This is the uneditted version of this fic. Hope you enjoy reading it. It took me quite a long while to finish it. I love reading comments so, don't hesitate to mail me or give me an owl. :) Constructive criticisms are very much appreciated. ^_^
Disclaimer: The centered italicized lines are from the lyrics of the song Friend Of Mine by Ms. Odette Quesada, which was later revived by Ms. Lea Salonga. As for everything related to Harry Potter, well… You know who they belong to. Unfortunately, they're not mine. In case you still have no clue, it's JKR's.
Do Read & Review! ^_^
------- A CAMOUFLAGED CONNECTION ---@
They entered the bookshop for the second time that day. They had already done their schoolbook shopping for the coming school year but had just returned because she insisted on coming back.
"Why are we here again?" He waved his hands waist-high only to drop them back down when the person behind their 'return' disappeared behind one of the shop's well-polished wooden bookshelves.
"I reckon you ought to rest your case Ron." Harry placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. He leaned closer and whispered. "It is, as my mirror annoyingly comments on my hair every morning, a losing battle."
Ron glared at his friend but smiled a half-smile. He knew it was a losing battle of course. It had after all been five years since they had all become friends.
Friends. It's really interesting how people become friends. A simple 'hi', a simple 'hello'…
"Hey Ron, I'll just go to the other side for a while, alright?" said Harry as he patted his friend's shoulders. "And, wish me luck!"
… A warm smile and a little chat…
Ron nodded as his friend gave him a wink. Not knowing what else to do and at the same time lost in his thoughts, he entered the aisle to his right which was towered by two tall bookshelves. He busied himself by scanning through the books to see which titles would appeal to him. He continued to walk and scan through the different sized books, until he saw a large red book right above his head entitled Spark.
… And then, the spark – two people had suddenly connected. And the magic of friendship starts to unfold…
He reached for the thick book and pulled it out of the unbelievably dust-free shelf. It created a gap large enough for half of his face to fit. He placed the three-pound book flat on his left hand while his right hand flipped through the pages. He ceased his nonchalant browsing when a black-and-white image caught his attention.
… But, how does one differentiate such a connection? When does a strong feeling for a friend turn to this inexplicable feeling they refer to as love?
He stared at the charcoal image of a man and a woman dancing atop the clouds, with the large full moon illuminating their space. Then, he thought of her – her warm smile, her uncanny obsession with everything about Hogwarts, her worried face every time they battle danger, her relaxing sighs, her every moment with him. A smile was blooming on his face.
Maybe that's it. It's inexplicable. One just simply knows.
He traced the entrancing picture with his finger. His blissful reminiscing was terminated when the caption below the painting pierced his eyes, and ultimately, his heart: "The Finale: Forever treasured in the best man's heart was last dance with his beloved, the newly wed bride."
A picture is indeed worth a thousand meanings. And words… Words are devious angels of death who can take a miserable man's only life source into the very thing that kills him.
The glimmer in his eyes that was present seconds ago morphed into shining lonely tears. He shut the book and looked away. Damn, he thought as his eyes landed on a green book entitled Facing Reality.
It's unfair how words and reality can take sides. They're the sweetest thing for the happy, and the sharpest dagger to those in misery.
"I know alright!" he murmured in anger as he glared towards the ceiling. She isn't mine. She never was. And she…
"Hey Ron, can you give me a hand over here?"
Ron swallowed his sadness and looked up at the gap to see the woman in his mind. "Yeah…" He managed to give a friendly smile. "Sure."
"Really Hermione," said Ron as he approached the girl looking up at the shelf, in the middle of the aisle. "Haven't you bought all your books this morning?"
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I told you, this is for the extra reading I've got to do for my Arithmancy class."
"But you've bought three books for that class already!"
He was always her critic. He questions the things she does – her choice of words, her way of thinking, her preferences. It was logic versus practicality between them. Sometimes the logical meets the practical…
"Are you going to help me or should I just look for Harry?" Hermione placed a hand on her hips and raised her left eyebrow in a fretful way.
Ron looked up and let out a resigned sigh. "Where's the book?"
