Author's Note
I've finished reading "Deathly Hallows" - but I won't make any comments that will give anything away in case some of you haven't yet finished…but, oh, are my fingers twitching! *grins*
Instead, I will simply say here is Chapter Six - I hope you enjoy it and as always, I look forward avidly to your thoughts and views! Janie xoxo
SORCERERS' NOOK
By JanieB
CHAPTER SIX
In which Ron worries when Luna confesses she wants to confess, Harry and Hermione have an interesting conversation over dinner before going to the fair at which Harry is hit really hard by an unexpected revelation for which he is totally unprepared…
`Isn't it beautiful?' breathed Luna as she and Ron stood gazing back at Caerphilly Castle, the second largest castle in Britain.
`Beautiful,' murmured Ron.
Something made Luna turn and look at him, only to find his eyes fixed on her, not the castle. A soft rose colour stole into her cheeks as she smiled up at him.
They were standing beyond the outer east gatehouse - the main entrance; it was Friday, their last day in the Welsh city and a perfect summer's day. After spending the previous four days with the various members of the Caerphilly Catapults doing interviews and taking photographs - Luna spending each day with them as they went about their work - Ron had insisted they do a little sight seeing on this last day, and that they do it alone. Seamus had smiled rather smugly as he and Colin assured them that was fine and arranged for them to all meet up at their hotel at four that afternoon before Flooing to the Isle of Anglesey.
Ron felt the soft warmth of Luna's fingers as they slipped into his hand and he felt his heart lighten at her touch.
`This has been a pretty amazing week,' he murmured, loving the feel of her hand in his and wondering how he could go about kissing her.
Luna's smile vanished and she averted her eyes; Ron was immediately concerned.
`What's wrong?' he asked, his concern clear in his voice.
`Could we go and have some lunch?' Luna asked. `There's something I'd like to tell you.'
Suddenly to Ron it seemed the day was no longer filled with lightness and he no longer felt quite so happy; instead, he now felt uneasy and anxious about what Luna was going to tell him.
`Of course,' he said, hoping his voice sounded normal. `There's the pub, the Court House, it's only about a ten-fifteen minute stroll from here.'
As it was still a little early for lunch, the pub wasn't overly crowded and because it was so warm, they decided to eat their meals outside in the beer garden.
`Pretty spectacular view, isn't it?' Ron couldn't help commenting, gazing across the lake to the castle. `That's the great hall, just there,' he said, jabbing his fork in the air. `Not as great as Hogwarts', though.'
Luna murmured in agreement as she, too, gazed out across the water to the castle. They ate in silence for a little while and then Luna, with her meal barely half eaten, put down her knife and fork and carefully dabbed at her mouth with her serviette before picking up her glass and taking a sip of wine.
Ron watched her intently, and when she smiled across the table at him, he felt the tension of the last hour ease a little.
`Ronald, I have a confession to make,' she said softly.
In an instant, the tension was back.
`Luna, you don't have to confess anything, honestly,' said Ron, trying not to sound desperate. He'd had such a wonderful week that he didn't want the memory of it spoilt by anything, least of all Luna wanting to tell him something he probably didn't need to know.
Luna gazed at him, her silvery grey eyes filled with determination. Ron sighed and shrugged philosophically.
`All right, fire away,' he told her, quickly taking one last mouthful before he, too, pushed his plate aside. He swallowed his half-chewed food nervously. `I'm ready.'
*
The evening of the same day, Harry stepped cautiously out of the fireplace into the sitting room of the Nook, looking around quickly for any sign of his loquacious landlady. Frewin hooted softly in greeting and Harry shushed him, afraid the noise would alert Esmerelda to his presence.
However, as the strains of Esmerelda's favourite music drifted down the hall from her office, Harry realised that if he moved quickly he would probably make it upstairs without being caught and regaled with yet another of Esmerelda's stories or bombarded with more of her seemingly endless supply of questions.
Once safely in his own flat, Harry changed into jeans and a deep emerald green shirt, then spent a few minutes with Hedwig before slipping across the hall to Ginny and Hermione's flat.
He knocked and entered as he usually did, calling out, `Ginny! Hermione!' before closing the door behind him.
`Hi, Harry,' replied Hermione from the kitchen as he walked into the living room.
Crossing the room, Harry pulled out a stool and sat up at the bench, saying as he did so, `Hi, Hermione. How was your day?'
`Interesting,' she replied with a smile. `Yours?'
