A/N: I own nothing. Sad, isn't it? Ohwell, on with the story. It starts at their Fifth Year. I hope you enjoy it. Please Read & Review (:
Make Me Believe
If I Told You I Loved You, What Would You Say?
CHAPTER ONE
FIRST YEAR.
She was one of his bestfriends. She helped him, trusted him. And he trusted her as well. She helped him get past what other people believed impossible for three eleven-year-olds. She solved a riddle not meant to be solved. She was the smartest witch in their class. She was one of his bestfriends.
SECOND YEAR.
She scared him. She scared him when she was petrified. Scared him when he considered the possibility that she would never wake up and be her again. She had gone through it all for him. She'd made a potion unimaginable for children their age. She was brilliant. And after it all, when she was herself again, he couldn't stop thinking that. Thinking that without her, he was scared. Thinking that she was – well – bloody brilliant, if he said so himself.
THIRD YEAR.
She was there. She proved herself brilliant once more. But more than that, she was brave. A fighter with a purpose. She punched Malfoy! She helped him rescue Sirius. Went with him back in time, an experience he knew could never be topped by anything with anyone else. Time separated from her, from when he balanced between her and Ron, seeing as how the two weren't on speaking terms, it gave him an empty feeling. He wasn't used to that.
FOURTH YEAR.
She helped him beyond anything. God, it seemed like she was always helping him. And what did he do for her in return, exactly? That he wasn't sure of. All he knew was that when everyone else was jeering at him, and believed that he'd gotten himself into the tournament just to gather more attention, that she stood by him, which was more than he could say about a certain Ron Weasley. But still, things between him and Ron worked out after the first task. But he could still remember. All the time he and Hermione spent alone together in the absence of their friend. All the time he got to spend with her. Alone. It was something new. Something very new.
FIFTH YEAR.
He was almost losing it. Summer at the Dursleys was hell. Hell on earth. His temper kept flaring. Everything was terrible. He was attacked by dementors, and if that wasn't enough, he was expelled and called for a hearing at the Ministry. He still had nightmares. Cedric had died at the hands of Voldemort, who was now back. And no one believed a word he said. They thought he'd been lying about everything. Just trying to get more attention. He'd written letters to both Hermione and Ron, and it would've been better if they'd sent him nothing in reply, because each letter from them seemed to have the same response, full of garbage with nothing useful. He had to wait, it seemed. It wasn't safe for information like that to be sent by owl. But then he was picked up; more like rescued in his opinion. And that was how he came to know about Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He was ready to shout. Ready to scream. Let all the frustration and anger out on his two bestfriends. Or just friends. In his mind bestfriends wouldn't have kept him in the dark. Bestfriends would've said more comforting things. Bestfriends would've tried to let him feel even a little bit more secure.
So when he stormed into the room, he found her, sitting on what he guessed was his bed (Ron's looking thoroughly unkempt on the other side of the room) and saw her jump at the sight of him. She ran at him before he could say anything, and hugged him tightly. He couldn't do anything as she kept saying 'Sorry', and 'You have to understand' and 'Harry' over and over again. Soon, his hand moved up to her back, to pat her in solace. He signaled peace.
They just stood there, not letting go of each other. He hugged her properly now, and laid his head against hers.
She kept asking if he was okay. What had happened during the attack. If he was hurt. If he was still mad, and that he had a right to be. If he would forgive the two of them – Ron and her – especially her. Saying a lot of things that weren't even registering into his mind.
One thought flooded his head.
One reason as to why he had not started yelling the minute he saw her.
One reason as to why he stood bolted to the ground, holding her in his arms.
He'd seen her. Seen her after what seemed like such a long time.
And realized that he, Harry Potter, could not hate Hermione Granger no matter how terrible he'd been feeling the past few weeks.
He, Harry Potter, had come to a realization.
She meant something to him.
Possibly everything.
He'd fallen in love with his bestfriend.
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