He doesn't know she's watching him. He never does. And it doesn't bother her. She is used to being overlooked in favour of others. He doesn't notice her watching him, but others do.
"Is there anything going on between you two?" Ginny asks.
She can't hide the wistfulness in her voice when she says. "No."
Ginny pauses and then asks again, "Do you want there to be?"
She shrugs and looks away, her curls bouncing around, "It doesn't matter."
Ginny drops the subject, and she doesn't need to ask why. After all, she's her best friend and she knows her. And she's his sister, and she knows him.
One day, she sees him and Angelina holding hands. She observes the way they sneak glances at each other. The way he smirks smugly and the way she smiles, her face lit up in something akin to happiness.
It doesn't bother her. She's glad he has found someone. And if there is a slight pang where her heart is supposed to be, she shrugs it off. She can get used to the ache, she tells herself.
The day she is visiting the Burrow, she sits on the windowsill, and watches the boys play Quiddich. She hears Ginny come in, but she doesn't turn away.
"Do you love him?" Ginny asks.
She ponders over the term 'love.' One single word, used to describe so many different things. She loves Harry. And she loves Ron. She loves Ginny too. She loves the way they make her feel like a part of something, like a part of a family. She has a family of her own too, but that thought leaves a bittersweet taste in her mouth. Her parents have always been too busy with their careers. The only time they have paid any remotely attention to her was to reprimand her for her flaws, for her failures. They care about her, she knows, and she acknowledges the fact. And she knows that they are never satisfied with who she is. It hurts her, but she welcomes the pain. It makes her feel alive.
She can feel Ginny's patience wearing thin, so she asks her a question of her own, "Do you love Harry?"
Ginny doesn't reply, but she knows that she does.
Hermione sighs, and presses her head to the window, her breath clouding the glass for a moment. When it clears, she can see the world outside with more clarity.
"I may or may not love Fred, I don't know. I won't tell him, and neither will you. He doesn't see me. He looks at me but he doesn't see me. And that's okay, that's fine. I'm okay with that. He's happy. That's all that matters."
She turns around and finds Ginny looking at her. She looks sad. She pities her, she knows. She doesn't want to be pitied. Not for something like this.
"Why?" Ginny comes to stand right in front of her, staring into her eyes, as if expecting to find answers in there herself. Perhaps she will. Ginny is like that.
"There's a war coming. I'm not naïve enough to hope that I'll survive. But I got to make sure my boys are alright, yeah?" She whispers, and if she sounds slightly choked, neither mentions it.
Instead Ginny asks again, "Why?"
"I don't deserve him."
She knows she doesn't. She's the girl with a mask on. She's the girl who plasters a smile on her face every day so others don't see how scared she truly is, how alone she feels even in a room full of people. She is the girl who never really belongs. She hides behind her lies and fake smiles. Her mask is the only constant in her life, and she's not naïve enough to think that it will always be that way. One day, her mask will be cracked open, and she knows he deserves something better than that.
Ginny hugs her, and Hermione presses her face in her fiery red hair. She hears Ginny murmur, "I love you."
She smiles, "I know. Harry's a lucky bloke."
Ginny laughs, "Yeah, he is."
"I love you."
Ginny laughs again, the sound muffled by her face buried against her neck, "I know. Fred's an unlucky bloke."
She doesn't reply. She doesn't need to.
She knows that Ginny knows what she will say anyway. That is the thing with Ginny, she knows how fickle paper hearts are. Sooner or later they all crumble. She just hopes that hers holds out for much longer, for her and everyone else's sake.