`Satisfying. They finally dug up the old spell that had poor Cleaver out to it and he's on the mend now, well and truly. Thanks to you for pointing us in the direction of old hexes!'
`Glad to help,' said Hermione. `Speaking of help, make yourself useful and chop, will you?'
`Sure,' said Harry, taking the chopping board and knife Hermione handed across to him, then taking some celery from the basket of various vegetables sitting between them. `Making a stir-fry I'm guessing?'
Hermione nodded. `You want some?'
Harry grinned. `When have I ever turned down the offer of a meal here?'
Hermione laughed, `True. By the way, Ginny's not home yet - I'm not sure why. Have you heard from her?'
Harry shook his head as he chewed - he'd just popped a piece of celery into his mouth.
`Harry! Don't eat it before it's cooked!' Hermione scolded.
Harry grinned at her and swallowed. `Just making sure it's fresh,' he told her with a cheeky wink.
Hermione rolled her eyes. `Oh, yes, of course you are!'
Harry was reaching out for another piece of celery when a swooshing sound halted his hand. A dark brown owl flew out of the chimney and landed on the back of the stool next to Harry. It hooted and held out its leg and Harry removed the small scroll attached there. With another hoot, the owl flew back and up the chimney.
`It's from Ginny,' said Harry as his eyes scanned the note. `She's having a meeting with that Blakely fellow to try and sort things out. She didn't want to risk a meeting in office hours in case they lost their heads and Ida found out.' Harry looked up at Hermione and shrugged philosophically. `Looks like it's just you and me for dinner,' he told her, grinning; for some reason he found this a very agreeable prospect.
`That's if,' said Hermione, giving Harry's hand a light slap as it hovered over the bowl of chopped vegetables, `you leave anything for us to eat! Why don't you go and cook the rice and the chicken and stay away from the vegetables?'
Later, while they ate, Hermione - having successfully defended the remainder of the vegetables against Harry's repeated attempts to pinch them - asked him for more details about the injured Auror, Cleaver, and how he was managing.
`Fine,' Harry replied. `Once we knew what the spell was, the Healers were able to deal with it. The wizard that cast it is a bit of a puzzle, though.'
`How so?' asked Hermione, scooping up a forkful of rice.
Harry put down his knife and fork and leaning his arms on the table, he gazed across at Hermione.
`Have you ever come across the name, "the Dark One", during any of your research?'
Hermione frowned. `I'm not sure - it sounds vaguely familiar - why?'
`Well, it's just that I've found out that the wizard who attacked Cleaver was captured a couple of days ago. The Department was over the moon because they've been after him for quite some time, but in the end, they found him lying drunk and incoherent in an alley way. They simply picked him up - no fuss, no fight.'
Hermione looked at Harry inquiringly and he continued. `It's just that this wizard has been on the loose since the days of Voldemort - they've never been able to pin him down, he was always too fast and too clever. It's just so weird that virtually overnight he became a drunken idiot.'
`Maybe he saw the error of his ways, couldn't face his life of crime, and took to the bottle,' said Hermione, trying to sound serious.
Harry threw her a sardonic look. `What's even more peculiar is that once they sobered him up and gave him Veritaserum, he began babbling about evil and treachery as though they were terrible things and he was afraid of them.'
`Bit rich coming from him, don't you think?' chuckled Hermione.
`Exactly! But then he blamed it all on someone he called "the Dark One". He said that's who made him cast the spell - says the Dark One was inside his head, inside his mind. He kept begging the Aurors interrogating him to either given some Ogden's or Obliviate him.'
Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. `And did they?' she asked.
`Oh, no! He's committed too many crimes for them to risk wiping his memory. They're bribing him with whisky to get him to confess to all his wrongdoings and give them details and names.'
`That's rather cruel, isn't it?'
Harry nearly choked. `Hermione! The man's done horrendous things in his life-time - and you're worried about being cruel to him?'
`It just doesn't seem right to me. I know he's a criminal, but…'
Harry sighed. `If it makes you feel any better, he's getting some cheap whisky every night which he says he needs to sleep, but only if he gives them answers to the questions they ask him during the day.'
`He needs whisky to sleep?'
Harry nodded, his eyes darkening. `He says he can't bear the dreams.'
`Dreams?'
`He says he has nightmares that seem real. It's as though the contact with this Dark One's mind has opened up a conduit between them.'
