None of the Harry Potter characters belong to me
As his eyes flickered back down to the unfinished pumpkin pie sitting on his plate, he felt his stomach churn and he fought to suppress back into his guts the few measly bites of pastry he had eaten a few minutes ago. A prickling sensation ran up his right arm, and his heart tightened, the imaginary grip around it strengthening, like his fist around the snitch seconds before a victory. Of course, this was nothing like the persistent tingling of his scar whenever Voldemort opens the door that separates their psychological state of mind. Afterall, Harry is used to the occasional tingle, persistent sting, and unbearable pain his scar so unpredictably emits. This, however, is not something he is accustomed to—and it's not just the physical discomfort. No, this physical unease comes with the whole package—plummeting confidence, inattentiveness, indecisiveness…all in all categorized under psychological instability. Undeniably, no one would admit to witnessing Harry undergo this transformation. And truthfully, no one can say they have, for it's a far cry from being obvious to any classmate of his. But is not love like this? An affair overrated by the self, frivolous to others. A personal process experienced by most, unexplainable by all. Like any witch or wizard's first broomstick ride, love may be feared or anticipated, and afterwards deemed enthralling and addictive, or forever banished into a darkened closet, never again retrieved till given reason to.
Harry snapped back into the scene in the dining hall as Ginny's shoulder, adorned with Dean's tanned arm, came into his view. Ginny is happy and safe, nonetheless,with Dean, and Harry should be glad for it—he himself could never have offered her an ordinary relationship, given that he already has one with Voldemort, or allowed her a peace of mind, with him always highly sought after. Furthermore, Dean has always had something for Ginny, and everyone knew it was more than infatuation, definitely not lust. But few actually believed they would hit off, and definitely none thought their relationship would progress so effortlessly, with such consistency, a far cry from just a moment's heated passion. Harry looked on as they moved on from their previously heated discussion of the upcoming Quidditch game between Slytherin and Ravenclaw to a more intimate topic which no one on the dining table can catch hold of. They were speaking animatedly in harsh whispers, and Harry felt another pang of jealousy as he watched Dean tuck a loose strand of hair behind Ginny's ear, giving her earring a playful tingle before resting his arm back on the table and looking deep into her eyes as she spoke.
"Hey Harry" Ron started, breaking into Harry's train of thoughts, his mouth working hastily to chew and swallow the last bit of his dessert. "wanna head up to the library? Hermione's got to check my work before it gets into those claws of Snape's tommorow."
Hermione glowered at Ron as she looked up from her watch "They won't be claws if you'd actually put some effort into it"
Ron opened his mouth in an effort to voice his rebuttal, but none came and after a few seconds, he stupidly shut his mouth, sighing in resignation as he clambered out of the bench. "Harry, you coming?"
"Yeah, yeah…just a minute"
Harry cast another glance in Ginny's direction out of the corner of his eyes as he stuffed a last spoonful of pie into his mouth. A subconscious effort to stall for time, he realized, as the sickingly sweet taste of pumpkin hit his taste buds in a wave a second later. Wincing, he resisted the urge to choke and swallowed what's left in his mouth at one go before gathering his books and taking off after Ron and Hermione.
They seem to have forgotten about their earlier tiff as they walked down the Great Hall now, falling into their increasingly frequent lapses of intimacy—be it Ron offering to carry Hermione's books, or a slight, lingering brush of their hands. The fact that their relationship could be straying from friendship to something more was inconceivable to Harry, and he'd like to presume, everyone else. As if seeking re-assurance, Harry looked around the Great Hall for a face that betrays astonishment at the behaviour of his best friends, and was thoroughly disappointed. No one was looking their way—not that there were many people left. The Slytherin table is already empty, their heinous plans unsuitable for construction in the Great Hall, Harry thought with malice. Most of the Hufflepuffs have obviously migrated to the outdoors, as Harry spotted from the window the yellow of their scarves here and there, dotted on the school grounds in pairs and clusters. Of the Ravenclaws, less than a dozen were finishing up their meals, their conversation punctuated with peals of laughter and raucous guffaws. Lastly, without even looking, Harry knew the Griffindors' table is dominated by Ginny and Dean, what with their new love and all, nothing, not even the Weasley twin's inventions can dim their limelight. It was at times like this that Harry wished he belonged, somewhere, anywhere.
It was spiteful, and selfish perhaps, but he can't help yearning for the times that he, Ron and Hermione were a trio. It had been an immutable fact that belonged to the old days, Harry thought wistfully, with a tinge of bitterness as he watched Ron ruffle Hermione's hair, laughing and ducking as she tried, unsuccessfully, to return the favour.
As they turned another corner, the Room of Requirement came into view and as always, Harry thought of the kiss he'd shared with Cho right there. He marveled at how abruptly they had lost what they've barely begun, and worst still, how he had just left it as it is without a closure of any sort. Wasn't Cho what he'd always wanted? Since he'd first set eyes on her? Thoughts like this made him feel unsettlingly irresponsible and fickle. Perhaps this is why he'd much rather led the life of The Boy who Lived, rather than The Boy who Failed to Love. At least deciphering the progression of his relationship with Voldemort puts only his own life and future at stake.
Reaching the Fat Lady's portrait now, Harry concluded that this was the very reason that egged him into embarking on dangerous tasks alone, contrary to popular and ridiculous belief that he chose so because he was an arrogant attention seeker. Who wouldn't want accompaniment while wandering in the wilderness, pitched dark, with unknown cries and howls of mirth, or another pair of arms when duelling a basilisk? It's just; he cannot bear the thought of any more lives sacrificed in his place, any more families riven by death, like his.
This was also why, Harry reminded himself reluctantly, and with a pang of guilt almost every night since the day he discovered Ginny's interest in him, he had cruelly been indifferent to her advances and prayed that she would notice Dean's rooted affection for her. This appears to make him almost magnanimous, selfless. But it was temporary, Harry knows.
For he has sworn, from the innermost layer of his heart, that when the day of Voldemort's defeat arrives, and if he was still alive and kicking, he will gain the distance he has lost all these years to Dean, and capture the heart of Ginny as he once did, when she was just Ron's little sister, his ardent fan, his damsel in distress, before she became the girl of his dreams and his reason to live and fight for a life of his own, unattached to his mother's sacrificed life, or Voldemort's demented soul. Harry now knows, that as much as he had saved her life, Ginny is saving his.