-III-
If at any point during the day Harry had actually felt good, that moment had certainly passed. He was outright miserable and had been sitting on the cold sill of the dorm's biggest window for more than half an hour, simply staring out into the fading daylight. With everything that had happened today and all the reasons he could be feeling miserable for, the worst part of it all was actually that he couldn't really explain it himself. He did feel as if he had put his heart out into the world, only to watch it being trampled on. He felt like he had been flying high on a plane just this morning, but that plane had come crashing down in smoke and flames. He'd had only good intentions, but somehow they had all turned out completely wrong. He had embarrassed Hermione, made a fool out of himself and probably – worst of all – endangered his most valued friendship with her. And all of that in a matter of only a few hours, through his allegedly silly behavior and that incident in McGonagall's class, which he couldn't even begin to comprehend.
He was angry, he was sad; but most of all, he was confused. He wished he could simply turn back time to erase this day from history and start it all anew, this time maybe refraining from doing anything stupid. He cursed out loud and moved one hand over his forehead, for as if all those things weren't enough to torture him, he was also suffering from an increasingly painful headache. Given the turmoil of his thoughts, he even suspected some kind of correlation there.
"You don't look well," he heard the voice of Ron speak.
Harry looked up and saw his friend leaning against the wall next to the windowsill, mustering him with plain worry written on his face.
"Thanks," Harry replied, his attempt at a joke failing as his joyless face betrayed him.
Ron mustered a weak smile nonetheless, if only to delay what he needed to talk about with Harry. Since he didn't see much of a choice, he chose the most direct approach.
"Say, Harry," he tentatively began. "Can I ask you a question?"
Harry just looked at him in expectance of whatever was about to follow.
"You won't like it," Ron warned, looking at him apologetically even before he had brought on the intended topic.
Harry looked at him suspiciously, then sighed.
"I guess it fits into the general pattern of the day, then."
Ron apparently took a moment to gather himself before proceeding, inhaling deeply.
"Okay," he reassured himself before facing Harry again. "Just stay with me, here."
Harry blinked at him.
"Okay," Ron repeated. "I'm doing this the fast way."
"I can see that," Harry said.
"Right then, here it goes," Ron announced, then went on to talk very fast. "Do you think that maybe – just maybe – you have been under the influence of an outer source the whole day?"
Harry looked at him without the slightest hint of comprehension showing on his face, which made Ron nod frantically in response.
"I know how you feel right there," he stated enthusiastically. "But this could actually make sense, considering who came up with the idea."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked confusedly. "What are you talking about?"
"Well," Ron was apprehensively approaching the most difficult part. "You see, we have established the theory – and it's really just a theory – that you could possibly be under the influence of some kind of hex or potion that made you act… the way you've been acting today."
"And how have I been acting, exactly?" Harry vocalized pretty much randomly one of the many questions that were thrown around in his mind, first signs of a potentially rising irritation noticeable in his voice.
"Quite normally, actually," Ron replied, nodding his head at first, but then suddenly shaking it instead. "But also… not at all."
Harry raised an eyebrow at him, though that motion only enforced his headache.
"Are you going anywhere with this?" he asked, annoyed by both the pain in his head as well as Ron's cryptic ramblings.
"I'm just saying that maybe you might be under the effect of some kind of magic, which would explain the noticeably unusual events of the day, is all."
With comprehension finally dawning on Harry's features, there was also anger seething behind his eyes, threatening to break out at any second.
"I see," he said through gritted teeth. "My feelings for Hermione are laid out in the open and the first thing that comes to everyone's minds is that I obviously must have been hit by a spell, induced with a love potion or gone plain out insane. And I guess it was Hermione herself who came up with this?"
Ron looked down at his feet and buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
"Brilliant," Harry said bitterly, his risen anger subsiding into sadness. "Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."
"She's only worried, you know?" Ron tried to reason with his unusually emotional friend. "She just cannot believe that you could really have such feelings for her. And considering the way in which you acted on them all of a sudden, literally from one day to the next, it simply doesn't seem right. It's not just Hermione who thinks so, Harry. I do, too. And so did Neville… and probably everyone who noticed one of your… scenes today and knows you even just a little."
He paused shortly, waiting for a reaction by his friend, but Harry sat unmoving at the window, looking outside with his chin resting on his left arm. He didn't say anything, and while Ron was not sure if Harry was simply waiting for him to continue, or wasn't listening to him at all, he felt the need to keep talking.
"It's correct that probably more than half of the school is gossiping about you and Hermione, some more decently so than others. But I think not one of them wouldn't have been surprised… if not at your behavior itself, then certainly at the suddenness in which you brought it on. It just doesn't fit, Harry. Yes, you have said nice things to or about Hermione in general before. You always openly complimented her on her intellectual accomplishments and like to call her brilliant, but saying something about her hair is… quite different. And you never… ever did so until today. So… as perplexed as I was myself when she first revealed her suspicion, one really can't argue its validity. And I think it's unfair to begrudge Hermione her opinion."