Hermione's fork fell to her plate with a clatter and she stared at Harry.
Harry nodded grimly. `Sounds familiar, doesn't it?
`First thing Monday morning I'm researching this Dark One,' said Hermione, her eyes glowing with purpose.
As they cleaned up after dinner, Hermione ventured to ask Harry something that had been at the back of her mind since the previous Sunday at the Burrow.
`Harry, I've been waiting for a chance to ask you about something you said last Sunday.'
Harry laughed as he scraped the leftovers into a bowl. `Which thing is that? I think I unloaded a couple of dozen things on you, didn't I?'
Hermione laughed with him, covering the bowl and taking it to the fridge. `That's true, but there was one thing you said about Dean fancying Ginny. Do you remember?'
`Yeah. I've been noticing that every time Dean sees Ginny he seems a bit, well, flustered. Not much - I don't think Ginny notices, but I have. I'm just wondering whether he still has a thing for Ginny dating back to our schooldays. He was pretty taken with her then and maybe he's not over her.'
`Not over her? You think so?' asked Hermione, pausing on her way to the sink, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. `Those school romances - well, look at and Ron and me. Even Luna said that night at Hogwarts that she thought Ron and I were just a "school thing".'
`Ginny and I are a "school thing", aren't we?' asked Harry, peering at her over the top of his glasses.
Hermione's widened and her hand came up to cover her mouth for a second. `Oh, Harry - I didn't mean to imply, I mean I didn't think - don't think - it was just what Luna said about Ron and I -'
Harry put his hands on Hermione's shoulders and smiled reassuringly at her.
`It's all right, I know what you mean. Or what you don't mean…' This made them both laugh.
`So, I've just been wondering why you said you didn't care about Dean having feelings for Ginny?'
Hermione's question seemed to reverberate in the air as they stood there, Harry's hands still on her shoulders, looking at each other, all signs of mirth gone from their faces.
`Did I say that?' asked Harry quietly as he dropped his hands.
Hermione nodded, her expression showing concern and a curiosity she couldn't help feeling.
Harry frowned, his green gaze troubled. `Perhaps I meant I wasn't worried - that I know it won't change things with Ginny and me.'
`That must be what it is,' agreed Hermione - a shade too quickly, Harry thought.
Their gazes locked and Harry could see in Hermione's eyes that she'd said that simply to try and make him feel better.
`I should though, shouldn't I? Be worried, I mean. Ginny has spent a bit of time talking to him since he's moved in. She says it's because they both work in publishing, that they have that in common. What if it's more?'
`How do you feel about that?' asked Hermione, her apprehension clear in her eyes and tone.
Harry stared off into the distance over Hermione's shoulder as he tried to think about it all. Why aren't I worried? he asked himself. I should be, I know. Or jealous. But I'm not. Why? A cold, sinking feeling made his stomach feel like a large block of ice. Why aren't I jealous? Because I'm not - I don't feel anything about it all... No, that can't be right! Why? He glanced back at Hermione who was watching him, one slender eyebrow slightly raised, her eyes questioning. Harry shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear the confusion that seemed to have taken up residence. To hell with it! I don't want to think about this right now, anyway!
`Harry?' Hermione's anxious voice broke into his reverie. `Why don't we go for a walk? It'll help clear our heads.'
Harry brought his eyes back to focus on Hermione's face once more. `Good idea. Let's go. I'll do the dishes.' With that, he pulled his wand from the special side pocket on his jeans and waved it once.
`You can come and do that every night, Harry,' said Hermione with a grin. `You're actually quicker than I am!' As good as she was, Harry was quicker, having cleaned everything and put it back in its proper place with one sweep of his wand.
`Don't want you getting out of practice,' he told her, waggling his eyebrows at her and dodging the playful swipe she aimed at his arm as he said, `Come on, let's go for that walk.'
`Mmmm, I love summer,' murmured Hermione a few minutes later as she and Harry strolled along Ambling Row towards the High Street. As they walked, Harry found himself feeling as though he was setting out on some unusually magical journey, although he didn't bother giving any consideration as to why he was feeling this; he simply carried on, his heart as light as his step. Impulsively, he put a friendly arm across Hermione's shoulders, smiling down at her. `I love summer, too,' he agreed.
As they turned the corner and passed Grimley's Grocery Store, they came upon the elderly witch and wizard who lived in Ambling Rose Cottage, next door to the Nook. The tenants of the Nook often came across either or both of their neighbours in the garden when they were in their own garden hanging out their washing.
