gone anyway. Obviously, Ron was none too happy but Harry was drunk and stubborn.
He couldn't have been more embarrassed by his behavior that night. Hermione had brewed him and Ron some Pepper-Up potions the next morning. He assumed Ron had already told her about his getaway plan because his potion seemed to take twice as long to brew, she seemed to be twice as loud making it for him, and it seemed to be half as effective as usual.
"'I don't want... Don't make me... don't like... want to stop... I don't want to... let me go... make it stop... make it stop... no, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to... It's all my fault... all my fault... please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I'll never, never again... don't hurt them... don't hurt them... hurt me instead... not that... I'll do anything... I want to die... I want to die... KILL ME!'"
He got out of bed and sat in the window as he had done so many times at Hogwarts. Voldemort plagued his thoughts most of the time. He had to worry about things that no normal seventeen year old should have to worry about. However, he was far from normal. He recited Hermione's new list in his head. The list of things she was almost certain were Horcruxes: the locket, a cup, something from Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, and a snake (if living things can be Horcruxes).
So Harry decided to play his favorite game: deciding how to destroy the Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort. Destroying the locket was something he would have to deal with when Hermione got back. Now, where would Tom hide Hufflepuff's cup? The cup had been stolen by Tom years ago the same night he stole back the locket. Would it be guarded also? He never wanted to face Inferi again. He shivered a bit as he thought about them. No, he never wanted Ron or Hermione to have to see those things.
Then there was still the mysterious object that would belong to either Godric Gryffindor or Rowena Raveclaw. He thought that perhaps it could be Godric Gryffindor's sword. While it was still a very real possibility, he didn't want to think that he had saved Ginny with a Horcrux. So he was beginning to think that perhaps something of Ravenclaw's was used for the fifth Horcrux.
Then there was the snake. Nagini? He wasn't too scared of facing Nagini. As odd as it was to say, he did have experience in fighting large, deadly snakes bent on killing, after all he had defeated the Basilisk before. He only hoped that Nagini was not as closely guarded as the fake locket had been.
And finally he was brought back to the theory he kept trying to forget. He had only one theory and he had shared it with no one. He was the final Horcrux. It all made sense, the visions, the connections to Voldemort, and, his best argument as to why he was the Horcrux, he was Harry Potter, and things for Harry Potter are hardly normal, and never easy.
A/N: Mmm lot's of Harry musings. Tell me what you think. By the way, you guys reviewing are fantastic!
You more than likely recognize that the last piece of dialog in this chapter is from book 6 when Dumbledore is drinking the potion. Obviously, I didn't write that part.