Got it All Wrong
Homework done - last minute on a stormy Sunday night, of course - and Harry walked slowly back to the portrait hole, books tucked under his arm. He had, he mused, been spending a lot of time in the library – anywhere that meant he wasn't stuck with a furious Hermione or a singularly boring Won-won and Lav-lav double act. Harry had to admit that sixth year wasn't quite turning out as he'd imagined.
"Maybe they won't be there," he thought hopefully as he absently spoke the password, "Maybe we'll get a peaceful night for -" He stopped dead.
Ron and Hermione were screaming at each other from opposite ends of the common room. Lavender, apparently, had smartly quit the scene. And she was smart – to the point of calculating, Harry often thought. But that consideration would have to wait, as Ron was stood directly in front of the boys' dormitories.
Resigned, Harry slumped into a chair in the corner of the room, trying to ignore his building headache. Neither of his best friends had even noticed him.
He'd heard it all before – the same argument, over and over again. The minutes ticked by far too slowly. Just as Harry was beginning to consider sticking his head in the fireplace, Ron came out with something new:
"You're jealous! I was stupid not to see it before! Of us both – me 'cause Lav and the others still don't really accept know-it-alls like you, and of Lav because…" a slimy grin spread across his face: "You want me!"
Harry span in his chair to see Ron's smile. Hermione's expression, aflame with passionate fury just a second ago, was blank; impossible to read.
He had to admit, it seemed Ron – he who had the emotional range of a teaspoon – had finally found the right answer. Harry had suspected the same for ages – but Hermione, he knew, was as expert at hiding her true feelings.
She began to speak, her face now twisted into a stormy mask – and what she said wasn't exactly what Harry had expected: "You fool. You stupid, ridiculous, self-obsessed, ginger pillock," Hermione said darkly, "It's not some kind of jealousy…it's your stupidity! Your vulnerability. You've got it all wrong." She continued and, as she noticed Harry hiding in his corner, added "Both of you."
And they watched dumbly as she span and departed upstairs to the peace of her dormitory. Well, that was interesting…
Ron had long gone up to bed. Harry supposed he should too, only – well, he was thinking.
Hermione's words had carried a steely tone that he knew well. She'd spoken with sincerity as she'd completely denied thinking of Ron that way. And what did she mean, "your vulnerability"? It seemed that he would never figure her out - if she wasn't angry over jealousy for Ron, then why?
Harry didn't know the answer.
Hermione was fuming. She should have fallen asleep long ago, but she was far too angry at Harry and Ron. At herself.
Why did she lose control like that? She'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't interfere. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. But then, just because she wasn't going to try and rescue Ron from Lavender, didn't mean she had to like it.
He was so pigheaded! He refused to see Lavender for what she was; instead he made it all about him as usual. She snorted quietly. So insecure…
And Harry! Her best friend was about as much use as a fart in a colander! She would have loved him to come to her aid; just to be there, those deep, bottle green eyes reassuring her… but then, she thought quickly, he didn't see either.
"Argh!" she groaned, rolling out of the stifling bed. She couldn't stay in here. Barefoot, immune to the cold draught on her exposed arms and legs, she staggered over to the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room.
I can at least get ahead in Arithmancy… Although the numerical magic was, for once, the last thing on Hermione's troubled mind. She descended half-heartedly, quickly surveying the silent tower. And suddenly noticed a familiar form sat in Harry's chair by the fire.
"Hey," he said gently.
Harry had long come to the conclusion that he'd need to talk to Hermione to ever get this riddle straightened out. Just as he thought absently that perhaps he should turn in, he heard a noise from the girls' stairs.
He knew who it was. Maybe I've always known it would come to this, murmured an incomprehensible voice in his mind. What?
But as she came into his line of sight, Harry spoke.
"Hey." Some part of him couldn't help noticing how beautiful Hermione looked. Her hair, less boring brown and more dark caramel and tawny, was tousled and messy; oddly sensuous. Her soft brown eyes weren't bleary and dull; they still met his with bright intelligence, deep emotion.
He blushed slightly as he realised Hermione was wearing only shorts and a thin vest top. Her arms and legs were long, slim and lean, with a light and even tan from her past holidays abroad. His eyes found hers again.
For a second there was unconcealed suspicion in her strong gaze, but it softened as she sank onto the small two-seater sofa in front of the still smouldering fire. Harry came and sat next to her.
He stayed silent; Hermione would speak when she wanted to. It took a few minutes.
"Ron," she spoke quietly, her eyes resting on the remains of the fire; not looking at Harry close beside her, "is a foul git, and a greedy pig, and whatever else. But he's so naïve. So trusting.
"He doesn't realise that I only think of him as a friend. There's only been one person whom I've ever thought of seriously like that…"
Harry thought of fourth year, of Viktor Krum; and he felt a wry pity for Ron.
"He doesn't understand that I just don't want him hurt. Either of you." She looked into his eyes as she spoke next, causing an odd sensation in Harry's stomach. "There are things I know about Lavender that she wouldn't want Ron to hear about. I thought it was best…" Her iron resolve seemed to waver as he studied her anguished face.
