Chapter 52: All According to Plan
Thursday, April 4th
In the early evening, as the sun was just beginning to set, Hermione lit a candle she'd bought at the store. Tossing out the match, she returned to her makeshift place of reflection at the coffee table.
It was the Feast of Passover, and while her family didn't go to church often, she still liked to observe a few of the important holidays. Christmas was one, and Easter was another. Her parents thought it was cute, but there was another reason she never told them. Four years ago on Passover Thursday, she'd been attacked by a troll in Hogwarts. That was the day she died.
Hermione watched the flames flicker. Harry would probably think it was strange to commemorate her own death, but she liked to spend the day in reflection. Earlier she'd gone for a walk, and now she lit a prayer candle. Following the way she'd learned in her brief stints in Sunday school, she clasped her hands, bowed her head, and started whispering some prayers from the back of a spirituality book.
As she prayed, she wondered if there was anyone listening. Billions of people all over the world did this every day, but they couldn't seem to agree on who they were praying too. Was it God? Allah? The Buddha?
As for Hermione, she often felt like there was an angel at her side watching over her. Sometimes, when she was really feeling sad, a voice inside her would say: Don't be afraid. I am here. Strange as it seemed, her burden would feel a bit lighter after.
Hermione knew enough about psychology to understand that she was probably making it all up, but the thought of having an invisible guardian was still a comforting one. However, she didn't set up her prayer table to talk to the probably imaginary angel. She was setting it up in remembrance, of the life she had and the one she'd been given.
The candle flickered, and she gazed into the flames.
Hermione's thoughts shifted to next year. She'd have a much lighter class schedule, and Tonks said she might get accelerated in her Auror training. She'd been looking forward to that, but now she felt worried. With the way things were going, war seemed almost inevitable. She frowned, flipping to another page in the book and saying a quick prayer for protection.
She fidgeted on the couch. Then, blowing out the candle, she crossed the room to the kitchen table. At the store she'd picked up a few newspapers to aid in the investigation, so she took them to the coffee table and flipped them open. Things were quiet this week—nothing about bombings or kidnappings. The much awaited birthday banquet of the Minister was front page news.
But as she read the papers, she couldn't seem to stay focused. She kept looking outside at the evening sky, her thoughts turning over in her mind, thinking of happier things.
Harry had been getting closer to her over the last few weeks, to the point she was almost positive he had feelings for her. Still, it felt like she was waiting for something to happen. She didn't know what it would take to max out the "does he like me" meter, but maybe it would help if Harry fell on his knees and offered a declaration of eternal love, just to be safe.
She hadn't realized before, but falling in love was scary. There was always that fear that you were only a footnote in their life, while they were the first twenty chapters of yours. And maybe, the fear of having to erase Harry's name off the cover and burn the pages was so excruciating she didn't want to know the truth. It was far better just to wait.
But that didn't stop her from caring, and learning to love more and more things about him. His smile, his laugh, and his intelligent gaze were etching themselves into her book like a brand. Before long, he would be on every page and that made her really, really scared.
Then, at some point this morning, she'd been thinking of the name "Nyati Garden." Some neuron in her brain remembered that this was a word in Swahili that had multiple meanings. One of them was 'unicorn.'
Harry had named his greatest discovery to date after her, the final product of years of struggle, and then asked her to be his research partner. It wasn't some little project, either, this was a mission that would take decades. Then he'd spun her around and promised to make more discoveries with her, and to celebrate each and every one. He fully intended to keep her in his life for years to come, working by her side.
If that wasn't a declaration of love, what was?
Hermione had read romances before, and she never understood why the heroine didn't just tell her one true love how she felt like 100 pages sooner. But now, the thought of running to Harry's house to confess her feelings made her feel like throwing up, because it was real and scary and ripping open a wound that might never close. Then again, languishing in a state of 'maybe' wasn't going to work either. That was unbearable in a whole different way.
She crossed the room and picked up the home phone. She liked to spend her death day with family, but they were off at a conference. And…well…it wasn't like she had to commit to anything with Harry, but she had to be brave enough to take a step. He'd promised her cookies, after all. Maybe that was a good place to start.
