I am puzzled at what I have become today, a strange copy of my old self. Of course, that's only on the inside. On the outside, I'm me, frizzy-haired Hermione.
I didn't used to be so bossy, in fact, up to the second I met him I wasn't. Funny how your own self will react to something even if you don't tell it to.
Now here I am, sitting in the common room as he sits near me, probably thinking of quidditch or some other rot. His face a perfect mask, unpenatrable.
Sometimes I wish I didn't meet him. I would have kept going to another compartment on the train. I might have gone home that summer and decided never to go back. Maybe that would have been better. I wouldn't be here, scared out of my wits by the Dark Lord.
But other times, and most of the time, I know that in my heart we were meant to meet. Although my mother is a deeply religious person, I believe that there is fate and that it can be slightly altered, but in the end what was said to happen will happen.
And that's why I'm not in Divination. Quite frankly I am afraid of the women, because she posseses the ability to tell me of my death, and his. I don't want to know upfront. I don't want to be able to count the days I have left with him and smile at his jokes, never saying that I love him because he will die anyway.
He turns and looks at me. In those eyes I can see a pain and sadness that I wish I could somehow comfort. Oh, sometimes I wish I he didn't have those eyes, they are a door to his soul.
He gets up and starts to his room, but turns. He asks me if I'm alright. I put on a fake smile, hoping that the dim firelight hides my tears as I nod silently.
Oh, Harry, I wish I could say that I love you out loud!