`Evening, dears,' said Mrs Mallum, while her husband nodded and smiled at them. `Lovely night for a romantic stroll, isn't it?' she finished with a twinkle in her eye.
Hermione giggled, while Harry immediately pulled his arm from around Hermione's shoulders, beset with an unfamiliar embarrassment and unable to think of anything to say.
`We're on our way home from the green,' Mr Mallum volunteered, `there's a small Muggle fair set up there this afternoon in case you're interested.'
`Oh, lovely!' exclaimed Hermione, peering along the street in the direction of the village green. `I think I can see some of the stands from here! We'll go and have a look around.'
Harry gave the couple a wave as they passed. Hermione laughed and moved closer, putting her arm through Harry's. `You're so funny sometimes, Harry,' she told him, amused by his embarrassed reaction. `I suppose we must have looked like a couple, so they just assumed we were.'
For some reason, Harry's heart began to race and, desperate to avoid talking about the Mallum's notion of them being romantically involved, he quickly changed the subject. `So, you want to go to the fair?'
`Oh, yes! I've always loved them since I was a little girl. You don't mind, do you?'
Harry found he couldn't resist the joyful glow in Hermione's eyes, even if he'd wanted to.
`Of course not,' he told her. `Not that I've ever been to any, but I'm certainly open to the experience.'
Hermione once again silently cursed the Dursleys for yet another experience they'd deprived their nephew of. Horrible, selfish people! she thought.
Harminster Leigh had an unusually large village green, due in no small part to the original, magical inhabitants who had enjoyed gatherings and important celebrations there and needed room to do it. As they crossed the street, Harry forgot all about his embarrassment and couldn't help but laugh at Hermione's exclamations of delight as her eyes darted around the green, alighting on many familiar sights from her childhood experiences with fairs.
They passed a small roundabout complete with traditional music as well as a cup-and-saucer ride filled with laughing, squealing children and the odd parent. When Hermione spotted a candyfloss stand she made straight for it; despite having had dinner, she insisted she wanted some because her parents, being dentists, had never allowed her to when she was little and it was something she'd always dearly wanted. Harry happily obliged, highly amused by Hermione's almost child-like delight in the spun sugar sweet, pulling pieces off and putting them into her mouth, lightly sucking the sticky residue from her fingers.
As they wandered past the various stalls, each offering chances to win various prizes, Harry stopped in front of a large, square stand that was packed with clear glass bottles obviously sitting on a raised platform, as the tops of the bottles were just below waist height. `This one looks easy,' said Harry confidently. The stand was about ten foot a side; some of the bottles had coloured liquid in them, but most of them held what looked like clear, plain water. The fat, cheerful stall operator greeted them heartily, assuring Harry he could win a prize for his lovely lady, his hand sweeping in the direction of a nearby wooden stand whose three tiers held a jumble of plastic and stuffed toys of various sizes.
`Er - not my lovely lady,' said Harry, then as though he'd slighted Hermione somehow, he hastily added, `I mean she is a lovely lady - just not mine.' It didn't help that his discomfort was again a great source of amusement for Hermione who was laughing, her arm still looped through his.
`If yeh say so,' the operator said amicably, although Harry was sure he could see scepticism in the man's eyes. He looked at Hermione, expecting some sort of support, but met only a deliciously amused smile and twinkling eyes. `Pay back,' she murmured as she moved even closer and he somehow knew she was thinking of the foot tickling episode from some weeks ago; for just an instant, he reflected on how things had changed between then and now. His reflection was abruptly interrupted by Hermione moving closer; Harry's heart begin to race madly at the feel of parts of Hermione pressed up against him that he'd previously not given a lot of thought although, being a man, he'd naturally noticed them…in a purely platonic way, of course…
`Well, now, if yeh c'n tear yer eyes from the lovely lady that ain't yeh lovely lady, I'll tell yeh if yeh get a ring on a yeller bottle, yeh get to choose from the top shelf an' if yeh get it on a blue bottle, yeh pick from the middle shelf. Three pounds for ten rings.'
Grateful for an excuse to extricate himself from Hermione regardless of how embarrassingly wonderful she felt, Harry asked, `What about that red bottle in the middle?' as he handed over his money then accepted the rubber rings handed to him.