She dialed the number. Harry's mother picked up, and she heard her shouting in the distance for him. A few scuffles of exchanged hands latter, he answered, "Hello?"
"Hi Harry, it's Hermione. How's your break going so far?"
"Well, it's…umm…not great."
"Why?"
There was silence on the end of the line for a moment. "I can't talk about it over the phone."
Hermione let out a breath. "Okay. Let's meet somewhere so we can."
In a deserted playground, Harry sat on a bench, watching the first stars wink into existence in the darkening sky. The playground was a few blocks from his house, but he hadn't visited since he was seven years old. Even then, he'd usually abandoned the park to wander the surrounding forest, searching for interesting rocks to add to his collection. That all ended once his pet rock got smashed, and he decided he preferred reading indoors anyway.
He spotted Hermione walking over from the street, pulling her cardigan close against the breeze. It wasn't cold enough to force them inside yet, for which he was grateful, because he would rather be alone with her.
She greeted him, took a seat on the bench, and waited for him to speak. Harry stared up into the night sky, unsure how to proceed. Normally, he didn't feel comfortable talking about his personal issues. It made it worse, somehow, if everyone knew he felt awful, and he had learned from experience that most people gave useless advice and platitudes. He preferred to work his way through his problems alone.
Hermione sat calmly beside him, waiting. He decided he had to tell her the bare minimum. "My parents are getting separated."
She gasped, reaching for him. "Harry, I'm so sorry. What happened?"
Her hands wrapped around his arm, her gaze gentle and concerned. His heart squeezed as if under pressure, and he spilled everything—how his parents barely spoke to each other, but when they did it was terse, like they'd been body swapped with robots. The weird, "nice" voice they always used with Harry. How his father locked himself in his study, sleeping there every evening.
"They're trying to hold it together for me, but it's obvious they're absolutely miserable. There's an oppressive curtain of silence in every room, as if they've already split the house in two."
Her hand rubbed his shoulder in circles. "I'm so sorry. Did they tell you why this happened?"
"Just the usual script. They said it's not my fault, and they both will always love me. They're living separate lives and need space." He sighed. "Then again, I don't know why I'm obsessing over it. It's not like I didn't see it coming. I'll live with mum over the summer and visit dad. Heck, I could even alternate living spaces, carry my trunk around like a portable bedroom."
Her hand froze, slipping from his shoulder. He missed it. "Harry, you love them." Her voice was gentle. "And this is a big deal. It's okay to feel sad."
Harry shrugged. "You're right. I feel terrible, but the thing is, this might actually be better for both of them."
"Why?"
Harry considered his response. "They never handled conflict well, always bottling it up rather than talking. I think it was because dad wanted to be civil, and my mum never thought she could win. But it's just…sad that this is how it worked out. They must have loved each other once." He brushed his heel against the pavement. "Although, I suppose they really do have separate interests and personalities. My dad likes his work…okay, he's a workaholic. He could spend all day researching alone and he'd be happy. My mum, she's always been a people person. She loves inviting friends over, and I'm not even sure if she reads, except for magazines."
His shoulders slumped. "I think once I was gone, they had nothing in common and started to grow apart. I don't blame myself, but it still hurts knowing that I don't have a home anymore."
Hermione nodded, resuming her soft caress against his back. "I understand. I know I'd be miserable if my mum and dad ever split up. I wish there was something I could do to help you."
"You already are," he said. "Thank you for being here for me, Hermione."
"Anytime," she said softly.
They sat there in silence, Hermione's hands so gentle and light, it was almost an afterthought. As if they did this every day. Harry caught her scent, something light and sweet. He found himself wishing he could split into two people. One version of him could go back to Hogwarts and accomplish great things and deal with all his problems, and the other could stay here forever, holding her and never concerning himself with anything else.
The words came from inside him before he realized it, "Hermione, do you want to have kids someday?"
She blinked in surprise. "Well, yes, I think so." Her hesitant smile blossomed at the thought. "I would like to have at least three, a whole house full of kids. Maybe it's because I was an only child. I love my mum and dad, but they're very busy people, and I often played by myself. I was lonely." She paused, then turned to Harry. "Were you lonely too?"
