Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and
owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros.,
Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.
Summary: All anyone ever wants is to be known. (One-Shot)
Author's Note: Wow, I finished this much faster than I expected. Anger is a good source for inspiration! Anyway, this isn't my usual fic. It's dark, romantic, dramatic, deep, and confusing all at once. I loved writing it (though more than a quarter of the ending was written in the span of an hour) and I hope you love reading it just as much. Anjel
:: Want You To Know Me ::
Harry Potter walks away from his two best friends, anger and confusion twisting his insides. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he go through a day without losing his temper? Shouldn't he be happy, lighthearted? Why then, was he always so angry, contempt for everything and everyone always on the surface?
You make me sick, Potter, he growls at himself, making sure to slam the door, locking it behind him. He throws himself on his bed, kicking off his shoes in the process. He takes a deep breath, trying hard to calm his frazzled nerves. Staring up at the ceiling he lets his thoughts wander, leading him to where ever they may go.
______*______
The preparation had been long and hard, pushing Harry to his limit until he thought he would break. Though the training had been rough, it had strengthened him physically and mentally, not leaving any area uncovered or unlearned. From dueling lessons, to Legilimency, Occlumency had been the hardest for him, had strained him until all he wanted to do was give up. Having Snape invade his deepest, darkest memories wasn't easy, let alone wanted, especially when he started getting into his feelings. Feelings that he had buried as soon as he had realized them, the ones he wanted to forget, pretend like they weren't there.
The whole school had been trained, not as much as Harry, but they were taught how to fight well beyond their age. All the students from year four and up had to grow up quickly during that time, they had to decide for what side they would fight for, possibly die for. The process had been hard, for everyone, but in the end it had been well worth it; especially for Harry.
The day Voldemort and his many supporters, which not only included Death Eaters but Dementors and Giants as well, had attacked the brilliant school of Hogwarts would forever be etched into the memories of all who had been there to witness it. Students had valiantly charged out, ready to defend their school and their world, not quite prepared for what was to come but excepting of it. Ron and Hermione had been among them, always by Harry's side, making sure to keep him in view despite all the chaos and destruction around them. Day after day those who remained would surge out, students and professors alike becoming one to save everything they loved. Many died; friends, acquaintances, past enemies. Families were broken, friendships lost yet they surged on, saving their grief for later, when all this would be over. The battle at the school had ended weeks after it started. The Light side lost staggering amounts but had won the small battle. What was left was the one where it came down to Voldemort and Harry. Voldemort and Harry alone. But as Harry soon found out, he was not alone when it came the day to fight his greatest enemy. Hermione had come along, without Harry knowing, while Ron had been in the Hospital Wing with countless others.
When Harry arrived at the graveyard that had served as the place where Cedric Diggory had lost his life, Hermione was there, pale, drawn, yet determined. He had been angry, so angry at her for coming along when it wasn't her fight. For putting herself in danger; more danger than she would have faced at Hogwarts where at least now the fighting had stopped.
"What are you doing here?!" he roared, face red and eyes blazing with so much fury Hermione almost ran right there and then.
"You're not going to face him alone," was all she said, standing in front of him, back straight and chin high. "Yes, it might be your fight but I am not going to stand back and watch you get hurt. I'm here to help."
He stared at her, wide-eyed and shocked. "Are you mad? Do you actually think you can help? Get out of here!" He tried the rude approach, trying to get her to become angry at him and storm off. But it was Hermione and he knew he was fighting a losing battle if he thought she would actually leave him.
She shook her head at him, stood next to him and stared at him with such an intense gaze that he would not have been able to deny her anything at that moment. "No," was all she said and though it was said in less than a whisper her voice was firm, saving no room for argument.
He looked at her pleadingly until turning away and silently taking her hand firmly in his. Though he was terrified of what could happen, he secretly was grateful for her support. Her undying loyalty.
Voldemort showed up shortly after that and the duel that would either make or break the world begun. Hermione had been hurt first as Voldemort had decided that torturing someone Harry cared for would break him into surrendering. He had almost lost it too if it weren't for Hermione's weak protests to ignore her and fight for all he was worth. Curses had been thrown in all directions, beams of different colors flew past heads, bodies, trees, and birds; some hitting their destination, some coming close.