… Other times, they don't; or perhaps, they just don't matter. How can they matter when those involved are blinded and deafened by certain preoccupations of the mind… or of the heart…
"Actually, I'm not sure." Hermione turned her head and pointed at the row of stacked books four feet above her head. "I think it's somewhere there… I couldn't read the titles; they're too far."
Ron nodded his head. "I'll go get the ladder."
"That's good," she absent-mindedly said as her eyes squinted and darted back and forth the row of books high above her head. Hardly seeing anything, Hermione took a step back… and another… and another, until… THUD!
Four thin but large hardbound books crashed on the floor a second after she hit the shelf behind her. She immediately picked up the books and searched the row where it fell from. Reasoning dictated her to place the books back on the spacious row parallel to her head. It was only after she stacked the four books into place when she noticed the book preceding the ones she arranged.
… Reasoning was a common denominator with being logical and being practical. It is a method by which one decides or arrives at a conclusion on which is logical or which is practical…
Her furrowed head eased up, as a reminiscent smile crawled on her face. This was the book where she first heard of his name, of his fame, of his greatness. She pulled out the book and enthusiastically opened it to the chapter discussing the famous Harry Potter.
"At the age of one, in his innocent state, young Harry Potter tasted the bitterness of death and sorrow… Leaving but a scar behind, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named vanished into oblivion as the Boy-Who-Lived rose into fame. It was a battle where winning was not an option for the two contenders. Demise was the very intangible prize…"
These were the passages that intrigued her of the famous boy. She leaned against the majestic shelf as her thoughts brought her back to the same place five years ago. She took and read almost every book that told about that amazing boy. She built an image of him in her mind – how he must have looked, spoken, and acted. She glanced at the sketch of a baby with a lightning bolt scar on his head.
… But reasoning does not always give an answer. Instead, it leads you to other questions, other queries, other possibilities. Imagination, as they say, has something to do with it. The mind then faces a dilemma, and the heart meddles in…
"Blimey," said Ron as he positioned the ladder against the opposite shelf. "This ladder's quite a bit of the – oh no!" He pointed and gaped at the old book held by the lass in front of him.
"What?" said the distracted Hermione. She traced her friend's gaze and suddenly shook her head. "Oh, this isn't the book, but it's a rather interesting one. Did you know that this was the book where I first heard of his name? I used to imagine that he was like this super wizard who would just stare at something and then, a spell would be cast. Of course I was mistaken, and I found out the real deal but, still…"
… What's curious is that, the heart doesn't really give an answer. It doesn't even tell which is logical or which is practical. Instead, it offers another choice for one to weigh…
"Right," he said as he looked away from her dreamy smile. He held the ladder and tried to examine the books above. "What were you looking for again?"
"Uh, Traversing the Unseen," she replied. "I wasn't able to get the author. Oh, and get the fourth edition. There are additional footnotes there."
"Good thing Harry & I didn't take this subject."
"Where is Harry anyway?"
… There really isn't wrong or right in the choice offered by the heart. Only, there's pain and less pain, to one's self and to those involved, to choose from. One would think that it's a 'lose-lose' situation. But really…
He stared blankly at the pile of books. She was craning her neck over the passing people in the center aisle.
… It's just a matter of perception… courage to make a change… and acceptance of what cannot be changed.
"He's…" he began.
"… with your sister," she finished.
"What?" asked the perplexed Ron.
"Yeah, he's with Ginny." Hermione skimmed inattentively through the pages of the old book. "They're uh, back, uh… Near the stairs…"
Her heart accelerated beating. Funny, she thought. I thought the pulse slows down when one's dying. I guess not.
Ron saw her sister talking gleefully with his best friend. Both seemed happy. Finally, he thought. He was about to heave a content sigh, but he saw the girl below him, flipping through the book uncharacteristically. Ginny and Harry… this is supposed to be good, and I'm supposed to be happy for my sister; but why… The content sigh morphed into heavy ones. "Hermione…"
"Did you find the book?" she immediately cut in.
"No, bu-"
"It might be in the next column." She closed the old book and placed it back on the shelf. "Just-"
"Hermione!"
"Harry!" she said, a little surprised that the person in her thoughts had just appeared behind her. "I – where's Ginny?"
