The instant the timbre of her voice, a familiar melody after so long, reached Harry's ears, a jolt of recognition, sharp and undeniable, shot through him. It wasn't just the sound, but the particular cadence, the slight lilt at the end of her sentences that burrowed deep into his memory. He pivoted on the heel of his worn trainer, and there she was. Standing just beyond the hallway entrance, she was a tangible echo of the girl etched in his mind from years past.
Even now, younger and caught in the past, Harry could recognize glimpses of the girl Ginny would grow into—strong-willed, vibrant, and full of fire.
He found himself momentarily lost in a nostalgic haze, recalling those precious, hushed evenings they had shared. He remembered the tentative brush of their hands as they reached for the same book, the shared laughter that echoed softly in the Gryffindor common room. He knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within his chest, that a mutual spark had ignited between them, a fragile flame of youthful affection.
But the relentless march of time and the ever-widening distance between them had gradually cooled his ardor, leaving behind a faint ember of what once was. A wave of self-reproach washed over him; he was a wanker for allowing those feelings to fade. Yet, the undeniable reason for that emotional shift stood solid and real beside him, her own gaze fixed on the very same girl who held a piece of his history.
Hermione. Her very presence seemed to hum with an intellectual energy that had always captivated him, a stark contrast to the easygoing familiarity he shared with Ginny. Hermione challenged him, pushed him beyond his comfort zone, and in doing so, subtly sculpted him into a better version of himself. The longer he spent in her orbit, the stronger that inexplicable pull became. The void left by Ron's impulsive departure had finally clarified the landscape of his own heart. The gentle fondness he held for Ginny could never rival the fierce, unwavering connection he felt with Hermione. Once that internal dam had fractured, years of carefully constructed emotional barriers crumbled.
Everything he had consciously suppressed, every unspoken thought and burgeoning desire, now surged forth with an unstoppable force. For years, he had meticulously maintained the boundaries of their friendship, a self-imposed restraint born of loyalty and perhaps a touch of fear. But now, seeing Hermione in a new light, unburdened and seemingly "free," he resolved to no longer deny the insistent yearnings of his own heart.
He recognized the genuine warmth in Ginny's affection, the easy camaraderie they had once shared. But his heart now belonged elsewhere, irrevocably drawn to the intelligent sparkle in Hermione's eyes. He could no longer feign a reciprocation he didn't feel, not when the possibility of something more with Hermione finally lay within his grasp.
"Hey Ginny!" Harry's voice, though intended to sound casual, held a slight tremor that even he could detect. He plastered on a smile, a practiced maneuver designed to project an air of normalcy he was far from feeling.
Ginny returned the smile, a polite curve of her lips that didn't quite reach the depths of her expressive brown eyes. A flicker of something unreadable danced within their depths as she shifted her gaze between him and Hermione.
"Thanks for that," Hermione said, her smile genuine and warm as she addressed Ginny. "I had completely forgotten the password; my mind's been rather preoccupied lately."
"Yeah--no problem," Ginny replied, the words sounding a touch too bright, the smile still failing to ignite the usual spark in her eyes. Both Harry and Hermione felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the unspoken awareness of the complex dynamics between them.
"Ron was looking for both of you earlier," Ginny continued, her gaze now sharper, more assessing. "He said he couldn't find you anywhere…are you both okay?" A subtle furrow appeared between her eyebrows, a hint of suspicion coloring her tone.
"We ran into Ronald earlier, near the owlery," Hermione explained smoothly, her voice even. "We had a rather urgent letter we needed to send to my parents, and the queue was surprisingly long. It just took longer than we anticipated."
A visible wave of relief washed over Ginny's face, softening her features. Her smile this time held a touch more sincerity, the familiar warmth returning to her eyes. "I see, well I'm glad he was able to find you. Are you headed inside the common room now?"
"Yeah," Harry interjected, stifling a genuine yawn that stretched his jaw. "After everything that happened yesterday, we both just want to head straight to bed. We're pretty knackered, to be honest."
"Right well--I'll see you inside then," she said, a delicate blush rising on her cheeks, a subtle hint of the affection she held for him.