Harry didn't say anything for a long moment. Then, he nodded. "Yes. More than I realized at the time. I think…perhaps I always will be a little lonely."
She frowned. "Why?"
He shrugged. "I don't know why, I just am. Maybe it shouldn't be that surprising, since I'm not exactly Mr. Popular. Very few people can tolerate me, much less relate to me. I don't really blame them, since I don't make it easy. Remember that day we met on the train, and I quizzed you on Confirmation Bias using the Wason Rule Discovery Test?"
Hermione nodded. "I always remember it as that time you stomped all over me with your logic."
He smiled softly. "Well, I do something similar with everyone I think I might have a connection to, just to see if we'll get along and…you can guess how it turns out. I learned early on that I can be friendly to my classmates, but on a personal level, there's not much grounds for mutual understanding. We just don't…click."
"That must be really hard," she said.
"It's okay, I've learned to accept it. I'd rather be alone than with people who exhaust me. You're an exception, of course."
"What's different about me?"
He turned to her, her cheeks pink from the chill air, her brown eyes curious and questioning. He couldn't help but smile.
He thought back to the years he spent without Hermione in Hogwarts. He'd read her letters, over and over, preferring to pour over her insights than talk to his classmates. Even a newspaper article with her smiling face was better than nothing. He'd been a fool for not realizing his feelings sooner.
"You're the trifecta," he said with warmth. "Intelligent and analytical, kind and caring, and playful enough not to take yourself too seriously. I'm sure you've lots of friends who want to spend time with you." He stared down at his hands. "And yet you seem to enjoy my company for some reason."
To his surprise, she laughed. "Why wouldn't I? You're all those things too!" He looked at her. "Maybe not in exactly the same way, but I know you're kind, and you're more playful than anyone I've ever met. Intelligence goes without saying, so…" She patted his arm. "Stop selling yourself short, Mr. Potter. You're great fun to have around."
He was silent for a moment, staring at her hand on his arm. Then, his voice filled with awe, he said, "Hermione, I never know what to expect with you."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
Harry swallowed as the last of his stubborn resolve broke. He wrapped her in his arms, gathering her to him on the bench. With a sigh, he buried his face in her neck.
Her arms wrapped around him, a bit stiff with confusion. "Harry?" she whispered.
"Hermione," he said softly, muffled by her hair. "Just…thank you. For being so wonderful."
After a few moments, she relaxed into him, with a gentle sigh against his ear.
The night was bright with stars, and Harry let his fingers run through Hermione's pretty curls. Her soft arms held him, her scent flooding his senses, and Harry felt a strange mix of contentment and longing.
"Sometimes," she said softly. "I feel really lonely too. Even when I'm surrounded by people. I never knew it was the same for you."
Harry held her, wondering if that longing had led her to him, the same way it brought him to her. He caressed her, buried himself in her warmth and the tangles of her hair, and willed her to understand all the things he didn't know how to say.
It struck him as ridiculous when they had to go home. But it was late, and she said her parents would worry if she stayed out past 11:00. So they walked back, and though Harry felt it appropriate to walk her to her house, he knew it wasn't feasible. Yet if she'd asked, he still would have done it, and walked back home at 5:00 in the morning.
As they approached his front porch, he felt that curtain of silence and shame emanating from it. It felt awful to leave Hermione for this house, like a warm blanket to a cold bath.
"Well," he said, once they reached the doorway. "I suppose this is it."
"Can I see you tomorrow?" she asked.
He turned to her, watched her flush so prettily that he turned completely stupid.
"I…well, I thought we could have a fun day out together," she said. "It's supposed to be nice tomorrow, and I've nothing else to do, so…"
"Yes," he said. "Of-of course. When do we meet?"
"How about ten o'clock? At the train station?"
He nodded jerkily. "Okay. We can eat lunch, and watch a movie…"
"It sounds like fun," she said, beaming.
They stood there, unsure how to end their evening.
"Goodnight," said Hermione, smiling with a short wave. "I'll see you tomorrow."
It was only after she turned around that he said, "Goodnight."
Harry went upstairs to his room, shirked off his jeans and shirt, climbed into his bed and lay down. Elation and fear stirred in his heart, and he didn't know what to make of it. Hermione, I love you, but why do you scare me so much?