"She went upstairs with her friends." He sounded cautious, curious, and concerned… For whom the concern was, she never got to know. "You… saw us?"
She let herself, with some pain, smile. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"Well…" He glanced at Ron, and then looked back at Hermione. "I… There isn't anything to tell…"
"That's my sister you know," spoke Ron from above.
"Ron," Hermione patiently said. "Don't make me give you that speech again. Ginny's capable of handling herself. Besides," she hesitantly looked at Harry. "It's Harry were talking about."
"I wasn't–"
She raised an eyebrow at him. He withdrew his case, even before he presented it. She was wrong, but he dared not tell. I wasn't protecting my sister. He returned to his search. I was protecting you…
"Hey," Harry said, looking from one friend to another. "I'm not going to be the root cause of your fight."
"What fight?"
"'Course you're not!"
She glanced at Ron before softly saying, "He's just worried. You know him. He doesn't want Ginny to get hurt. Again."
"You know I won't do that."
She nodded and smiled comfortingly, but with a hint of sorrow he didn't catch.
"Not that I'm admitting anything."
"Mate, you're busted." Ron lightly said. "Better speak now before I force you to."
The aisle was showered with chuckles.
"It was the picnic at the Burrow," she let her eyes meet his glowing ones. "Wasn't it?"
"Well, yeah." There was more color on his face than usual. "When I heard that she…"
She listened to his every word. She watched how his eyes twinkled when he recalled how she tucked her hair and how she infectiously laughed; how his lips seemed to be stuck with a shy but happy smile when he told her of how she pinched his heart when she cried.
"And, when we talk – no," he said, a dreamy look still in his eyes. "When I'm with her, it just seems that the burden I feel from everything that had happened – they just disappear."
At these words, she felt her heart fall down on her feet. She took her eyes away from him like the Killing Curse takes life away from its victims. For a second shut it close hoping to close away the enveloping reality.
So that was it… The blazing light of understanding hit her mind and her fallen heart.
"She relieves me of those pains, the way…" he paused trying to catch the right words.
"The way I—" she softly filled in. "we, never could."
From atop the ladder, he looked down at his friends. He saw his best mate gaping at her last words. And he saw her, blinking away the storm forming in her eyes.
He grabbed the book she was looking for and slowly, quietly went down.
"Here, I got the book," Ron said wearing his usual casual, disillusioned smile.
"Thanks," she replied, smiling and taking the book from Ron. She was glad to finally have a concrete distraction from that awkward feeling growing inside her.
"It's not," Harry tried to explain.
Hermione looked at Harry, and nodded her head. "I know," she spoke soothingly. For her own and everyone's sake, she decided to exit her morose dilemma. "We understand, right Ron?"
Catching on with Hermione's change in aura, Ron glowered at his now cowering friend before easing up his face. "There's a good pastry shop that's just opened here last week." He placed a hand on the shoulders of his sister's special one. "Ginny loves their specialty."
Harry looked at the pair skeptically. "Are you guys insinuating that I–"
"Make your move before someone here changes a mind." She smiled genuinely at her friend.
"You really think so?" He wasn't sure if it was a question of permission or of approval or even of concern for the two seemingly affected people.
"Of course." Hermione patted his back and smiled.
"Yeah, Harry," Ron glanced at Hermione, then at Harry. "Of course."
"Thanks you guys." Harry placed an arm on their shoulders, beaming widely as they went towards the counter.
Meanwhile, a floor above, leaning against the wall was a young man in a dark suit supposedly reading a book. His silvery gray eyes however were focused way below the book where the three teenagers were walking past. His face, though perfectly contoured and containing only three distinct shades could only be described as 'unpaintable.' He looked at the smiling faces of the tall redhead, the book-carrying witch – Mudblood – and the gleeful lad. Changes in their expressions were devious, for their eyes, he noted, marked a constant.
People see what they want to see. So they say. But sometimes, in certain situations, people actually see what they need to and must see – the true form of reality.
He shut his book and snappily turned his head away. He shook his head and sneered. Glancing back, he saw her dwindling smile. His heart thumped heavily against his chest.
"Bullshit." Draco Malfoy pushed himself from leaning before swiftly walking towards the other side of the bookstore.