Ideal Illusions

His Distraught

He thought he had reached a bottom. One that he could not seem to escape from, since it chained him there. And his position in the bottomless hole didn’t seem to be improving anytime soon. Instead he could feel the closure of the opening becoming even closer. Until it loomed over him and closed up tightly. Never letting him see. Never letting him bask into the light wonders.

Every time he caught a glimpse at her features, his insides recoiled. He didn’t want to be reminded of this. At the whole unrequited love issue.

Any glance tossed his way would mock him. Her worried gaze did nothing to improve his mood. She would do nothing more than worry about him. And that emotion he could not stand.

Why couldn’t she come up to him? Why couldn’t she let her lips linger above his? Why could she not at least feel the same way he did?

Did he not have enough problems in his life than to have this tossed in front of his face. And to make him positively emotionally distraught?

Silently he breathed in more oxygen. His fingers relaxed his hold over his quill. He shut his eyes and basked in the silence that accompanied him. His breathing tuned out the scratching of quills and the shuffle of parchment.

His hand was then covered by her own. Her soft and angelic hand. Still he did not dare open his eyes. He did not dare to come back and uphold that dreaded façade he had come to detest.

“Harry. Is there something wrong?”

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. No, nothing was wrong. Nothing could ever go wrong. Besides these constant life threats and the new conflict that enthralled his heart.

“Harry,” her voice was laced with exasperation and sadness. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked her over with nothing that could dictate what he was feeling inside.

“What do you mean? I am talking to you now. Am I not?”

She looked dejected and her shoulders slumped over.

“You know very well what I mean. I can just cry from the pain your neglecting me is causing me. Can’t you see Harry? You’re hurting both of us.”

He could see her eyes now glittering with tears that she reluctantly held back. After seeing it for a few seconds, he couldn’t stand it and looked downcast at the parchment he had been writing on.

“Pain. Hermione you know nothing about pain.”

What did she know about pain. Did she experience that clenching deep in the recessives of his heart? The one whose burn ached horrendously at every turn of reality. And those that involved her, those realization points that she wasn’t his.

“Pain,” she muttered to him. “Are you so confident that I know nothing on the meaning of that word.”

Those words didn’t faze him. A deep gut wrenching feeling was forming in the bottom of his stomach. He wanted to truly tell her about these new dilemmas so she would be there to help him. Like the times they had before. Where they would triumph over whatever obstacle that got in their way. But this feeling. This conflict.

It was different.

Vaguely he felt his fingers entwine with hers. He leaned his body forward and reached across the library table.

He felt her body stiffen, yet she did nothing more to discourage his closeness to her.

“There is so much you don’t know Hermione. So many indescribable feelings that flit through my mind. And never let me sleep, they never grant me any rest.”

He saw her brows furrow in her forehead; her expression showed that she was confused. She then reached towards him and met his stare halfway across the table.

“What is this about Harry?”

Her question resounded in his head. Over and over.

There were so many complications to this problem that it was quite simple actually.

He thought that he possibly might love her.

Yet, he didn’t want to jump to that conclusion. Oh, he never would allow himself to step over those bounds. It would be too much. For him and for her.

And did he really need this?

Did he have to have her concerned eyes turned on him every time and yet have them never truly consent the fact of why she should be concerned in the first place?

“Hermione!”

Both of them jumped apart from each other. His fingers loosened their hold on hers. He felt that ache in his chest again. That dreaded solitary feeling.

“Andrew,” her surprised tone made him shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see this display.

“Why are you here?” He heard her question the intruder. Her boyfriend.

“I just decided to drop by the library and saw you here.”

He disgustingly turned away from them. That crack in his heart was getting wider. Deeper.

“So you finally had enough brain cells to rub together to discover that there is indeed a library.”

In the abyssal parts of his conscience, he was astonished to have those words roll off his tongue.

And accordingly the others present were as well. Hermione stared at him shocked, while Andrew blinked furiously.

Harry stood up and grabbed his book bag. Quickly he stuffed the parchment he was writing on previously in. His fingers smudged the glossy ink. But at the moment this did not distract him.

“I’ll see you later Hermione.” Then he nodded his head at the stupefied boy to the left of her.

Without another word he marched his way to the exit. He passed the astounded faces of the people who overheard him.

As he passed the looming library doors, his marching broke into a desperate run. His legs beat down on the ancient stone floor, and his book bag slammed into his side at every swing.

Adrenaline pumped into his veins, and the anger that started off so quietly acted as a catalyst. His nostrils flared out as his lungs demanded for more air.

He stopped abruptly and bent down, trying to catch his breath. The sling off his book bag slipped off and plopped down to the floor.

“Turned quite into a drama queen have you?”

Harry lifted his head and gave a disgruntled look at Ron.

“What do you want?”

Ron walked towards him and picked up the discarded book bag. He sighed and ran his hands over the side of his face in exasperation.

“I want my best mate back.”

Harry turned away from him and stared down at the abandoned corridor.

“Well what the hell am I then?” Harry stomped his foot down to emphasize his annoyance.

“You are certainly not him.” Ron continued despite Harry’s furious stare. “I don’t know what has been going on with you lately Harry. First you have your little hissy fits last year, then you come back all closed off.”

Harry leaned back on the grimy stone wall and merely raised an eyebrow at Ron’s exclamations.

“Closed off?” Harry questioned him.

“Yes, you show no emotions and almost want nothing to do with us.”

Harry returned to having a staring contest with the mildew that was creeping in a crack along the wall.

“- Hermione and I have been talking – ”

The anger consumed his insides once again. His hands clenched into fists, so tightly that his knuckles were turning a whitish hue.

“So you two have been talking again. All behind my back, without me! What is it now? Huh, answer me now Ron! What can you two possibly be discussing that I can’t handle?!?”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but Harry decided he didn’t want to hear it. He was tired off this constant bull shit. Tired of all these problems that plagued him every second of his existence.

Harry shook his head at Ron. Then simply walked away from him and the whole world, if only for a moment.