"How does it feel, Harry? When you see Dean with Ginny?"
"Oh, ummm..." I can't think of a way to describe it. This empty feeling. Like somebody put a rock where my heart should be and ran away with the real thing.
"I know. I see the way you look at her. You're my best friend."
Just then, Lavender and Ron come bursting in, Lavender giggling madly.
"Oops. I think this room's taken." She clutches Ron's arm tightly, as if making sure that he's hers, hers forever. Then she yanks away, off to find another room where they can do...whatever they're doing.
"What's with the birds?" Ron's clueless. Hermione stands up.
"Oppugno," she says, with some sort of detached emotion. The yellow canaries go flying at Ron, crashing into the wall behind him. As he walks away, she sits down and sobs.
"It feels like this," I tell her. This broken hearted feeling, like a monster in your chest is eating you inside and out. She knows. I draw her closer, and we sit there, two broken hearts who are nothing. We sit there for a long time, each of us drawing comfort in the other.
We know what it feels like, to see them with another, happy with them. I would do anything for that to be me, kissing her, touching her, holding her hand. I know Hermione would, too.
"You're not too late." The words come unbidden, flying out of her mouth. "She still loves you." I blink, surprised. Oblivious, she keeps on talking, as if she must confess this before it eats her alive. "I told her that you'd pay more attention to her if she wasn't always so shy and completely lovestruck. I told her to date around, spend time with somebody other than you. It's my fault."
"That's not true. It would have happened eventually. She would have moved on." I tell her this truthfully. It would have happened. "But this..." I gesture around. "This is my fault. Lavender wouldn't like Ron if I hadn't faked the Felix Felicis, and he hadn't won. I shouldn't have faked it. Then we wouldn't be in this position. Quidditch isn't an excuse to do this."
"Don't be a fool, Harry. We need to win the House Cup. This isn't your fault."
"Then this isn't your fault."
"All right." She stands up, and I take her hand. "Come on."
We don't ever speak of it again