She brushed past them, the faint scent of her favorite rose-scented perfume lingering in the air, and murmured the password to the Fat Lady, the portrait swinging inward with a creak.
Harry turned to Hermione, the unspoken tension between them thick in the air. "Well--"
"I'm sure you're glad to see her again," Hermione said softly, her gaze steady, a small, almost wistful smile gracing her lips. "Maybe this time around, things can unfold differently between you two."
Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He felt as though he had stumbled into a conversation he hadn't even realized was taking place in Hermione's mind.
"I'm sorry?" he managed, his voice a low murmur.
"Surely you won't wait until sixth year to finally ask her out again," Hermione continued, her voice barely a whisper now, her eyes holding a knowing glint that confused and slightly unnerved him. "What I mean is, you have the opportunity now to truly start your relationship with her, to actually savor it, instead of… well, instead of what happened last time."
The pieces clicked into place for Harry. Hermione, in her characteristic way, was trying to offer him encouragement, completely oblivious to the seismic shift that had occurred in his own feelings. The realization that she still perceived his affections to lie with Ginny was like a sharp jab to his chest.
"Right--well--I'd rather not discuss this," Harry said, his tone clipped, turning abruptly towards the portrait as if the painted scene held more appeal than the conversation.
"Have I upset you?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing with concern, her voice laced with genuine worry.
"No--just please, let's not talk about it further," Harry mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "I wasn't lying when I said I was knackered. I think I'll just head straight to bed." He turned and walked away, his steps feeling heavy and uncoordinated.
"Alright--well, let me know as soon as you receive a response," Hermione called after him, her voice tinged with a question she didn't voice, following him into the dimly lit common room.
Harry offered a curt nod, his back to her, and then made his way towards the creaking staircase leading to the boys' dormitory, the worn wooden steps groaning under his weight.
He pushed open the heavy oak door to his room, the familiar scent of old wood and lingering boyish smells greeting him. He quickly scanned the room, confirming his solitude before muttering the incantation for a Muffliato, the silencing charm settling around him like an invisible blanket.
"UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!" The frustrated groan tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the strands tangling between his fingers.
He sank onto the edge of his four-poster bed, the worn Gryffindor hangings swaying slightly with the movement. "I get it, I know she doesn't see me that way," he muttered to the empty room, his voice thick with a mixture of longing and despair. "But to bring up Ginny like nothing… like it's still the obvious path…" He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air catching in his lungs. "--How can I possibly show her that it's not Ginny I want, but her? How can I make her see me?" He clenched his fists, pressing them against his temples, as if trying to physically contain the turbulent storm of his emotions.
Harry knew his mind should be occupied with far more pressing matters – the looming threat, the safety of Sirius – yet this insistent, aching need to reveal his true feelings for Hermione overshadowed everything else. Her seemingly casual encouragement regarding Ginny had only amplified the urgency. He needed to tell her, and soon.
He sat there, the dim light filtering through the gap in his curtains casting long shadows across the room, his thoughts drifting back to the innocent days of their first year. He vividly recalled the precise moment he had first found her captivating: the shy dip of her head as she squeezed into their crowded train compartment, her earnest eyes peering over the top of a well-worn book. He also remembered the nervous flutter in his stomach as she had confidently pointed her wand at his face, only for her to utter the gentle words, "Oculus Reparo." A small, involuntary smile touched his lips at the memory of her focused brow and the precise flick of her wrist. That, he knew with a certainty that had only solidified over time, was the precise instant he had become utterly entranced. She was unlike anyone he had ever encountered before – fiercely intelligent, undeniably bold, yet possessing an underlying kindness that shone through even her most academic pronouncements. By the end of their first year, a full-fledged crush had taken root, its tendrils only growing stronger with each shared adventure and late-night study session. But then, as third year unfolded and Ron's burgeoning feelings for Hermione became increasingly apparent, Harry had instinctively retreated, a silent withdrawal born of loyalty to his best friend.
"I'm such a bloody idiot," he whispered, the words laced with self-recrimination.
He knew it had been utterly daft to simply back down, to passively watch them grow closer, but the thought of jeopardizing his precious friendship with either of them had been unbearable. The mere hint of his feelings for Hermione would have undoubtedly been perceived as a profound betrayal by Ron, potentially severing their bond. Then fourth year had arrived, a whirlwind of Triwizard challenges and unexpected dangers, and by then, Harry had resigned himself to the idea of letting her go, burying his own desires beneath a veneer of platonic affection.
