Love is the extremely difficult realization
that something other than oneself is real.
Iris Murdoch
I sat, in my crumpled dress with the curls damped by snow wheedling out of the hair pins. No tears came. I was surprised. I actually went for several moments without a significant thought. Finally a small practical voice that strongly resembled my mother encouraged me to change out of cold clothes. Without better options, I followed that advice and put on my oldest pajamas and those ridiculous slippers. I pulled on the wrap from Ron and sat back down in front of the hearth in my sitting room.
I lost myself in wordless thought for several minutes. The flames soothed me and warmed my chilled body. Slowly my mind began to process the evening, or rather relive the evening.
The comforting warmth of the fire and the wrap put me in Harry's arms again. When my eyes drifted shut, I could feel his hand around my waist, breath on my ear. There was that scent. It must have been Harry, but it was not cologne. He never wore cologne. There were hints of fresh air, broom polish, clean laundry, and a touch of something unknown.
I leaned further into the depths of the chair. I felt so small and lost. Harry seemed larger, stronger, more grown than I thought. How could someone I have seen nearly every day for more than half my life have changed that dramatically over the course of a few hours? He was not suave or smooth like a few of the playboys that flocked to the only female member of the Golden Trio seeking time in the limelight. Harry will never be completely at ease around women. Then again, he was so self-assured tonight. It was as if he knew exactly what was happening and exactly what he wanted. He never stumbled over his words. He never lost his thoughts.
I conjured a cup of cocoa for myself. I was a bit distracted. The heat surprised me. The feel of Harry's lips on my own began to haunt me. Harry and I routinely kissed. Cheeks, foreheads, noses, once he even kissed my elbow after I knocked it against a shelf. However, never had our lips met prior to that Christmas Eve incident. What was in that moment on the sofa? What was the power of that moment in the Room of Requirement?
I sat, mute, thoughtless, immobile for near unto a quarter hour.
Ron must be right. Those are words I thought I would never utter, most especially in regards to his insight into a relationship. I must love Harry. How does the love for a friend turn to this though? How did I go from loving him as the brother I never had, to loving him like I do now? Where was the moment I missed? What was the word spoken to cast this spell no other wizard had managed?
I love Harry Potter. I do not love the Boy Who Lived. He was a brooding, confused, boy looking for his place in the world that he was destined to save. That boy was forced to grow up much too quickly. I do not love the Boy Who Conquered. He was a boy who did what he must and faced great evil and grief at much too young of an age. That boy was a cardboard hero, adored by the world yet less substantial than a ghost.
I love Harry Potter. I love the Harry who knows how I like to drink my coffee in the morning and my tea in the evening. This young man notices and loves the little things in life. He knows that the horrific and the wonderful pass, but the every day moments make life worth living. I love the Harry who spoils his friends. This young man grew up without a loving family, yet created one from his friends. He knows that love and friendship are eternal and priceless. I love the Harry who argues with Ron about some insanely insignificant point of Quidditch until they both are hollering and red in the face. This young man is passionate, yet thoughtful. He will argue about Quidditch with Ron, but then buy him a firewhiskey and laugh about the film we watched the night before. I love the Harry who will sit silently next to me. This young man can be in the moment without having to fill it with mindless babble or useless movement. He knows how important it is to simply be present to those we care about.
I love Harry.
I found peace with that statement. There was peace, but it was much like the peace that resulted after the War. In the newfound peace, rebuilding and reordering was necessary. My experiences there also taught me, that the process will take a bit of time. My life now, is not as it was when I awoke this morning.
As I assimilated all of this into my new understanding, questions began to arise. Ron was right again, I thought of Anne and began questioning who she was, where she was from, how she knew of magic, and so forth. At least the dear boy knows me well enough to save me from worrying too much over that. However, he would have some lengthy explanations to make as to why I never heard of her until tonight. Then, my mild amusement as I envisioned how I would make Ron uncomfortable during the telling of his romance disappeared. A new question dominated my thoughts. A terrible question. A question that could destroy my life. Did Harry love me?
