A/N: Sorry! I've been having my semester exams, and they were hard. We have hols now. I'll update "About Remus" as soon as I can too. Hope you enjoy this. Yay to all R/H shippers!!!

Disclaimer: You know, the usual... Blah blah blah...

BEHIND THE CURTAIN

She's in the library, as usual, and I'm standing behind one of the huge shelves that block her view of me, and I'm watching her. From afar. Like I always have. I can't get any closer. If I do, she will merely ask me, with no real interest, what I was doing standing staring at her as though I'd never seen humans before. I know what she would say because I know her so well, and there's a second, more applicable reason as well. She's already asked me that question thrice.

Harry says I should stop gazing because she was soon, very soon, going to be unnerved by it and very, very annoyed. Really, for all Hermione's such a great witch, she's really clueless. I wish she would hurry up and figure out that I love her and she loves me, so I would have all the trouble and pain of having to tell her myself, haltingly and hesitatingly. I know I will stammer and stutter. It's what I'm good at, especially when I want to say something that really means a lot to me.

I don't know how I ended up falling in love with Hermione. Hermione, of all people. She and I are so... so incompatible. She's sensible, practical and a genius; I'm a bumbling, clumsy, insensitive prat who doesn't know how to say anything properly. I guess you don't choose who you fall in love with. If it had been so, I'd definitely not have chosen Hermione.

I can just imagine that scene. Me going up to her.

"Hermione, I love you."

Hermione bursts into loud laughter and tells me to stop joking; "You'd never mean that. I mean, it's so impossible!" Or stares at me like I'm some creature from another planet, who doesn't make sense at all.

But is it? I don't know. All I know is, I'd give my life for a certain girl who has bushy hair and warm brown eyes, and a heart that can love more deeply than anyone I know. But I'm behind the curtain for her. She would never see me the way I see her; she would fall in love with some other lucky bloke who would probably have startling blue eyes, and was a genius in every aspect. She wouldn't look sideways. And that's where I stand. On her side, behind the curtain. I'm backstage, and I'm never going onstage to perform. Well, some never make it big. I guess I'm one of them.

But I will bear it. Being by her side when she needs anything; so close, and yet so far, knowing that I can never cover that distance and get closest to her.

That's where I am, behind the curtain.

I think all this, and I look sideways at her while we're walking down to the Great Hall for breakfast. And I see her looking sideways at me, a concerned expression on her face.

Maybe, just maybe, I will get a chance to come onstage and declare my undying love to her, and she won't laugh like I think she will. There always one thing left behind everywhere, even in the most desperate desolation of life – hope...