Genre: Romance/Angst (slight)

Pairing: Harry/Hermione

Rating: About PG – 13ish (for the slightly dark mood and some mild cursing)

Summary: Character study. In times like these, she wonders how she fits into the picture at all.

A/N: I've been playing around with different styles. This is written in second person and I could really use some feedback on the format. Is third or first person really any better or worse? And does present or past tense make a real impact on the way a story is told? Whatever you think, let me know.

Feedback: Of course. (Also: see above note)

Am I a fool to think that's there's a little hope
Tell me baby
What are the rules, the reasons and the dos and don'ts?
Tell me baby
What do you feel inside?

- Lenny Kravitz
"Can't Get You Off My Mind"

You study him. More so than the assigned textbooks you read religiously, though you'd never admit it.

Lately, he sleeps on a chair in the Common Room while studying late at night. The pretense of checking over his homework allows you to observe him closely – underneath the tilted glasses on his face, the dark circles under his eyes can't hide in the dim light from the dying fireplace.

Even in dreams, he frowns, and you don't know how to make him smile when he's awake. You're not even sure if he'd want to, even if you believe it'll make a difference. To you at least, for making him feel something other than the constant despair he's begrudgingly grown accustomed to all his life.

At the moment, as much as you'd like to brush back the hair from his eyes, you don't dare. It's not as if you haven't touched him before – you've thrown your arms around him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament and held on like a hurt child seeking comfort, even when you were supposed to be the one soothing him – but this is inherently more intimate. Whether it's because he's asleep or the would-be romantic setting in front of the fireplace with its dim and dying embers is up for debate. But you keep vigil intently.

It's tricky how feelings creep up over time. The realization doesn't arrive like a sobering epiphany blessing you with a sudden knowledge. It's felt more waking slowly from a long and restless dream.

The wondering starts again and you're not sure how you fit into his life at all. He's led a solitary life, through no fault of his own. It's cruel for an otherwise ordinary boy, plain in every aspect yet branded by that infamous scar as testament to his inherited abilities.

He has a terrible burden to bear, and he shouldn't have to go charging blindly into a fate he never asked for. At the very least, you will see that he won't have to be alone.

Because he is your friend.

And you hide behind a feigned smile because you know that isn't the real reason you can't walk away from him. You can't hide behind the excuse of your well-being because you simply don't care about the pain if it means you can be with him. At least like this you can keep watch over him, keep him safe, keep him close.

But he isn't supposed to matter that way – the same way Ron made it obvious when he used to look at you with a secret longing you weren't supposed to be aware of. As you ponder, the possibility sinks in that you could also be obvious as well, even if you never meant to have those feelings in the first place.

You safely conclude that the fates really do have a terrible sense of humor. Even worse than Ron's cheesy jokes when he tries to lighten up the mood.

When people ask why you do it, why stand beside him, you want to say that it's because he needs you, though you doubt the validity of that statement. He's intelligent, brave and fast to react, even if he is a bit lazy when taking notes in History class. He understands you surprisingly better than most people.

The truth is that you wouldn't let him go down that path alone. But you rephrase the answer according to the intrinsic rules of friendship.

"I couldn't let him go down that path alone," becomes the answer.

Because the latter implies the compulsion of duty in a close relationship, while the former denotes choice. And you've already chosen. It's all about discerning the sense underneath words and now is not the time to give anything away with a simple slip in diction. Especially now. Even if it is a sign that you've read the dictionary too many times as a child, you refuse to take any chances.

Though you're gifted at deciphering the meaning beneath the message, you can't figure out what makes him so damned important.

He shifts in the overly padded chair, mumbling something foreign-sounding, like parselmouth.

It may take you a while to admit it, but these are the moments you live for – the boring, uneventful, quiet moments. It's the only time you can hear yourself breathe when he's beside you.

It leaves you wishing that he'd be able to commit these bits of normality to memory. In a strange way, it reminds you why Dumbledore used a pensieve at all. And suddenly, it hits you how you'd like to have one as well.

For posterity's sake, of course.

And you catch the lie you tell yourself to make it all right. This is not the time for selfish desires.

The irony sinks in how even the cleverest witch of Hogwarts, the one everyone perceives as thriving solely on logic, is driven by her emotions, like any other girl. Even like Lavender Brown, as annoying as you find her. But the world does not thrive on reason, as you do. It makes you wonder how much easier it would be if everyone did follow rules, like the ones that have been instilled in you.

Still, it makes sense to keep the lesser instants in mind, where the two of you are as ordinary as plain Muggles, even in the middle of fighting.

If only he'd see it too. . .

See me.

The more you think about him, the harder it becomes to pinpoint the moment when you decided on him and allowed yourself to change, allowed your life to change somewhere from the learning process to saving the world. This war is not to blame to this whole-hearted devotion, foolish as it may be.

Whether it's for better or worse, there's no real way of knowing until much later.

You like to believe that it's for the better, no matter how much the pessimism weighs in and the casualties are listed in the Daily Prophet. One day everything will change.

At least you're patient.

Except when the fighting breaks out and you can't help but follow by his side. Sometimes you wonder why he isn't more cowardly in wanting to hide when the curses start flying with a murderous intent and where does that strength come from?

Even then, you wonder if it's a good idea to let him know.

Of course it isn't.

You're not out to capture his heart because there are more important things to be done in the mean time, like winning a war. Or so you keep saying to silence the whispers of your conscience.

Like when it points out how you want him to notice you.

A sigh exhales somewhere in the room. It takes a moment to realize it's been you holding your breath for some time now from wallowing in secret pining.

The parchment for Transfiguration has been corrected for nearly an hour as it lies on the table before you.

It'll be the first class tomorrow morning. A glance at the grandfather clock tells you that it is tomorrow morning.

Time to wake up.

Some light nudging and after some initial resistance, he gently pushes your hand away to let you know that yes, he's up. But his fingers don't let go, and his touch lingers on more than you had expected.

Your imagination is in overdrive again, as the incident passes.

His eyes won't open.

Your cheek rests atop the back of the hand resting flat on surface of the desk. From this angle, it seems so easy to imagine waking up next to him. Seeing his face this close, as the first thing in the morning. And it's funny how the little things, like this, mean the most. It's everything you could ever want.

He still hasn't opened his eyes.

While it isn't exactly in your nature to be spontaneous, you will no doubt blame this on the exhaustion.

To hell with propriety, this may just be one of the last times you'll ever have him selfishly to yourself. There's no time to hesitate. Better make the most of it girl.

And you do. Your hand reaches out, brushing the hair away from his line of vision. For a moment, you forget that there's a scar on his forehead. It's surprisingly smooth to the touch when your fingers sweep crosst it.

A strange warmth radiates in your chest, both suffocating and soothing. He sees you. It isn't a trick of the light how it's the way you really and truly wanted it to be. And he just may know after all.

But it doesn't matter anymore.

It takes a moment, but you return the gaze, shy and weary at once.

Because you won't let yourself be exploited as a weak spot intended to hurt him in the near future. With that in mind, you promise to stay beside him.

And though you may not understand why he makes you feel the way you do, there has to time to figure it out. Divination didn't teach you much, but you'll make sure that there will be time to make sense of what it means.

It doesn't take much for you to realize that it isn't the usual half-assed lovelorn teenage promise.

Some people can't pinpoint the deciding moment that changed everything in their lives. You thought you didn't either.

But now you know better.

Because at 12:47 a.m., you fell in love.