"It could have all gone so differently that night…" he murmured, the memory of the Yule Ball still carrying a sharp pang of regret. "If only I had asked her…"
He vividly recalled the emotional turmoil of their fourth year, the sting of being disbelieved, and Hermione's unwavering faith in him. He remembered the subtle ache in his chest as she had formed a connection with Victor Krum, a twinge of jealousy quickly masked by a forced smile. And then, the image of her descending the grand staircase in her elegant periwinkle dress flashed before his eyes, a vision so breathtaking it had stolen his breath. He had been utterly stunned, his feet almost moving of their own accord towards her, until Krum's confident stride past him had served as a stark reminder of his own inaction. In that moment, the weight of his missed opportunity had settled upon him, heavy and undeniable.
Harry suddenly pushed himself to his feet, the floorboards creaking beneath his restless movement.
"I'll ask her to the ball!" The thought burst forth, a sudden spark of hope igniting within him.
A genuine smile finally broke through his earlier frustration. He knew a simple invitation to the Yule Ball wouldn't fully convey the depth of his feelings, but it would be a start, a tangible gesture that could potentially shift the dynamic between them. He sank back onto his bed, the initial surge of impulsivity giving way to a more thoughtful consideration. He began to meticulously formulate a plan, a way to ask Hermione that transcended mere friendship, something that would make her understand the true intentions behind his invitation.
He was still lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, debating the merits of different approaches – a private conversation by the Black Lake? A carefully worded note delivered by Hedwig? – when a soft tapping against his windowpane startled him.
He rose and unlatched the window, the cool night air drifting into the room, and Hedwig swooped in, her snowy feathers gleaming in the moonlight.
"How did you get here so fast?" he murmured, reaching out to stroke her soft head.
Hedwig hooted softly, nudging his hand with her head before extending her leg, a small roll of parchment tied securely to it.
He carefully untied the note and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the familiar scrawl.
Harry,
I don't know how you came about learning these things, but I do believe that we must speak face to face as soon as possible. I'd rather not write about them since it is such delicate information.
I will head to my old family house and place the fidelius charm on it like you have suggested. This time I'll have Remus be my secret keeper. I have no clue why I didn't think of it earlier but I assume it has to be from the fact that I have JUST escaped death. If you're wondering where I am don't worry, I won't disclose my location but just know we are safe.
As for when we will be able to talk, I think it would be wise for you to go with your uncle and aunt for a time while I settle into the old house. It will also give me time to prepare a room for you.
I'll owl you as soon as everything is complete and send for you through my house-elf, if he is in fact still alive.
Burn this note.
I'll see you soon Harry,
Padfoot
P.S. Don't worry about writing back, I'll be at the old house soon and Hedwig will probably not be able to find it.
A wide grin spread across Harry's face, chasing away the earlier anxieties.
He understood that Sirius was still reeling from his imprisonment and escape, in desperate need of support and stability. The prospect of seeing his godfather again, and far sooner than he had dared to hope, filled him with a surge of elation. Yet, a sliver of worry remained, a nagging concern about Sirius's current mental state. He clung to the hope that Professor Lupin's steady presence would provide the anchor Sirius so desperately needed.
He rose and retrieved a piece of parchment and a quill from his bedside table, the nib scratching softly against the aged paper as he wrote.
Hermione,
Got a response.
Everything is set into motion.
I'll tell you about it tomorrow.
Goodnight,
Harry
He carefully folded the note and tied it to Hedwig's leg.
"Please take this to Hermione, then head to the owlery and get some rest. Thank you for coming back so quickly, Hedwig," he said, his voice filled with affection as he opened the window and watched her disappear into the darkening sky.
He glanced out the window, noticing the fiery hues of the setting sun painting the western horizon. He knew his dorm-mates would be returning soon, their boisterous laughter and recounting of the day's events filling the room. He simply didn't possess the emotional fortitude to rehash the previous night's terrifying ordeal. He closed the window, the latch clicking softly, and dispelled the Muffliato charm before finally collapsing onto his bed, pulling the thick Gryffindor curtains closed around him, seeking the solace of sleep.
