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Author's Notes: *sniffs* "Goblet" was sad, wasn't it? Oh my gosh, Haaaarry! He was in such shock. I think everyone just wanted to hug him and comfort him like Mrs. Weasley did. Anyway, I loved it. So of course I had to write a story for it, right? But instead of starting a whole new, complete story, I decided I'd do a sequel-like thing for, "One Day, Notebook, Someone's Going to Wave a Magic Wand." Except this time it's Hermione's diary. Not notebook. And it's her entry as she sat in the hospital that night, watching Harry sleep. It's my idea of what Hermione was thinking. Has anyone done it yet? I'm sorry if someone has. I was thinking I might do a sequel to this one, too, because I had fun writing Hermione. With all this HRR stand going around, I thought I'd come out with Hermione's thoughts as HHR! Yeah! I had to guess on the time-frame too. I'm not sure if I'm right. But it's right if Harry was born in 1980. And I guessed on the dates, too. You can just ignore it if I'm wrong… I'm not omnipotent, like J.K. Rowling is. All characters belong to her, by the way… Anyway… Well, it's slightly sappy, but I thought it was pretty good. I hope you like it… Beware of typos. I'm not a very good editor... And I'm not sure if this font will be tiny or large, so I put it up a notch from the last time I used it (harry's notebook)... Sorry if it's too big or small. I guess I'll see, right? Hope ya like it...
…But the words inside my head Are better left unsaid To lie like the ghosts beneath my bed…
--Nine Days, "Crazy"
June 21, 1994 (11:48 p.m.)
Dear Miss Diary,
I've always hated hospitals. That whitewash clean, that never-dulling smell of anesthetics, those crisp, snowy sheets that bundle up over the bodies beneath. I can't stomach it. I can't stand it.
But that's where I am right now, isn't it? Ironic, my life. I've marveled it many times and I'll marvel it again for your listening pleasures, but I'd never have pictured myself where I am today. Not just in a hospital, but plainly where I stand right now. My best friend is a famous guy who's come face to face with the most-power, evil wizard alive…how many times is it now? Baby, first year, second year, fourth year… Four times! He's survived four times. I wish I had luck like that. But who would think I was one of his best friends? Who would think I would sit here by his bedside in the hospital after some mysterious second coming of You-Know-Who?
But I am, and I'm glad of it. I'm glad I can be here for him. He deserves some caring, some affection.
A quick once-over of my companions tell me I'm the only one still awake at all. Try as she might, Mrs. Weasley hadn't managed to stay awake and had nodded off to sleep, her hand protectively over Harry's arm even as she made slight snoring sounds that indicated a deep sleep. Maternal instincts, I suppose. Something I've never been gifted on.
I still find it funny how she could have ever thought Harry and myself romantically involved. Not that I would have minded so, but Harry obviously saw us as best friends, and I don't want to ruin that by letting him know I might have a few other feelings for him hidden deep inside.
I glance at Harry's face, soft and doll-like with peace, the careful blue moonlight streaming across it, past events lying dormant for the time being. I had to stop myself from reaching out and touching his face…
See, I, for one, wouldn't have minded a bit of truth in those articles. But, really, ha! Me, breaking Harry's heart? I truly wish I had that type of control over him, but I don't. Now, someone does. I saw it all through this year, Harry gazing over at someone, Harry looking troubled by something… Someone in Ravenclaw. Possibly Padma Patil? No, no, couldn't be her. Harry didn't even flinch when Ron went with her to the Yule Ball.
Snape's right. Our poor, tangled love lives. If only he knew!
Flip my page. I do hope nobody walks in on us, I'm quite enjoying this peace.
Snort, shuffle. I peer at Ron, slumped over in his chair, lanky legs sprawled out across the floor in front of him, and see someone I've always, and always will, look to as a brother. Speaking of love lives, it's rather sad, but I think Ron's feelings for me changed a bit this year, and I truly wish they hadn't! Not when I'd rather Harry's change—
Let's not get into that, now.
Oh, why not? It's not as if someone will read this. I have it locked up unless I'm writing in it! I have nothing against Ron, mind you. But Harry's always been so much nicer, so much more understanding, so much…well, cuter, for that matter.