After a sleepless hour, he went to his trunk and got out his research notes, searching for an answer in the psychology of love and attraction. There was a worm digging in his mind, and he couldn't rest until he'd unearthed it.
Eventually, he found a sentence that made him pause. He put his notes down, running to grab the book that had produced the quote.
Harry flipped open the book, turning to the page and reading. All the while, he felt a growing anxiety. The pieces of a puzzle were coming together, all of the uncertainties coalescing into damning certainty.
With a sinking feeling, Harry set the book down. The little worm in his mind was plain for all to see, in all its filthy glory.
Tears wet his cheeks.
You see, triumphed Slytherin. This is what I've been trying to tell you all along. This is who you are, and it's time you were finally honest with yourself. If you care about her at all—
"Shut up," said Harry, burying his face in his hands. "Just…shut up."
The next morning, Hermione woke up thinking of her best friend. She sat up, smiling and scrunching her blankets up to her chin.
Over and over, her mind repeated the words he'd said to her: Hermione, thank you for being so wonderful. They'd sat on that bench for hours, just holding each other. He gazed at her as if she was the only thing he wanted, and when they parted, he hadn't wanted to let her go.
She wondered if he thought he was good at hiding his feelings. Because he really wasn't. And she didn't feel like she should have to anymore, either.
Sitting up in bed, she crossed her legs. She was going to have to be very brave, because Harry would not make the first move. Hermione knew what Tonks would say if she were here, and it wasn't, 'Give him a kiss on the cheek.' No, it was something more like, 'Let him know exactly what he's missing.'
Hermione Granger Potter…oh Merlin, I'm getting ahead of myself.
The words 'Harry' and 'date' didn't exactly go together in her mind, mostly because she was pretty sure he didn't know the first thing about how to be romantic, at least in the traditional sense. It was going to be up to her to plan this whole thing out. Not that she minded, exactly.
Hermione quickly checked her alarm clock, then jumped out of bed and started getting ready. She brushed her hair as she concocted her plan, her giggling sounding a little like a dark lord. Harry Potter, you just wait, you're going to love this experiment, heh heh.
"Hey sweetheart," said her mum, yawning as she sipped her coffee. "You're all dressed up this morning." Her mum studied her with careful suspicion. "Going out to meet someone?"
Hermione spread butter on her toast, feeling too shy to say anything. Her mum brightened. "Oh, it's a date, isn't it? Is it with that nice boy Dean Thomas you wrote about?"
"Umm…no."
"Who is it? Don't tell me it's…Harry P—"
"Bye mum!"
Hermione finished her toast in record time and left, her mother laughing as she ran out the door. "Well, it's about time!"
At exactly 10:10 on Friday morning, Hermione found Harry at the train station. He seemed caught up in his thoughts, but he smiled when he saw her.
"Hi," she said, and hugged him. Step 1: physical contact.
He hugged her too, squeezing her gently before letting go. "Good morning. You look pretty today."
"Thank you," she replied, taking his hand. "Now, let's go, we have a whole day planned!"
His eyes widened at the touch, but he didn't pull his hand away.
It was a lovely spring day, sunny for once, so they ambled their way over to the park. After buying some drinks, they walked around and chatted for a bit. Hermione kept glancing at him, watching for signs of interest, but he seemed distracted, his gaze far away.
She frowned, trying not to feel too discouraged. As her brain helpfully pointed out, at least it wasn't as bad as their fountain date in first year where Harry seethed the entire time and spoke in monosyllables. Anything else was a step up, honestly. Not to mention, he had told her he'd had a rough night, and lack of sleep would make anyone less talkative. Still, her date plan sort of required Harry to put in some effort, she couldn't make this fun all by herself.
As they wandered the park, Hermione suggested mini-golf. The competition would be energizing for both of them, so she started talking up the rivalry as soon as they got on the train. Harry, you may win at chess, but I'm an expert at hand-eye coordination and you're sooo going down.
To Harry's credit, he did try to keep up with her energy, but she could tell it was straining him. Once they got there, he seemed happier to putt the ball in near silence. This confused and frustrated Hermione until a revelation hit her like a ton of bricks.