Ron awkwardly cleared his throat, uncertain of his friend's reaction at his, as he felt in hindsight, rather bold speech. At first, Harry remained silent for another few seconds and a heavy sigh was the first sound he made.
"It feels real," he said with bitter defiance. "This is ridiculous. I know I love her and I have for a long time. Do you think I'm insane? I know it!"
"But why have you never revealed anything about this, not even hinted at it? For how long has this been going on?"
Harry thought about that for a moment and seemed to get frustrated with himself. He rubbed his forehead again.
"I'm not sure. I can't give you a specific date and time, you know? That's impossible."
Ron's very own suspicion was suddenly growing, and as bad as he felt for Harry, he felt he needed to keep inquiring. That's what he normally didn't do, as Hermione liked to point out.
"You have to remember a general timeframe, though, right?" he asked carefully, trying not to be too offensive.
Harry hesitated again, shaking his head in annoyance and cursing at the pain that caused him in his head.
"I… I don't know, okay? It's been years now. She's always been there. How would I know when exactly my feelings for her changed? They didn't even change, they simply developed. This is crazy! I love Hermione, she doesn't feel the same. No reason to come at me with this conspiracy theory bullshit."
Ron was taken aback by his best friend's unexpected aggression for a moment. This was getting out of hand, but the real problem was that he still couldn't be sure if his and Hermione's suspicions were right. How would he react himself if the situation were the other way around? Wouldn't he get angry, too?
"Won't you at least consider the possibility?" he asked him with a hint of desperation. "You have to see our point, here. Please."
Harry shook his head again, groaning in frustration at the pain in his head and the whole, condemnable situation.
"Just leave me alone," he said angrily and threw himself off the windowsill, rushing past Ron towards his bed. "I'll be fine."
Ron stood there, slowly and noisily letting the air out of his lungs through puffed cheeks. He was sure he had gotten some kind of proof out of this whole exchange, just for what point of the argument he didn't know.
~•~
Harry didn't know for sure how long he had been lying there now, waiting for sleep to come and give him some relief from his constant stream of thoughts. His fellow classmates in their beds around him had fallen asleep quite a while ago, but what was their blessing eluded him. He had already been lying there when the others had come one after another, all of them believing Harry was already asleep and thus trying their best not to make any unnecessary noise. After an uneventful evening had passed, with Harry hardly leaving the dormitory at all, he had tried falling asleep early, but even now after hours of waiting, it simply didn't happen.
He sighed in frustration and decided there was no point in lying around any longer. Somehow, even if one doesn't plan on doing much else, every alternative to lying around in bed, waiting for sleep to come, can seem better – even if it largely consists of sitting around somewhere else. So Harry stood up, slipped into a plain t-shirt and left the dorm without making much noise or turning on any lights, for his eyes were used to the darkness from staring at the ceiling or towards the window for hours long.
He silently closed the door behind him and descended the stairway down into the empty common room, illuminated only by the faint moonlight coming through the windows and the weakest of glows from the burned ashes in the fireplace. Immediately noticing the cold air in the room, Harry looked at the windows and noticed that someone had apparently left one of them open, so he walked over and closed it. Slightly chilled, he was drawn towards the fireplace. He put a few more logs onto the remains of the fire that had burned throughout the evening and prodded the ashes in the fashion of muggles, which he probably wouldn't even have done any differently if he'd had his wand with him.
With the fire growing again and the flames licking around the dry wood, Harry sat down on the comfortable couch in front of the fireplace and gladly took in the warmth that was slowly radiating from the fire. His headache wasn't as bad anymore as it had been earlier, but he did still feel it behind his eyes and forehead. He absentmindedly moved a finger along his scar, though he was sure his headache didn't have anything to do with it. Somehow, the fire had a way of soothing his mind and while he did get lost in his thoughts while gazing into the flames, they were not of the tormenting kind he had suffered the hours before. He still couldn't shake off the sorrow that took hold of him whenever he thought about Hermione, though, and there really wasn't that much else he thought about. But it was a peaceful sadness, which comes from the acceptance of the reason for one's sorrow. It didn't hurt that much. Not here, not now. He closed his eyes, only listening to the cracking of the wood; feeling the warmth spreading through his body and engulfing him like a soft blanket.
When he heard a sound distinctively different from the fire, he wasn't even sure if he'd just imagined it or if he had already slipped into half a dream, but he still opened his eyes and looked into the general direction of the assumed source. Someone was indeed standing on one of the lower steps of the stairs that lead to the girl's dormitories, though Harry was unable to make out who it was, for the fire's light was not strong enough to illuminate that area of the room.
"I'm sorry, I didn't think there would be anyone down here," Harry heard an all too familiar voice say. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll just go upstairs again."