In the end, when Voldemort shot another "Crucio" at Hermione, Harry had thrown the Avada Kedavra curse at him, anger bubbling onto the surface, Hermione's screams filling is head until he wanted to scream also. Voldemort had not just fallen to the ground, not the most evil wizard there was. He had screamed in pain, a green light glowed around him, trying to snuff him out. He tore his robes in pain until he suddenly collapsed, leaving only his robe and wand in a heap on the ground. The curse on Hermione had been broken at that but instead of reviving, she had lain there, unconscious though still breathing; raggedly, but to Harry it was such a tremendous relief.
Though badly wounded himself, he sat on the ground, cradling her in his arms, waiting for help to arrive. It had come, only moments after the fighting had stopped. All the members of the Order of the Phoenix and some others Harry didn't recognize and didn't really care to find out. They had taken both Harry and Hermione to the Hospital Wing, Harry staying there for only a week and Hermione much longer.
He remembered sitting by her bedside, Ron there also when he had recovered, and wishing with all his heart for her to open her eyes and smile at him. The day she had done just that was a day Harry wouldn't forget in time.
Though many lives had been lost, joy had swept through out the wizarding world. People rejoiced in the streets, a month-long party ensued and all participated.
All but Harry.
______*______
Now, Harry wasn't just not participating but pulling away all together. Everyone, including his best friends, were baffled by his mood, his attitude and temper that had some shaking their heads in disapproval. He couldn't understand it himself.
A soft knock pulls him out of his thoughts. "Harry?" Hermione calls softly through the door.
He growls in annoyance. "What?" he calls back rudely, instantly regretting his tone as a low "Alohomora" is heard and Hermione is now inside the room, looking hurt.
"Harry, what are you doing?" she asks, walking closer to him.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he snaps before he could stop himself.
She sighs and plops down on his bed, turning a sad gaze towards him. "I'm worried," she announces.
Harry rolls his eyes. "Isn't everyone?" he asks sarcastically. "What are you doing in here, anyway? You're not allowed to be in here."
She ignores this. "Talk to me?" she asks hopefully, reaching out to touch his hand.
This gesture sends a shiver of sadness and hope through him and he ignores the urge to pull away and keep up the act of being angry at her. Why was he acting angry at her in the first place? He wasn't actually angry at her, was he? He turns his eyes away from her prying ones and slowly pulls his hand away, ignoring the small pang from his heart. "Please leave. I want to be alone," he whispers.
"Harry ..."
"Leave, please."
"What's wro -"
"LEAVE!" he finally yells at her, turning his now dark green eyes towards her shocked brown ones. "Don't you understand? I don't want to talk to you! Go away!" With this he turns away, not being able to stare at the hurt so evident in her features.
Expecting her to leave, her next words shock him. "What did I do? Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The tears are evident in her voice and despite his efforts, he turns back to look at her, sitting up in the process.
"What?"
Her eyes are misting over with tears and he can see that she's trying hard to keep them from falling. "What did I do to make you hate me?"
A tear slips pass her guard unnoticed.
Before he can think, his hand is reaching out, touching her face and softly wiping the lone tear from her cheek. "I-I don't hate you. I never hated you. I could never hate you." All this is said in a whisper and he swallows thickly, trying to keep his own tears down until a painful lump forms in his throat. She thinks I hate her, he thinks, over and over again, this fact alone causing him more pain than the duel with Voldemort.
"Then why?"
"Why what?" He can't think, can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words.
"Why are you avoiding us ... Me. Why are you always so angry? Why won't you talk to me? I want to help."
He finds himself getting annoyed again. "But don't you see? You wanting to help was what got you hurt in the first place!"
"But Harry, that's over. I'm okay," she says, looking at him quizzically.
He shakes his head. "No, you say you are but you're not. How can you be? You're not the same person you were before the War and I don't blame you. No one is, though they all are trying so hard to go back to the way things were before. " He stops here, not sure how to continue; not even sure why he began.
"But you're not trying, are you?" she questions. "You're not trying to pretend like everything is okay."
Harry just looks are her, knowing he's going to hear it for his actions and attitude. But that's okay, he realizes, because he deserves all of Hermione's anger.