Where Ron's tall and grumpy, Harry's short and kind.
I might be the only one with the pleasure of knowing this, but I bet if half the girls in the school were to see Harry in the doll-like trance of sleep he was in now, they'd drop Viktor in a moment. Yes, they'd see Harry has fame and looks and kindness. Fancy that!
Yes, all Harry needed was contacts (I'm sure I can handle that, mind you), a few inches (wasn't his father tall? and his mother?), and some muscles and every girl in the school would be head-over-heels
I'll hate the day when that comes, but at least I've got his friendship, right?
Still... I like how it is now, having him all to myself. And you'd better not share that with anyone, or I'll make sure your fancy little cover meets flames!
But I like where I am at the moment, in this silent, cool room, listening to the sounds of the real Mad-Eye Moody snoring. What exactly happened tonight? I still wonder. I'm sure Harry will tell us eventually, but I won't badger him. That haunted look in those green eyes will keep me from that much. I will always remember that. I've never seem him look so tired, so worn, so…sad…
He met You-Know-Who again, I can see that much. And You-Know-Who's back.
I stare at his face. What did happen to him? I shudder at the thought, yet I'm dreadfully curious. The scar beneath that wild mop of black hair is horribly vivid. I want to touch it. Is that awful? It's so horribly tempting, the relic of the one Avada Kedavra gone wrong…
There! I touched it! I examine my fingers, catching a trace of green glowing on the tips. I've never heard of a curse scar doing that, but this is no ordinary curse scar, is it?
No ordinary curse scar on a not so ordinary guy…
I'm really beginning to grow sappy. I think sharing a room with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown does that to people. Rather sad, really.
Stretch out in this hard plastic seat. I'm trying to ignore that ominous blue glowing around the entrance of the hospital wing. It makes my heart do some odd flip-flops.
I'm scared, I'll admit it. I'm so scared I couldn't even think of sleeping. Harry did see You-Know-Who. I trust him. I have never seen that look of utter, complete shock on his face, so shocked it gives me the chills just to think about
Cedric Diggory's dead. Dead. And he was a prefect too! Dead.
Harry could have died with Cedric because Cedric is dead.
Harry could have died. Oh my God, Harry could have died…
Of course, he could have died almost every year we've been at Hogwarts, but Ron and I have always been there to protect him. We weren't this time. Oh my God. Oh my God. We won't always be there. He wants him dead. Oh…my…God…
My hand's shaking. I don't think I can write much longer. I feel some tears coming on. Oh, there went one to splatter my handwriting…
I couldn't sleep now if I wanted to. Not when You-Know-Who's alive and wants Harry dead. No, I will not sleep. I will stay and protect Harry while I still can. God as my witness, if I can somehow prevent it, I will not let Voldemort touch him.
He turned over in his sleep. He's hugging his pillow. This tear on my cheek's tickling me. It's so sweet. I just want to pick him up and hold him in my lap. He doesn't deserve this.
Okay, I'm downright crying now.
Deep breath, Hermione. Deep breath.
I grab his hand, gently so he won't wake up and find my clinging to him like a rash. He mustn't know that now.
His fingers curled around mine. Oh my God. I'm holding Harry Potter's hand.
Breathe.
Why's my heart beating so fast? Why am I feeling this way at time when I should be mourning? I'm crying. That's enough mourning, isn't it? I can enjoy this. I'm here for him. That's it. I'm here for him. I'm going to protect him if it's the last thing I do.
Yes, You-Know-Who won't be able to touch him while I'm near. Not now, not ever.
Hospitals make me ill, but I'm still here. That was off-hand, wasn't it? Oh well.
See, Miss Diary, there's something in the air right now, something Lily Potter made sure Harry would have, something she died for, something Molly Weasley gives every day…something wonderfully vivid inside me right now as I hold Harry's wonderfully soft hand…something You-Know-Who—Voldemort, I wrote it, because I know I'm stronger than he is—something he can't touch.
Love. It's here, it's tingling, and it's not going anywhere.
Try and get him now, Voldemort. Try and touch him.
June 22, 1994 (12:03 a.m.)
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