This prose was inspired by the song "Mein Herz Brennt" by Rammstein.
Mein Herz Brennt
My very dear sister once told me that waiting for me to admit that I was head over heels for Hermione was like being constipated for four years – everyone knew what was coming, but it didn't happen. And then it didn't happen. And it didn't happen again. After a while, it still didn't happen. Then the war came and it didn't happen. Then we were sleeping together in an isolated tent on the English countryside and it didn't happen. Then I ran off and it definitely didn't happen. I came back and she hit me and it didn't happen. It took her kissing me at the Battle of Hogwarts for me to do anything other than stumble around like a great git, wishing I could express this deep secret that I couldn't find words for. My heart sparked and flickered, setting this odd feeling in my chest, like there had been a large block in my chest that was suddenly but very slowly burning away, taking its proper shape.
Kissing Hermione for the first time was the single greatest experience of my life. Don't misunderstand me; the first time we made love was… well… I can't quite put the right words on it. Amazing doesn't seem adequate. The difference though, was the first time we made love, I knew I loved her and I knew she loved me and we were expressing that love in the most beautiful and tender way, sharing parts of ourselves for the first time and trusting each other completely. Our first kiss though… the memory of it still gives me gooseflesh.
Imagine being blind and living your life comfortably in the darkness. You don't know what you are missing by not seeing, but you are aware that there are other people who do and you are, perhaps, jealous of them. You've lived your life in darkness and become comfortable with the fact that you simply cannot see and that you will not see, when suddenly, for the first time, you see a glimmer. It is beautiful and miraculous and you wish for nothing more than for that glimmer to never fade; if that is the only image you are to have for the whole of your life, you will be perhaps content in having seen such a simple thing of beauty.
As you go along, the glimmer changes and seems to grow larger, from a single point to a line and you suddenly become very afraid of the glimmer. It's growing now… which means it could shrink. It could fade away. You could return to the darkness never having known what the glimmer was or what it meant and suddenly the world seems cruel and for the first time in your life, you curse your blindness, resenting the glimmer for taunting you in some merciless fashion. For some years, the glimmer grows and shrinks, but never, ever fades away. As your hope for the future fades, the glimmer shrinks to a dot – a miniscule light in the darkness that you dare not look on too much unless you see the moment it fades away.
Suddenly, the world explodes in light and as your eyes correct, the first vision you ever experience, the first sight to ever penetrate the veil of darkness that cruelly surrounded you for so long is the sun rising over the cliffs of Dover. The glimmer was always right in front of your eyes and you realize that like a fool, your eyes had merely been closed. The sun, the beautiful radiant sun destroyed the darkness that you did not recognize you had made for yourself. There is no return to the darkness now – not now that you have seen the light in all its majesty and beauty.
Hermione was always there and in my heart, there was a small glimmer of something for her that I could not define, much less admit to having felt. That glimmer, which I recognize now to be love, grew and shrank with our shared adventures and my petty jealousies. Did she love Viktor? It was fortunate for me that she very quickly established that theirs was a friendship, though I was not quick to believe it. He is actually a wonderful man and a dear friend, now that I've allowed myself to know him for who he is.
Did she love me or Harry? He was, is, an amazing man and any woman would be fortunate to share his love, but my fears crippled me. I couldn't lose her if I never allowed myself to have her. I could always be nearby if I never chanced admitting that I wanted more and I would never have to suffer the humiliation of coming in second to my best mate if he didn't know I was competing for her as well. The wonderful thing about Harry is he knew and was quite sensitive about the matter. When he watched as the locket played out my most desperate fears before my eyes, he revealed himself to be more than my friend. Much more. He brother both to me and to the woman I… to Hermione. Even then, though, I could not admit what I felt. Even having it practically spelled out for me like that… well… just because I wasn't going to lose her to Harry didn't mean I wouldn't lose her. I still couldn't face that.
When she kissed me in the Room of Requirement, I remember quite distinctly being utterly perplexed. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen, you see. Don't let me be misunderstood; it was brilliant, but I was supposed to have worked up the nerve to tell her how I felt about her first. Harry jokes with me that I should have taken S.P.E.W. seriously years ago and I can't say that I disagree with him, but nonetheless, there's something, well, magical about the moment itself. War exploding all around us, arms full of basilisk fangs intended to destroy horcruxes and she still found the time to get me good and snogged for not being my usual prat self. The slowly burning block in my chest suddenly turned into an inferno and at its core was a smoldering but indestructible Hermione.
Hermione kissing me took my blindness away and opened my eyes to the beautiful woman that had always been there, just waiting for me to open my eyes, as constant as the sun – it may not be right in front of you and you may have to wait for it, but it will always be there. Hermione kissing me wiped away at least three years of anxiety, doubt, and depression. Hermione kissing me awakened this animal in my chest that I had caged and put to sleep time and time again and filled that animal with power and purpose. Hermione kissing me turned my heart from a match into a bonfire – the sort of towering inferno that does not burn out because there is someone that tends it, stokes it, and sees to its perpetuity.
Clichéd as it may be to say, Hermione is my reason to wake up in the morning. She is the voice in my pillow that calms me and soothes me. She is also the voice in my pillow that, for lack of a more appropriate phrase, gets my blood pumping. She is the first thing on my mind when I wake and the last thing on my mind when we sleep. She is my sun, the bright light in my sky, and when I see her, when I hold her, and when I kiss her, I feel alive and powerful, content but never satisfied. I always want more. I crave more. I need more. It is almost impossible to explain in any concrete and final way how I feel about Hermione, though she may be able to herself since her vocabulary puts mine to shame, but they say that the simplest explanation is the best, so here goes. If I had to say what I feel for Hermione or how she makes me feel, I'd say this:
My heart burns.