"Harry, other's want things to go back to normal, not because they are afraid of the future but because they want to make up for the past. Don't you see what you've done? You've lifted all the fear and anxiety off of everyone and now they can go about living their lives. They're moving on, Harry. That's something you should do because even though you aren't pretending everything is okay, you're hiding from the future instead of living for it. What you're doing is worse than pretending, don't you see?" She is searching his eyes, looking for signs of understanding, hope, maybe even love.
"But everything isn't okay," he replies stubbornly, ignoring the things she said about pretending and living.
She squeezes his hand, the one she had quietly taken while delivering her speech, whether in assurance or frustration he doesn't know. "I know. Everything isn't okay but it's better. So much better. Voldemort is dead and though there are those who still hate everything there is to hate about the Light Side, the leader is dead. A new one may arise, who knows, but no one will be as terrible as Voldemort."
He wants to ask how she knows that but finds himself wanting to believe in this, no matter how questionable.
She continues, "Life moves on and even though it may seem as if everyone has forgotten the War, no one will. And no one will forget about you. You'll always be a hero."
Harry isn't sure what to think. How does she know about his troubling thoughts when he hasn't told a soul? "How ... What ..." He can't for the right question so resigns himself to just staring at her in shock.
Hermione gives him a small smile, a tentative one. "You don't know that I actually think about this? Every day. Since you began to pull away from all of us I've been trying to figure out why and now I think I've found my answer. You, Harry Potter, are afraid that now since you've fulfilled the prophecy and killed the darkest wizard of all time, no one will need you anymore. You'll be cast aside like a lost hero, and why not? You're task is over, isn't it?" She shakes her head at her own question and her smile grows. "That will never happen. You will always be needed, Harry."
He scoffs at this, looking away with a half amused half annoyed look on his face. Now that she found out his secret, the reason for his behavior, he felt vulnerable and he didn't like it. "Yeah right. Who would need me?"
"Me."
The simple one word statement echoed throughout the room, bouncing around in Harry's head and trying to get him to read between the lines. "What?"
"I need you! I always have and I always will," she says, almost urgently.
He gapes at her a bit, her words not yet penetrating his heart. How could this strong person in front of him, the one he held onto so steadfastly, the one who knew just about everything, need him? It had always been the other way around, though he had never really told her that, of course.
"Harry ... I, um ..." Her sentence trails off and she no longer sound so confident. He turns towards her, wanting to give her his full attention, when it dawns on him, staring at this person who knows him more than he knows himself, that he would have been devastated if she had died while standing by his side.
He had never really thought about it but the question decided to make itself known at this moment. What if she had died?
If Ron had died, he would have been crushed, he would have lost the closest thing he had to a brother, but if Hermione had died, a part of Harry would have died right along with her. He knew now that he wouldn't be able to live without her. He wouldn't be able to live without hearing her voice everyday, feeling her next to him, reassuring him, comforting, always helping him. He suddenly loved all those reprimands and scolding, all those reminders about homework that would so annoy him and Ron in the past.
He realizes for the first time that she did all that to show him how much she cared about him. But cared in what way? a voice pipes up in his head, startling him. In what way? A friend, of course! But these thoughts aren't enough and he begins to wonder if he really wants that kind of caring from her? He has never really been loved growing up and not shown love, in turn he didn't know how to show his love either.
What is love anyway? And is his hidden, kept feelings for Hermione really love?
He lets out a small smile unknowingly when he finds himself answering his question. Love is feeling that person around you even though you can't see her or hear her. Love is undying loyalty and trust. It is reassurance in everything you doubt, comfort when everything around you is cold and cruel. It is whispered words of friendship, an everlasting bond. It is letting you know when you're out of line or when you deserve recognition for either a small kindness, a large one, and all in between.
Love is knowing she is your constant, your rock, your stability. She holds you up when you can't, takes care of you when your sick, and listens when you need an ear or two.
Love is everything and anything. It is a touch, a look, a thought. Love is air, food, water, life. Hermione is love, he thinks, this one coming as a blow.
His first question is answered, but his second?
Yes, I love Hermione. The revelation brings on a rush of emotions never felt by the famous Boy-Who-Lives and it overwhelms him. But does she feel the same? With this his new found knowledge becomes slightly less exciting.
I love Hermione, he repeats and at the same time hears the last words of Hermione's speech, the one he has been thinking right through,
"So, what I'm trying to say is ... I love you, Harry."
He has to shake his head to clear the cobwebs, has to look at her closely. She's wringing her hands nervously, looking at him as if his response will either save her or kill her.
