Summary: What really keeps Harry going?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter related. I'm just borrowing the characters.
Author's Note: A short, un-beta-ed, drabble, or something like it. Hope you enjoy. Also, if you take the time to read it, I'd appreciate it if you'd take a couple more seconds to review it. Thanks.
"Harry," Ron said, as he collapsed onto his bed, "how do you do it?"
Harry, whom was already lying on his own bed, looked through the darkness toward Ron. "What do you mean?"
"How to you get up every morning knowing what you have to face?" Ron asked, a note of awe in his voice. "Every day you have to handle school work, training for what's to come, and the rest of life, and the whole time, you never know if it's going to be the day he shows up."
"You face all those things, too, Ron," Harry said, simply.
"Not since I was eleven," Ron replied, quickly. "If it were me, I'd have stopped getting out of bed in the morning long ago. I don't know what keeps you going."
Harry's mind immediately drifted to what he looked forward to seeing every morning: her smile.
Then he thought of everything else he looked forward to every day, everything that made it worth getting out of bed, each one involving her somehow.
Stolen glances at her when she wasn't paying attention. The way, these days, only she was able to make him laugh until his sides ached. How her eyes sparkled right before she figured out the answer to a problem. How beautiful she looked even when she wasn't trying. The flip flop his stomach did whenever she made contact with him. The way he always knew he could go to her when he needed help. The way she always did everything she could to help him. How she always hugged him before going to bed every night. How sometimes she'd press her lips to his cheek, causing him to forget all his problems for a few moments. The way she was able to keep him believing in himself. The way she kept him strong. The way being around her just felt right.
She was the reason he kept fighting. Whenever he considered just giving up trying to save the world, his thoughts turned to her, and he knew he had to keep going.
Hermione was his inspiration, his extra push and his drive.
Harry looked over and Ron. He wanted to tell him what really kept him pushing on, but he knew he couldn't. He could never tell anyone how Hermione made him feel. There were too many complications.
Harry was sure Ron stilled like her, and he wasn't at a time in his life where he could risk Ron getting mad at him. Besides that, if Voldemort ever found out about Harry's feelings for Hermione, it would put her in even more danger, and he cared about her too much to do that. But the biggest reason, Harry thought, was how helplessly in love with her he felt. To tell her how much he loved her would be like handing her his heart without even knowing if she felt the same way at all. Harry was afraid that if he did that she would take his heart and tear it into a million pieces. The very thought of telling Hermione made Harry's insides flutter uncomfortably.
In his opinion, he had no other choice. He had to keep his feelings hidden from everyone. It was his little secret. If he kept it hidden, burning inside of him, and kept fighting, eventually he'd be able to tell her, and that made it all worth it.
"It's just something I have to do," he whispered into the darkness. "I don't have a choice."