A chilly wind brushed past his cheek, sending rogue snowflakes onto the crevices of his compleixion. His robe flapped around him and his hair floated up toward the heavens. His nose was a biting red, his eyes were half-closed to protect them from the breeze, and his ears were smarting viciously. February cold froze his lungs, and his breath came out visibly. And than he saw her, and he forgot about everything except for her, and how beautiful she was, and how she could walk so gracefully even in these conditions, and the way her hair flipped around her face and made her look just like an angel. He smiled, lightheaded, as she approached him.
"Hey, Harry." She greeted, folding her arms over her chest in order to block out the frost. He had the sudden urge to make sure she was warm.
"Hey." His voice was shaky, and he was glad to be outside, because later on he would be able to blame it on the temperature. She reached up and pulled a lock of chestnut hair away from her face, revealing that tiny nose, those innocent bronze eyes, and inviting smile.
"You wanted to tell me something?" She inquired, cocking her head to one side. He couldn't help but think that she was irritatingly irresistible when she did that.
"Yeah." He swallowed; stomach tying into knots and doing tricks an acrobat would have trouble with. He stamped his feet, stalling time, and wouldn't meet her gaze.
"So what is it?" Her tone was placid, and he could tell that inside she was becoming impatient even through her understanding front.
"I-I guess-I guess I kind of like you, Hermione." He admitted, hanging his head low. A single dry leaf puttered by his feet, bumping along with the wind. His shoelace, he noticed, was untied, and he yearned to bend low and tie it, spending as much time not looking at her as possible. Even though he had just spilled his greatest secret-a secret that he had hid, coveted, locked away for years until now-a heavy burden was still on his chest.
"I like you too." She wasn't on the same wavelength as Harry. "We have been friends for five years, obviously." She meant she liked him as a friend. He knew that. It still stung.
"Yeah, well, I," he started to say, when a familiar face trotted up behind Hermione. Pale blond hair was barely visible and ice-cold blue eyes bore into his as Draco Malfoy slowly lay an arm around Hermione's shoulder, rubbing it in.
"Hey, baby." He drawled to Hermione, and she giggled quite uncharacteristically. He smirked at Harry, letting him know what he had known for six months.
"Hey," she replied, smiling as they kissed. Harry couldn't take it. Draco and Hermione, his arch nemesis and his best friend-and crush-were together. Sure, he had been aware of the rumors flying about it. He hadn't believed a word of it, too stubborn to give in.
"I have to go." He choked out. Neither Draco nor Hermione looked up. He walked sadly off, full of the painful knowledge that the water in his eyes wasn't due to the gales of wind. As he trudged up to the castle, he heard them kissing, and whispering, no matter how much he tried to force the sounds away. He shook his head furiously at the tiny drops of saltwater dripping onto his lips, hating them because they wouldn't leave and wouldn't stop, and he could feel how many millions more were waiting to burst out. He still loved her.