His parents. Of course.
Here she was, wrapped up in a fantasy, and he was dealing with serious family drama. Anyone would be distracted by that, and she'd be naïve to think otherwise. As hard as it was, she was just going to have to be patient and let him take his time.
They went to a late lunch, then wandered the mall for a bit before going to the cinema. It was a funny film, and Hermione laughed, at least in part to encourage Harry to laugh with her. He didn't.
At this point, Hermione knew not to expect too much. Harry was clearly off in own little world, probably barely aware he was at the cinema. It still hurt, all the same. She knew that boys often tried things at theatres—holding hands, arm around the shoulder. Even Harry had to sense that implicit invitation, but it didn't even seem to cross his mind while he sat there drinking his cola and not even looking at her.
It just felt so wrong, so outside what she expected from him, like he wasn't even the same person. Could his parents really be affecting him so seriously, or…was it something else?
In the middle of the show, when Happy Gilmore was throttling someone again, Hermione reached over and took his hand in hers. She squeezed it and gave him a tentative smile, letting him know she was there for him. Harry stared at her for what felt like an eternity, then a flash of longing spread across his face. He squeezed her hand like it was something precious, and held it for the rest of the film.
It felt like a secret success. One step closer.
As they walked out of the theatre, Hermione asked, "What was your favourite part, Harry? I loved every scene with the grandma in it, she was so funny."
He shrugged. "Oh, I liked everything."
The parking lot was almost empty, a few stragglers left behind. "Should we get some food? I'm hungry."
"That would be nice."
Hermione stopped walking. She could already see how the rest of this date would go. They would go to dinner, they'd have polite conversation, and then Harry would be tired and she'd suggest they go home and that would be it. There would be no late night conversations, no lingering glances or holding hands under the stars, and Hermione would have no idea if Harry even liked the date or wanted to see her again tomorrow…
The thought filled her with desperation, and she clenched her fists.
No. She wasn't going to end this night waiting and wondering. In spite of how he was acting, she knew that Harry cared for her. If he wasn't going to make a move—due to family or fear or whatever—then she'd have to have enough courage to do it herself.
She turned to him, determined.
"Harry, I need to tell you something," she said, except it came out a little faster than she'd practiced.
"What is it?"
Her heart hammered. "I want to do an experiment."
"Uhh…when? At school?"
"No. Right now."
He frowned. "Okay. What sort of experiment?"
From his tone of voice, she could see he hadn't caught on yet. She wished she could get herself to stop trembling, this wasn't at all how she'd imagined her voice would sound. "Umm…well, I have a hypothesis. About you and me. But I need to test it to be sure it's right."
He studied her. "Do you need help…umm…designing the experiment?"
"No. I already have one picked out. Is it okay if I test it out on you?"
He frowned a little, but his face lit up with understanding when she took his hand and walked him to the bench. Harry sat down, and they didn't let go of each other's hands. The parking lot was empty, the light of the building shining like a spotlight. "What's your hypothesis?" he asked.
"I'll tell you after I test it," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "Are you ready?"
He was silent a moment, his gaze lowering. "Yes."
Gathering all her courage, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was gentle and soft, and not very long. It was pleasant, but she couldn't tell if he liked it. Slowly, she pulled away, her heart pounding, and opened her eyes.
He was staring at her with a glazed expression, his breathing faster than normal.
"What was the hypothesis, Hermione?" he murmured.
Trembling, she said. "If I kiss you, then you'll want to kiss me back."
"Ahh, well then," he said, shifting to place a hand on her back. "You know, biological experiments should be repeated three times for accuracy."
She felt a weight lift off her, and she laughed. "Alright. For science."
Their next kiss was a bit longer, slow and sweet but insistent. Harry's hands found their way to the nape of her neck. The third kiss he pulled her in, and by this point he'd abandoned the pretence of replicating the first experiment. He kissed her for so long and with so much passion that Hermione felt she was drowning.
He groaned and pulled away, leaning his head against her shoulder, his breath hot and fast against her neck. Hermione's heart sang with joy. Maybe she was supposed to feel nervous or shy, but it was like everything inside her said, "Yes, finally!" She wanted to do more experiments. When he raised his head, she smiled and drew him in for another kiss.