That night, as the castle settled into a hushed quiet, his dreams were a soft tapestry woven with the image of wild, untamed curls and the delicate, almost ethereal shade of a periwinkle dress.
_
Hermione watched the retreating figure of Harry, the set of his shoulders stiff and unyielding as he disappeared up the worn stone steps leading to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory. A furrow creased her brow, a tangible manifestation of the confusion swirling within her. His abrupt departure and clipped tone replayed in her mind, each syllable a small, perplexing puzzle piece. She re-examined their brief exchange, searching for a misspoken word, a misinterpreted glance, but found nothing that warranted such a reaction.
If anything, she had envisioned him relieved, perhaps even a little buoyant, at the prospect of rekindling his connection with Ginny, free from the ever-present shadow of danger that had haunted their earlier, nascent relationship. She remembered the stolen moments she had witnessed between them before their forced separation – the shy smiles exchanged across the Gryffindor table, the comfortable silences they shared during study groups. It had always seemed a sweet, innocent affection, tragically cut short. A pang of sympathy, a familiar ache for the hardships Harry had endured, resonated within her.
Utterly perplexed by his reaction, Hermione turned and made her own way towards the familiar sanctuary of the girls' dormitory. The heavy oak door creaked softly as she pushed it open, revealing the familiar sight of empty beds and scattered textbooks. A wave of quietude washed over her; Parvati and Lavender were likely still downstairs, caught in some animated discussion. With a sigh, she deposited her worn satchel on the small, cluttered desk beside her bed. She sank onto the edge of her four-poster bed, the worn Gryffindor hangings rustling around her, the familiar scent of old linen and lavender a small comfort.
"I mean… logically, it makes sense," she murmured to the silent room, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a melancholy she couldn't entirely suppress. "They were good together… they'll find their way back to each other eventually…" The inevitability of it settled upon her, a heavy weight in her chest. Harry's casual glances towards other girls over the years, the easy camaraderie he shared with so many, had always painted a clear picture in her mind of where she stood – the indispensable friend, the unwavering confidante, nothing more.
"Stop it, Hermione," she chided herself, the internal reprimand sharp and immediate. "Don't be ridiculous. It will never happen. You need to accept that." The denial felt brittle, a fragile shield against a truth she had long tried to ignore. This secret, this deeply buried affection for Harry, was a carefully guarded treasure, locked away in the deepest vault of her heart. She had never dared to voice it, not even in the most intimate of conversations with her mother, terrified of the potential devastation that its revelation might unleash. It had lain dormant for years, a quiet ache she had learned to live with, until the unexpected sting of seeing Harry's apparent interest in Ginny today had stirred those long-suppressed emotions.
The recent unraveling of her tumultuous relationship with Ron had inadvertently created a void, a space into which these long-dormant feelings for Harry had begun to tentatively creep. The realization felt both terrifying and absurdly egotistical. When she had told Harry she was working through her feelings, it hadn't been a complete fabrication, but the guilt she felt was multifaceted.
The broken trust with Ron had left a raw wound, but beneath that lay the shattered remnants of a carefully constructed fantasy – the idealized version of their relationship that had ultimately crumbled under the weight of reality. The more she allowed herself to dissect it, the clearer it became: Ron, in his impulsiveness and emotional immaturity, was never truly the right fit. And with that realization came another, more profound understanding: a quiet, persistent undercurrent of something far stronger had always flowed between her and Harry.
A soft sigh escaped her lips, a silent acknowledgment of this long-hidden truth. She closed her eyes, the image of Harry's retreating back still vivid in her mind, and allowed herself a fleeting moment of remembrance.