"Harry? Please say something. I ..."
He wants to know her, he wants her to know him. He wants to spill out his concerns and dreams out to her. His fears and concerns. He wants to know her. Every feeling, every look, every movement. He wants to know everything there is to know about his best friend. Her favorite color, favorite food, favorite everything. But he just doesn't want to know, he needs to know.
He looks up at her then, brown colliding into green, hearts pounding out the same rhythmic beat. In that instant, secrets are revealed, feelings are no longer hidden, thoughts are no longer private.
They both know everything about the other in that one moment and no words are needed. They would have spoiled the love that is spilling out of their eyes, their hearts, and their souls.
She knows him and he knows her, and for now, that is all that matters.
Summary: All anyone ever wants is to be known. (One-Shot)
Author's Note: Wow, I finished this much faster than I expected. Anger is a good source for inspiration! Anyway, this isn't my usual fic. It's dark, romantic, dramatic, deep, and confusing all at once. I loved writing it (though more than a quarter of the ending was written in the span of an hour) and I hope you love reading it just as much. Anjel
:: Want You To Know Me ::
Harry Potter walks away from his two best friends, anger and confusion twisting his insides. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he go through a day without losing his temper? Shouldn't he be happy, lighthearted? Why then, was he always so angry, contempt for everything and everyone always on the surface?
You make me sick, Potter, he growls at himself, making sure to slam the door, locking it behind him. He throws himself on his bed, kicking off his shoes in the process. He takes a deep breath, trying hard to calm his frazzled nerves. Staring up at the ceiling he lets his thoughts wander, leading him to where ever they may go.
______*______
The preparation had been long and hard, pushing Harry to his limit until he thought he would break. Though the training had been rough, it had strengthened him physically and mentally, not leaving any area uncovered or unlearned. From dueling lessons, to Legilimency, Occlumency had been the hardest for him, had strained him until all he wanted to do was give up. Having Snape invade his deepest, darkest memories wasn't easy, let alone wanted, especially when he started getting into his feelings. Feelings that he had buried as soon as he had realized them, the ones he wanted to forget, pretend like they weren't there.
The whole school had been trained, not as much as Harry, but they were taught how to fight well beyond their age. All the students from year four and up had to grow up quickly during that time, they had to decide for what side they would fight for, possibly die for. The process had been hard, for everyone, but in the end it had been well worth it; especially for Harry.
The day Voldemort and his many supporters, which not only included Death Eaters but Dementors and Giants as well, had attacked the brilliant school of Hogwarts would forever be etched into the memories of all who had been there to witness it. Students had valiantly charged out, ready to defend their school and their world, not quite prepared for what was to come but excepting of it. Ron and Hermione had been among them, always by Harry's side, making sure to keep him in view despite all the chaos and destruction around them. Day after day those who remained would surge out, students and professors alike becoming one to save everything they loved. Many died; friends, acquaintances, past enemies. Families were broken, friendships lost yet they surged on, saving their grief for later, when all this would be over. The battle at the school had ended weeks after it started. The Light side lost staggering amounts but had won the small battle. What was left was the one where it came down to Voldemort and Harry. Voldemort and Harry alone. But as Harry soon found out, he was not alone when it came the day to fight his greatest enemy. Hermione had come along, without Harry knowing, while Ron had been in the Hospital Wing with countless others.
When Harry arrived at the graveyard that had served as the place where Cedric Diggory had lost his life, Hermione was there, pale, drawn, yet determined. He had been angry, so angry at her for coming along when it wasn't her fight. For putting herself in danger; more danger than she would have faced at Hogwarts where at least now the fighting had stopped.
"What are you doing here?!" he roared, face red and eyes blazing with so much fury Hermione almost ran right there and then.
"You're not going to face him alone," was all she said, standing in front of him, back straight and chin high. "Yes, it might be your fight but I am not going to stand back and watch you get hurt. I'm here to help."
He stared at her, wide-eyed and shocked. "Are you mad? Do you actually think you can help? Get out of here!" He tried the rude approach, trying to get her to become angry at him and storm off. But it was Hermione and he knew he was fighting a losing battle if he thought she would actually leave him.