But instead of responding with enthusiasm, he was frozen.
"Harry?" she asked, pulling back. "What's wrong?"
A strained look crossed his face. "I'm sorry, I need a moment."
Harry pulled away until they were sitting side by side again. Hermione waited for several more endless seconds, but he just stared ahead with an intense, pensive look. Hermione felt so scared and hurt that she didn't know what to say.
Harry glanced over at her, and then sighed, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "I'm so sorry, I don't mean to keep you waiting. I just wanted to give you the best answer I could. I liked the kiss, but I…well, before we do anything else, I think we should talk to each other."
"Okay," said Hermione, her heart dropping into her stomach. "What do you want to talk about?"
His rubbed his hands against his knees. "Umm…have you ever heard of Sternburg's Triangular Theory of Love?"
"I haven't," said Hermione, too frazzled to remember any theories.
"It's a model developed to help identify the different components of love in a relationship. Not just romantic, but for any sort of bond between two people. The three components are passion, intimacy and commitment. They blend in different measures to form several different types of love.
"I first read about it when I was doing research on my feelings for you. I've had strong feelings of attraction for you since January, although that might have begun sooner. Before that, I loved you with intimacy and commitment as your friend." He squeezed her hand in his. "I care about you very, very much. I want you to know that. But I have to evaluate this rationally, because I can't jump into a relationship with you based purely on feelings. I have to know I'm not going to hurt you." He sighed, releasing her hand. "This is where I am right now. I'm attracted to you and I have affection for you, and together that equals romantic love. But I don't know if the commitment is there, and without it, that love will fade."
The whole time he spoke, she felt her heart brimming with surprise and affection, but the last line collapsed her, left her sinking. "Harry, why can't you commit to a relationship? I don't understand."
He didn't look at her, his face tense in thought. "I'm a workaholic, or at least I'm very ambitious. I'm also very independent, and I need a lot of time to myself. Those are good traits for a researcher, but not for a boyfriend. Or a husband." His voice grew soft. "You know that I also have anger issues. I'm working on them, but they're still there."
Her head was spinning, racing to keep up with his argument. How did he think so fast, in complete sentences, no less? He must have prepared this sooner…last night, maybe, when she was smiling and dreaming of him.
"If I agreed to a relationship with you," he continued. "I'd need to change and adapt to it, and I'm not sure that I can. I may be able to at first, but romantic attraction fades after two years. In five or ten years, you'd be miserable because I'm never home, or because I shouted at you or worse. I know I asked you to research with me, but it would be so much harder with a family and with children. If our goals are different, it will cause strain. We'd be tested, based on the strength of our commitment, and that would be our breaking point."
Five to ten years…he'd been thinking of the future, their future. That had to mean something.
"I understand what you're saying," said Hermione, feeling a bit of levelheadedness come over her once she realized this was a discussion. Point, counterpoint. "I can tell you're trying to protect me, but your assumptions about what I want in a relationship are wrong." She felt herself shaking, even as her voice came out calm. "I don't mind that you're ambitious, since I am too. We'd work well together on projects, supporting and helping each other, and it wouldn't bother me if you need a little time alone. It's alright if you aren't as family oriented as me, because I think our core values are still the same. As for the anger issues, what's important is that you are working on them. I don't see it being a major problem years from now."
His gaze softened. "You may be right about the first few things. Our combined ambition could be a positive, rather than a negative. And we could find ways to balance alone time and family time. But the last…Hermione, I don't trust myself not to hurt you. If it ever happened again, I could never forgive myself. I could try to put up walls, but relationships are emotional powder kegs and I know that eventually…not that I would hurt you, but the chance increases exponentially…"
She looked down at her shoes, thinking of how to respond. "I know you, Harry, and I don't think you'll hurt me. I think you love me, and you're scared to be vulnerable. Our lives together might not be perfect, but we don't have to have all the answers now. We just need to pin down the important things." She cupped his hands in hers, smiling at him. "I want to be with you, Harry. I want the man I see in front of me, not some perfect person who doesn't exist. You're sweet, and you're intelligent, and you're the best friend I've ever had. You understand me, and you let me be myself with you. That's…so important to me, I can't even express it. Being with you makes me so happy, and I can't imagine a better life than one beside you. The rest of it, all of it, we'll figure out in time."