She recalled the very beginning, the chaotic rush of the Hogwarts Express, and the initial impression of an intensely green-eyed boy with perpetually untidy hair. He had been cute, yes, in a disheveled sort of way, but it was the unfolding layers of his character that had truly captivated her. His unwavering bravery in the face of danger, his fierce loyalty to his friends, the quiet strength that lay beneath his seemingly ordinary exterior – these were the qualities that had slowly, inexorably, drawn her in. By the end of their tumultuous first year, a full-fledged crush had taken root, a secret she guarded with fierce protectiveness. Their second year, fraught with peril and shared anxieties, had forged an even deeper bond, and her feelings had intensified, blossoming into something akin to profound affection. She vividly remembered the overwhelming relief that had washed over her upon waking in the hospital wing after her petrification of Harry, the first person her eyes had focused on in the Great Hall. The sheer force of her emotion had propelled her forward, an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability as she had thrown her arms around him. Then came their turbulent third year, the raw injustice of Sirius's supposed betrayal igniting a fierce rage within Harry, a depth of pain she had never witnessed before. She had longed to offer comfort, to bridge the gap of her own awkward shyness and simply hold him, but the inhibitions of a fourteen-year-old girl had held her back. During that difficult time, Ron's presence had faded into the background; her focus had been solely on Harry's well-being, though she had begun to register the subtle shifts in Ron's behavior, the nascent signs of his own burgeoning feelings for her, particularly after their awkward Hogsmeade outing. The arrival of their fourth year, with the unexpected arrival of the Triwizard Tournament and the captivating presence of Cho Chang, had been a turning point. The blatant admiration in Harry's gaze as he looked at Cho had been a sharp, undeniable pang to her heart. She had retreated, a quiet withdrawal into the solace of books and the unexpected, fleeting comfort found in Victor Krum's polite attentions. It was during this time that Ron's intentions towards her had become undeniably clear. She had made a conscious decision, a pragmatic attempt to redirect her own tangled emotions: push down the persistent ache for Harry, immerse herself in her studies, and perhaps, tentatively, explore the possibility of a connection with Ron. Fifth year had solidified that decision. Ron's affections had become more vocal, more insistent, and she had tentatively opened her heart, relegating her feelings for Harry to the quiet corners of her mind, resolving to be nothing more than his steadfast friend. The subsequent relationship with Ron had been a rollercoaster of misunderstandings and reconciliations, a turbulent journey fueled by a genuine care for one another, even amidst their fundamental differences. She had clung to the belief that their shared history and affection could bridge the chasm of their contrasting personalities. But his impulsive departure had shattered that fragile hope, leaving her adrift in a sea of loneliness. And even with Harry's constant presence, a quiet comfort in the storm, she knew, with a weary certainty, that he would never truly see her in the way her heart yearned to be seen.
A lone tear escaped her eye, tracing a warm path down her cheek, followed by another, and then another, until silent sobs began to wrack her small frame.
"There are more pressing things to think about than this ridiculous… hopeless… infatuation," she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "You're a grown woman, Hermione Granger. Act like it!"
She scrubbed at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, the scratchy wool of her jumper rough against her skin. Just as she began to regain a semblance of composure, a soft tapping sound drew her attention to the window.
She rose and peered out into the twilight, her breath catching in her throat as she saw Hedwig perched on the sill, her snowy plumage luminous against the deepening sky. She unlatched the window, and Harry's familiar owl hopped gracefully onto her cluttered desk, extending her leg with an impatient hoot.
"Oh, thank you, Hedwig," Hermione murmured, a small smile gracing her lips despite her earlier distress.
She untied the small roll of parchment and unfolded it, her eyes scanning Harry's familiar, slightly rushed script. Hedwig, her task completed, took flight again without waiting for a reply, disappearing silently into the night.
Hermione read his brief message, a wave of disappointment washing over her at his curt tone. The sharp finality of his words echoed the abruptness of his departure. A sigh escaped her lips. This ridiculous fantasy, this persistent yearning in her heart, needed to be confronted, acknowledged, and ultimately, overcome. There were far more important matters at hand, a dangerous path they were all treading.
"Well," she said to the empty room, a newfound resolve hardening her gaze. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. We have work to do."
With a final, weary sigh, she turned back to her bed, drew the thick curtains, and settled in for the night, the lingering scent of owl feathers and old parchment filling the small space.
She closed her eyes, the darkness behind her eyelids soon giving way to the hazy landscape of dreams.
And in those dreams, amidst swirling shadows and half-formed memories, the vivid, unforgettable green of Harry Potter's eyes shone with an unnerving clarity.