And Harry understood; typical Hermione! She'd do anything to protect her friends – he had witnessed that so many times in the past…why on earth hadn't it been his first conclusion now?
"I've got it all wrong," he said slowly.
"Yes," his best friend whispered. "I don't want to see Ron get hurt by Lavender. But… it's not my place to ruin her life here either."
"Why didn't you tell me, Hermione?" Harry asked gently in the dying firelight. He hesitantly reached out, brushed her hair back from her still sorrowful features. It was like satin at his touch. She was so beautiful…what am I thinking?
"Harry, you've got a lot to deal with now," Hermione's voice penetrated his racing thoughts. She took the hand that still rested on her hair. "You didn't need that to worry about too."
He shook his head, bemused. Even after five years at his side, Hermione would never be simple, predictable. And he loved her for it…
Do I? Harry thought suddenly, his heart pounding. She was the only girl that had ever treated him normally, had been herself for him. Over his teenage years, since discovering who he was, it had always been Hermione there. She had made so many sacrifices for him – even when there had been no one else to lean on. A life without her, Harry couldn't bear to envisage. I do.
"So," he asked casually, not allowing the new emotions he was feeling to surge into his voice, not even thinking of how Hermione would interpret such a shift in conversation; "Are you still in touch with Viktor?"
"What?" Hermione spoke distractedly, turning back to him. She still had hold of his hand, and Harry was suddenly, intensely aware of how close she was. Who said anything about…Viktor…Krum." It was as though she had only just realised what words were escaping her mouth – an odd expression passed over her features.
"The only guy you thought of as… more than a friend?" Harry spoke lightly, carefully. Not permitting dreadful hope to puncture his voice. She didn't respond.
But as Harry saw her reaction, he knew. He saw their years together; and for just one moment in his life, he understood Hermione Granger completely. He spoke as if in a trance: "It wasn't him. Not at all." By God, he thought dazedly, have I got it all wrong.
She looked so beautiful, open; so vulnerable, as hope filled her striking eyes. Harry took her delicate chin in his slightly trembling hands. He tilted it upwards, scarcely daring to breathe. He drank in every detail greedily.
But it was Hermione who brought their wavering lips together, who wrapped her slender arms around his neck, who pressed herself against him. Who felt his arms around her narrow waist. His eyes were closed, and she was all he was aware of…
After an eternity, they regretfully broke apart. "Four years," Hermione said breathlessly as Harry's forehead rested on hers, "Four years I've waited for this."
Even now, Harry had to admire her. He had never known someone so adept at hiding their feelings. "Since second year?"
"Yes…" She tried to avoid his eyes. "I thought… after we rescued Sirius together… that maybe you didn't want me that way. I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor to try and move on. To prove that my feelings were nothing," A slight smile flickered on her lips as she continued, "And besides, keeping you alive became slightly more important that enchanting you into my arms after the Triwizard Tournament."
"Hermione – I didn't know. Not until now, that I've realised how supremely brilliant and amazing and selfless and perfect you are. But I think it's always been there. For me."
"Oh, Harry; what a pair we make…"
He didn't respond. Their lips met again…
Regretfully she pulled away. "Harry, I have to sleep you know. We can't all be the Chosen One," she teased.
"You're my Chosen One."
"It's not going to work, Harry!" a smile spread across her delicate features. "I must go."
He watched her walk slowly to the dormitories; something occurred to his still stunned brain: "Hermione, what has Lavender done?"
She paused. "Harry," Hermione sounded genuinely regretful, "I don't think I should tell you… I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight…my Chosen One." All of the love he felt resounded in Harry's voice; and a dazzling, goofy smile stretched across this face. For the first time all year, he felt truly content.
Sleep came much easier to Hermione then – even if it was past four o'clock in the morning. But in the seconds before she fell into a complacent slumber, she remembered the evidence of Lavender's duplicity; and a slight frown marred those features.
The large amounts of Galleons, shoved hastily under the girl's bed, along with letters – those of young and wealthy paramours; her fraudulence clear to a perceptive Hermione…
But what should she do? It's not my duty to babysit Ron anymore, she thought suddenly, clearly; her last thought before entering peaceful dreams.
Four hours later, and it was time for breakfast in the Great Hall – though the attractive couple hesitated before the majestic entrance.
Hermione squeezed Harry's hand: "Time to face the music."
Harry looked slightly ill. "Between defeating Voldemort and revealing us to the entire school, I think I'll take old Voldy."
"Nonsense! Come on – we'll have to face them sooner or later."
However, even she was intimidated at the sudden silence that followed their unmistakable arrival at the Gryffindor table. Harry couldn't resist; he leaned over and kissed her tenderly.
"Pass the marmalade," called Neville loudly and, as Harry and Hermione sank onto the inviting bench, only one voice was clear to Harry; as Ron Weasley murmured in secret from his place next to a very sour Lavender, "The best man won."