He gazed at her, his eyes full of surprise and genuine affection. "You really think that?" he whispered.
She nodded. "I do."
His gaze fell to her lips, and for a moment she felt they might just crash into each other, like some kind of magnetic reaction. Then he took in a sharp breath, releasing her hands. "Hermione, I…this is so hard for me. I'm so sorry. I wish I was better at this."
"It's okay. I know you're trying to show me you care by being completely honest with me." She smiled. "It's very cute, you know."
He winced as if in pain. He seemed agitated and restless. "This will seem cold, but if you want honesty, then I have to tell you. Imagine there were two choices, mutually exclusive, between my ambition or a romantic relationship with you. I would decide by giving each option a value. Which is more important? A relationship with you would make me very happy, so that has value to me. My work could save billions of lives, and that has value to everyone, including myself. In the end, my relationship with you has a lower value. I have to choose my work."
"You're right," she said softly, when she could finally speak. "That is very cold."
He sighed, deflating. "I know. I'm so sorry. And perhaps I'm wrong, and they're not mutually exclusive. But if they are…then you can understand why I'm unsure if I can commit to you."
"So…basically," she said, feeling numb all over. "You're saying I'm not important enough to you."
"No, I'm saying you are important!" he cried. "You're important enough to deserve a man who would love you, and do anything for you. You deserve someone who wants to have a family, and can make football practice on the weekends, and who is home every night to help cook dinner and put the kids to bed. You need someone who can be there for you emotionally and who doesn't snap at you or make you cry. I don't know if I can do that, or more importantly, if I should. I will always be your friend, Hermione. But I don't know if I can love you enough to make you happy."
She was shaking, the finality of what he was saying hitting her.
"So…have you decided you don't want to date me at all?" she asked.
"I'm not saying no," said Harry. "I do care for you, a lot, and that will factor into the decision as well. I'm just saying I need more time to think."
Hermione nodded, barely hearing what he was saying.
If he hadn't kissed her, maybe it would have been okay. She would be sad, but she could have accepted his answer. But he'd acted like he wanted her, made her believe she could have him, and then he said that he didn't. He loved her, but not enough. She wanted to talk it out with him, to find some way to compromise, but her intuition told her that nothing she said or did would make a difference. She could argue until she was blue in the face, make every rational argument out there, and it wouldn't matter. He would make this decision entirely on his own. And when he did, it would be final.
It felt like a door slamming in her face, and she couldn't take it.
She burst into tears.
"Hermione, I…please don't cry."
She wiped her eyes, but the tears wouldn't stop coming. "I don't know what to do!"
He looked distraught, but he didn't reach out to her. She wanted to shove him away, wanted him to hold her, and the confusion just made her cry even more.
"I love you, Harry," she said, shaking. "So much."
Harry was completely silent, the only sound her tears.
"Oh, Hermione," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."
His hands remained clenched at his sides, holding back.
Not choosing her.
Hermione stood, leaving him staring at her from the bench.
"Please," she said. "Just take me home."
The train ride home was long.
She sat beside him, sniffling and staring at her lap.
His entire being rebelled against him. It should not be this way. He wanted to hold her more than anything.
What are you doing! His brain cried. Are you mad? Hold her! Tell her you love her and never want to leave her!
He almost did. Countless times, he almost broke down and gathered her to him, whispering comforting words into her ear. The only thing that held him back was the knowledge that he'd be making things worse.
He'd already messed up once by kissing her. Even though he knew it would increase their mutual affection, when he wasn't sure he could commit, he honestly couldn't help himself. He'd been dreaming of it for so long…and she was offering, in the most adorable way, to kiss him. It broke him. He crossed the line, and he didn't want to go back. When he finally started, he never wanted to stop.
But he had to, because real life wasn't a fairy tale, and sometimes love wasn't enough.
He wasn't enough.
You're wrong, said some part of him. And you're stupid. I'm leaving your brain, let me go live with Hermione.
When they got to her stop, she got off without him. It hurt, on a level he couldn't express, that she didn't even say goodbye.