`Ah, not an easy task an' hardly ever done, but not fer lack of tryin'! Yeh get a ring on that an' yeh get that!' said the fair man rather over-dramatically, pointing to the largest stuffed toy on the bottom shelf of the stand. It was a huge dog which vaguely resembled a St Bernard that looked as though it had been drinking from plastic brandy cask carried around its neck.
`Fancy that sitting on your bed?' Harry asked Hermione with a boyish grin, his discomfort pushed aside by a very normal masculine competitiveness. Hermione couldn't help but laugh again. `Harry, this isn't as easy as you think it is, believe me!'
`We'll see,' said Harry confidently as he aimed and threw his first ring. To his dismay, while the ring landed around the neck of the blue bottled he'd aimed for, it then bounced!
Hermione couldn't help but laugh at Harry's consternation as each ring in succession bounced off a blue or yellow bottle onto a neighbouring clear bottle. By the eighth ring, however, a very determined Harry had managed to get two rings on a coloured bottle, one on a blue one, one on a yellow.
The fair man stood there placidly, smiling at them, his arms crossed on top of his large stomach, appearing almost smug.
`Last one,' said Harry, glancing at Hermione. `Wish me luck.' Harry winked at her and Hermione tensed as she felt the tiniest of tingles in her arm nearest to Harry. Magic!
The ring landed fair and square on the red bottle. Harry gave a jubilant cry and punched the air in triumph.
The fat fair man looked appalled, then amazed and finally disgruntled and gave Harry a very suspicious look as he handed over the huge dog. Hermione was desperately trying to catch Harry's eye and glare at him, but he was deliberately not looking at her. Then, when they were out of earshot of the booth man, Hermione hissed, `You cheated Harry! How could you?'
It was Harry's turn to laugh as he shook his head. `Not really. Well, not totally, at any rate. Bouncing rings are cheating in my books! I just stopped the ring from bouncing. But it was my aim that got it on the bottle.'
Hermione rolled her eyes resignedly. `So what are you going to do with that thing?'
`Me? This is yours, Hermione!'
Hermione tried in vain to convince Harry to keep it for himself or give it to Ginny, but he wouldn't have it. He ducked behind one of the green's old chestnut trees and taking out his wand, quickly reduced the toy so that it would fit into his pocket. `I'll give it to you later,' he promised.
They wandered around after that, looking at the various stalls, although Hermione wouldn't let him play any more games.
`I can smell coffee and it smells wonderful,' sighed Hermione a while later as they passed a food stand with some rather rickety tables and bench chairs set up on a low wooden platform.
Harry agreed and they found a spare seat at one of the old and slightly wobbly tables after which he bought them a cup of coffee each. Without being fully aware of the reason, they were both caught up in the close, warm camaraderie that seemed to have permeated the evening, teasing aside, and they smiled at each other as they spontaneously touched their coffee cups in an informal toast.
`What an absolutely great night,' said Harry, deciding he couldn't feel happier or more contented than he did right at that moment.
`I agree,' breathed Hermione, smiling as she looked up at Harry. `Thank you so much for coming with me. It's been so much more fun being here with you.'
So much more fun being here with you. Harry gazed back at her, the reply that had been forming in his mind becoming stuck in his throat and he simply sat and stared at her. It was as though another kind of magic had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and was glittering in the air around them. During that small moment of time, while Harry gazed into Hermione's glowing eyes, he found himself tumbling through a cascade of sensations and emotions. His senses were heightened and he was suddenly struck with a sharp, penetrating awareness of being a man - and of Hermione being a woman. Hermione's perfume, the scent of her hair, her laugh - her smile - he absorbed them all and they were all so familiar, and yet now they were somehow altered through his own changed perception. What's going on? What's happening? Why am I feeling like this? What does it mean? Hermione, why am I suddenly so excruciatingly aware of you, of every tiny little thing about you? I don't understand! He felt baffled and mystified, followed by a bewildering desire to be somewhere else because sitting here with Hermione somehow felt - dangerous…
`Harry?'
Harry blinked. Dangerous? Hermione, dangerous?
`Harry, are you all right?'
Am I all right? I don't know, Hermione. Is it all right for me to suddenly be so aware of you? Is it all right for me to want to bury my face in your hair, to hold you - to -?
Hermione reached up and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. `Harry? What's wrong?'
Harry continued to gaze at her, his eyes glazed over, lost to his turbulent thoughts. Wrong? Is it wrong? I don't know! I don't understand what's happening! I don't understand any of this!