And with the person turning on the spot, Harry had to force his senses out of their half asleep state to react fast enough.
"Wait, Hermione," he said, fighting himself out of the pillows he had lain in and sitting up straight. "Please, you have as much right to be here as I do. It's called common room for a reason, you know?"
"Oh… okay," Hermione responded quietly, hesitantly turning around again.
Harry was unsure if he had said something Hermione did or didn't want to hear, and while the last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel uncomfortable yet again, he would have felt utterly stupid if she had just left again when she evidently meant to be here.
"Please, sit down," he said and motioned over the general area around the fireplace with a wave of his hand. There were alternatives to the couch, after all.
Still, when Hermione came over, she chose to sit down on the very couch Harry was sitting on, just a bit nearer to its other end, but instead of one of the armchairs nonetheless. She smiled at him awkwardly, then immediately turned to look into the fire. Harry did likewise and for a few moments they sat there in silence, each of them lost in thought.
"So," Harry finally broke the quiet, trying to sound as casual as possible. "You can't sleep either?"
Hermione threw him a quick glance.
"No," she answered. "It's just… not a good night, I guess."
"It happens," Harry said, again casually.
Hermione nodded in agreement and Harry cleared his throat, with another minute of silence following afterwards, in which a certain decision grew in Harry's mind with increasing impatience.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he quite suddenly expressed, not taking his eyes off of the fire.
Hermione turned to look at him in surprise.
"For what?" she asked.
"For everything. The whole day," Harry replied, and if there was frustration in his voice, it was solely directed at himself in this moment. "For embarrassing you in front of everybody – twice. For making you uncomfortable. That was not my intention."
He didn't dare to look at her, so he missed her reaction apart from the two seconds it took her to say anything in return.
"I know," she said quietly. "Of course it wasn't."
Another pause ere she spoke again.
"I really have to apologize myself. I should have handled it entirely differently. My reactions were so silly…" she said, seemingly embarrassed of herself.
"See?" Harry said, looking at her with a weak smile. "I'm doing it again."
Hermione smiled likewise and turned towards the fire again, a few silent seconds passing between them once more.
"Ron… told me," Harry then confessed and Hermione knew instantly what he meant, her nervousness increasing in a leap.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say," she hastily tried to explain. "I just… I really believed it to be a possible explanation for… everything. And then I started worrying, because it might be something that is harmful to you. So I began researching everything even remotely related to what I think is going on. I didn't mean to… I mean… I only…"
"It's okay," Harry tried to calm her. "Frankly, I got angry at Ron and I think… not quite rightfully so. If there was one solid point to his whole argument, then it surely was the fact that you were the one to come up with the theory. And that's enough reason for me to consider it to be true."
Hermione looked down at her hands, fidgeting around with them in her lap, the fire casting a warm glow on her. Harry looked at her for a moment, thankful that she couldn't see it. Somehow, and quite suddenly so, all his troubles were cast away. He wasn't embarrassed about anything anymore; he wasn't feeling awkward or even unsure. He felt strangely at peace, and there was nothing left to hide behind; nothing to conceal. A fierce determination burned inside him, mirroring the physical fire to his side.
"I don't believe it, though. That much I want you to know," he said in a steady voice, not taking his eyes off of her this time. "I don't want to believe it. My feelings are mine. I feel them. I know them. I cannot accept that they could be… artificial. They feel real to me."
Hermione's head had jerked up at his words, her eyes meeting his. Seeing the determination on his features and the blank honesty and unwavering certainty in his eyes, she started trembling.
"Harry…" she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
He moved towards her with a swift, yet not sudden motion.
"You've always been there, Hermione. You're the only one. You're the greatest soul and the kindest spirit I have ever known. That's a fact. You are the most caring, the most generous, the most loyal and most courageous being I could ever imagine. That's the truth. You're smart beyond comprehension. You're sweet, you're funny. You are beautiful. How could you ever think that it would take a curse for me to realize that?"
Hermione was shaking all over, her lips were trembling and tears were running down her glowing cheeks. Harry was gazing into her eyes without blinking; lost in the dark, hazel depths behind the flickering reflections of the fire. Harry moved even closer, their legs touching. Silently they gazed into each other's eyes, breathing heavily.
"I love you," Harry said in a low, but unfaltering voice. "I do. I know it. It's not a potion. It's not a spell. It's just me."
He slowly leaned towards her until their lips were merely an inch apart, still looking directly into her eyes. She was moving nearly unnoticeably, leaning into him as if time were passing slower, her trembling lips nearing his, parting ever so slightly. She was close to giving in – so close.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice breaking off and tears freely streaming down her face.
And she abruptly pulled back, rose from the couch and hurried up the stairs, out of Harry's sight, who sat alone in silence, his head sunken and the warmth of the fire far, far away from reaching his broken heart.
~Ω~
