They were the epitome of almost, everything that could have been and more. She reached out, fingers halting a whisper away from his shoulder. Lingering for just a moment, she let her hand drop to her side. "Harry," she resorted to words, unable to bring herself to touch him. He turned from his seat at the common room table, eyes searching to find the chestnut ones he had grown so comfortable with.
"What's up?" the words reached her ears, his voice instantly soothing her frayed nerves. Moving to settle into the seat next to him, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
"What draws you to Ginny?" She let the question slip out unintentionally. She wasn't even sure herself what she was going to say to him. She just let the words come out as they came into her head. Harry and Ginny had been dating, you could say, for a few weeks now. It was more occasional moments of intimacy than a true courtship. Harry had been interested in Ginny for quite some time now. It hurt watching them, more than she could put into words. Sure, Hermione had her infatuation with Ron, but that's really all it was. She knew in her heart that they could never make each other happy. Harry, on the other hand, was always there for her. He knew her inside and out. He knew each flaw, each strength, and every fear. Her love was based on the deep bonds of friendship that had been established over years and years.
"I'm not really sure. She's kind and brave and strong, I guess…" He replied, tensing, briefly looking up from the feather he had been toying with. It was the one he had received in his third year, Buckbeak's feather. It was worn and tired, but still in one piece. Hermione often noticed the feather with Harry when he was having a tough day.
Pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her fingers, which rested on the table, she felt the soft knit fabric brush over her skin. "Ginny's a sweet girl. I'm lucky to have her as a friend," the words were gentle, barely above a whisper. They were true, Hermione was very grateful to have the companionship of the only Weasley daughter, but she couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy whenever she saw the redhead with Harry. Why was it that Ginny could have what Hermione could only wish for. Dropping her eyes to Harry's hands, she felt her cheeks flush as he rested one of his hands on hers.
"Thank you," he stated simply. The words carried an emotion that she couldn't pinpoint. It was somewhat melancholy, but maybe more caring. She struggled with it for a moment before simply nodding. Leaning to rest her head on his shoulder, she inhaled deeply. The soft smoky scent from the crackling fire reached her nose, as well as the aroma of pine that always seemed to surround Harry during Quidditch season. She always felt the most herself around Harry, like she was truly home. Even though there were so many just awful things in his life, he was the most caring and understanding person she had ever met.
Closing her eyes and letting a small smile grace her features, she gently pressed her lips to his cheek. This was a gesture she saved for when they were alone, away from the chaos of the world. Breaking the silence they had settled into, Harry's voice drifted through the air. "Ginny and I actually broke up. We decided we were better as friends… It happened a few days ago," he stated softly.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she whispered, intertwining her fingers with his.
"It's alright," he started, "I was the one who suggested it. We just didn't have that romantic spark, you know? It just wasn't there."
"Well, I'll always be here for you," she offered, listening to the occasional crack coming from the fire as it mingled with the sounds of the storm that persisted outside. She didn't know how to feel. Emotions tangled in her head, causing a storm much like the one just out the window. Both of her friends would be hurting and she wanted to be there for them, but a small, selfish, portion of her was somewhat happy. This meant that she could have a chance. A sliver of hope dangling right in front of her.
Harry gave her hand a gentle squeeze and stood, letting his fingers linger for a moment more than necessary. "Good night, Hermione," he said softly, moving toward the boys dormitory. She watched his back as he walked away, then dropped her head into her hands on the table.
"What am I doing?" She whispered to herself, studying the wood grain of the table. Lines swept across the surface, occasionally breaking off or colliding into another. Running her fingers across the smooth texture, she let a soft sigh rush past her lips. She wasn't sure of the answer to that question, or if she would find it anytime soon. All she knew was that as long as Harry was in her life, she'd have time to figure it out.