Hermione's grip on his shoulder tightened. `Harry! Please, are you all right?'
His eyes returned to focus on her. He nodded. The nod was a lie. He wasn't certain what he was, but he didn't think "all right" described it.
`Are you sure?' asked Hermione as she took her hand off his shoulder and dropped it to rest on Harry's forearm, her brow creased with concern.
Harry barely managed to contain the gasp that threatened to escape him as Hermione's hand came into contact with his bare skin. He stared down at her hand where it was resting lightly on his arm - his skin was tingling from her touch. It had never done that before, yet before he could begin to think why that was, his whole body was flooded with a very familiar sensation that had no business being caused by Hermione. Then a single word echoed resoundingly loudly in his head: No!
Harry knew he had to pull himself together and shook his head slightly as though to clear it, failing completely. `Sure? I'm sure,' he managed, although he couldn't look at her. His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears, as though his throat was lined with sandpaper.
`Maybe we should head for home,' Hermione ventured and Harry nodded quickly. Yes! Go home. Go to sleep! Wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a dream...
As they walked home, Hermione linked her arm loosely through his, chatting happily about the evening. She knew there was something wrong with Harry, but she also knew him well enough to know he would talk about it when he was ready. Harry struggled to act and sound normal but had no way of knowing whether he succeeded. He was grateful for Hermione's casual chatter, which needed only nods or smiles by way of acknowledgement. His internal turmoil threatened to overwhelm him every step of the way and he didn't know how he was managing to keep it at bay. When they reached the top of the stairs of the second floor and Harry knew he was only minutes from being alone, he was suddenly overcome with a strange kind of fear. He knew once he was alone he'd be at the mercy of the commotion within and he also knew there'd be no turning back from what he would find there - if he was brave enough to face it…
`Good night, Harry, and thank you again,' said Hermione. Concern was still dominant in her eyes as she looked up at him; he was gazing at the round, stained glass window at the top of the stairs. He turned to look at her when she spoke, a crooked grin in place, his green eyes guarded.
`Don't forget you can talk to me anytime,' Hermione told him, then some impulse took hold of her and she stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. With a last smile, she slipped into her flat leaving Harry standing stock still, staring at the shut door, his fingers unconsciously reaching up to touch the place where her lips had rested. Why did she do that? She might hug me a lot but she usually only ever kisses me on my birthday (`Happy birthday, Harry!'), on her birthday (`Thank you, Harry!) and at Christmas (`Happy Christmas, Harry!')…
Harry wasn't sure how long he stood there staring at Hermione's door, but eventually he remembered to turn around and walk across to let himself into his own flat. He muttered, `Lumos,' as he entered as well as a soft, `Hi, girl,' for Hedwig. He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep just yet, so he poured himself a glass of Ogden's and sat at the kitchen table. Hedwig watched him for a little while, but as he was just sitting and staring into space, she fluffed her feathers, put her head under her wing and went to sleep.
Harry caught the movement out the corner of his eye and felt envious of her ability to go to sleep. His mind felt stalled - he couldn't seem to match the speed of the maelstrom of thoughts as they spun around inside his head. Coherent thought eluded him.
Maybe if I start at the beginning, he wondered.
And just where is the beginning? asked another part of his mind.
I don't know, thought Harry, confused. And the beginning of what? What is it that's happened anyway?
What happened? Just concentrate - think hard. It'll come to you.
Right. It all started when we sat down for coffee. Or did it? I felt so good before we sat down for coffee. Although I felt really good after we sat down. I felt particularly good all night! Why?
You know the answer to that.
No, I don't! Harry felt something akin to panic rise within him.
There's no need to be afraid. Just think and remember…
He sensed the answer was sitting there and had been for some time, just waiting for him to simply acknowledge it. No! I'm not ready for this!
Ready for what?
Harry groaned, causing Hedwig to shuffle on her perch. There has to be a logical explanation for this!
There is.
He lifted his glass and as he dropped his gaze to look into it, he could see his reflection wavering in the amber fluid. Then he wasn't looking at anything as his thoughts turned inward and he found himself being swept along on a river of revelations, racing through memories and experiences from today and last week and last month…
The beginning. Did it begin the night Hermione told me and Ginny about Ron and Luna last Christmas? Was that the beginning? When she told me she didn't love Ron anymore? And that she felt Ron didn't love her anymore? Well, they do love each other, but not that way. Not like I love Ginny. He froze for an instant. Then he repeated the words to himself. I love Ginny. He felt no answering echo in his heart as the words sounded in his head, no desire or excitement - just, what? Warmth. Affection. He desperately tried to call up that feeling he'd once always experienced when he thought about Ginny. Fear trickled through him. It's gone! The trickle become a flood. I can't remember! I can't remember the last time I felt that! Why can't I feel it? What's happened to it? It can't just be gone! He tried again, but there was no quickening of his heart beat, no feeling of pleasure spreading through him, no feeling of anticipation - there was just a warm glow of remembrance, and love, but not the heart-racing kind; there was gratitude, too - he'd learnt a lot from Ginny. He felt a terrible, overwhelming sadness take hold of him as though he'd lost something infinitely precious. Ginny… Why haven't I noticed this loss? Of something that was so precious? He put his glass down and dropped his head into his hands. Ginny! What's wrong with me? Ginny! He forced his thoughts away from the icy knowledge that was settling into his very heart…only to find more questions beating insistently in his mind…
When did this happen? When did I lose…what? When did the end begin? The end of what? The answers to these strange questions seemed to be dancing tantalisingly at the outer edge of his consciousness, just out of his reach. He felt a strange reluctance to know what those answers were. But they moved inexorably closer. It was as though the questions that had formed in his mind were magnetic, drawing the answers to them against his will. He sat, unmoving, powerless to prevent the knowledge seeping into his mind. The knowledge that it was over… With a dragging, grey certainty, he knew that it was over. It was finished. And he felt an awful desolation take hold of his heart. Was this how you felt, Hermione, when you admitted to yourself you no longer loved Ron? He knew instinctively it was. It's as though a part of me has been ripped away without my permission! How did this happen without my knowing? How? And how can I tell her? I don't want to hurt her! I don't know if I can face her…
He felt a sudden urge to run to Hermione and ask her for advice - she would know what to do, she always knew. Hermione. A picture of her from that evening formed in his mind; she was smiling up at him as she pulled off a piece of the pink candyfloss and popped it into her mouth, taking a second to suck the sugary remains from her finger. It was followed by the memory of how she'd looked and how he'd felt when she'd moved so close to him he could feel - stop! he cried out desperately in his head.
As these images faded from his mind, he was able to follow the tracks they left behind; they took him through that night, the day of Dean's party, through all the myriad small moments in the last few weeks since he'd first learnt she no longer loved Ron, nor he her.
His mind pounced as though it knew. As though it had been waiting for these thoughts to surface. Yes! That moment was the real beginning! That was when somewhere inside him he realised she was free. Single. Available. Only he'd been blind. And now he understood that his resentment of Neville had been because while he, Neville, had been able to act on that, he, Harry, wasn't free to do so…
He let his arms and head sink to the table, his glass pushed aside. He felt as though he was made of lead and his heart was the heaviest of all. The sound of his heart beating pounded in his ears as desperate words echoed endlessly in his head…It can't be true! It can't be! Please, it can't be true… How? How did this happen? How can I stop this? And then foolishly: Perhaps I can Obliviate myself so I don't remember any of this. His shoulders shook in a self-deprecating laughter that held no mirth or joy. Because he knew there was no going back. He could feel the absolute inevitability of his situation permeate him. It had already become such an integral part of him without him ever being aware of it, that he knew he would never be able to erase it.
Why do you keep saying "it"? Why can't you say what you really mean? What you know you mean?
No!
Don't be afraid of the truth. You never have been before.
Harry moaned softly. He felt as though he was standing on the brink of a precipice and that once he took that final step, he would be in a very different place and he knew he would never be the same. His life would never be the same. And he would never be able to return to the way his life had been - to the way he had been. He knew then that he was in the throes of desperate denial… I'm afraid to admit it. I don't want to say it to myself because while I don't, while I choose not to recognise it or name it, I feel as though I still have some control over myself - my life…
And yet he knew, somehow, that facing the knowledge lodged in his mind and in his heart was as inevitable as sunrise and sunset - and just as inescapable. He remained there, his head on his arms, perfectly still, knowing he was experiencing the final moments of denial. And when he could no longer prevent it, as he finally allowed the words to form in his mind, he felt the fear and anguish leave him for the space of the few seconds it took to say them to himself: I love you, Hermione. And then he felt himself plunge into despair because he knew he would never be able to tell her, he knew that his love could not possibly ever be returned…
TO BE CONTINUED…
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