She shook her head at him, stood next to him and stared at him with such an intense gaze that he would not have been able to deny her anything at that moment. "No," was all she said and though it was said in less than a whisper her voice was firm, saving no room for argument.
He looked at her pleadingly until turning away and silently taking her hand firmly in his. Though he was terrified of what could happen, he secretly was grateful for her support. Her undying loyalty.
Voldemort showed up shortly after that and the duel that would either make or break the world begun. Hermione had been hurt first as Voldemort had decided that torturing someone Harry cared for would break him into surrendering. He had almost lost it too if it weren't for Hermione's weak protests to ignore her and fight for all he was worth. Curses had been thrown in all directions, beams of different colors flew past heads, bodies, trees, and birds; some hitting their destination, some coming close.
In the end, when Voldemort shot another "Crucio" at Hermione, Harry had thrown the Avada Kedavra curse at him, anger bubbling onto the surface, Hermione's screams filling is head until he wanted to scream also. Voldemort had not just fallen to the ground, not the most evil wizard there was. He had screamed in pain, a green light glowed around him, trying to snuff him out. He tore his robes in pain until he suddenly collapsed, leaving only his robe and wand in a heap on the ground. The curse on Hermione had been broken at that but instead of reviving, she had lain there, unconscious though still breathing; raggedly, but to Harry it was such a tremendous relief.
Though badly wounded himself, he sat on the ground, cradling her in his arms, waiting for help to arrive. It had come, only moments after the fighting had stopped. All the members of the Order of the Phoenix and some others Harry didn't recognize and didn't really care to find out. They had taken both Harry and Hermione to the Hospital Wing, Harry staying there for only a week and Hermione much longer.
He remembered sitting by her bedside, Ron there also when he had recovered, and wishing with all his heart for her to open her eyes and smile at him. The day she had done just that was a day Harry wouldn't forget in time.
Though many lives had been lost, joy had swept through out the wizarding world. People rejoiced in the streets, a month-long party ensued and all participated.
All but Harry.
______*______
Now, Harry wasn't just not participating but pulling away all together. Everyone, including his best friends, were baffled by his mood, his attitude and temper that had some shaking their heads in disapproval. He couldn't understand it himself.
A soft knock pulls him out of his thoughts. "Harry?" Hermione calls softly through the door.
He growls in annoyance. "What?" he calls back rudely, instantly regretting his tone as a low "Alohomora" is heard and Hermione is now inside the room, looking hurt.
"Harry, what are you doing?" she asks, walking closer to him.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he snaps before he could stop himself.
She sighs and plops down on his bed, turning a sad gaze towards him. "I'm worried," she announces.
Harry rolls his eyes. "Isn't everyone?" he asks sarcastically. "What are you doing in here, anyway? You're not allowed to be in here."
She ignores this. "Talk to me?" she asks hopefully, reaching out to touch his hand.
This gesture sends a shiver of sadness and hope through him and he ignores the urge to pull away and keep up the act of being angry at her. Why was he acting angry at her in the first place? He wasn't actually angry at her, was he? He turns his eyes away from her prying ones and slowly pulls his hand away, ignoring the small pang from his heart. "Please leave. I want to be alone," he whispers.
"Harry ..."
"Leave, please."
"What's wro -"
"LEAVE!" he finally yells at her, turning his now dark green eyes towards her shocked brown ones. "Don't you understand? I don't want to talk to you! Go away!" With this he turns away, not being able to stare at the hurt so evident in her features.
Expecting her to leave, her next words shock him. "What did I do? Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The tears are evident in her voice and despite his efforts, he turns back to look at her, sitting up in the process.
"What?"
Her eyes are misting over with tears and he can see that she's trying hard to keep them from falling. "What did I do to make you hate me?"
A tear slips pass her guard unnoticed.
Before he can think, his hand is reaching out, touching her face and softly wiping the lone tear from her cheek. "I-I don't hate you. I never hated you. I could never hate you." All this is said in a whisper and he swallows thickly, trying to keep his own tears down until a painful lump forms in his throat. She thinks I hate her, he thinks, over and over again, this fact alone causing him more pain than the duel with Voldemort.
"Then why?"
"Why what?" He can't think, can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words.
"Why are you avoiding us ... Me. Why are you always so angry? Why won't you talk to me? I want to help."
He finds himself getting annoyed again. "But don't you see? You wanting to help was what got you hurt in the first place!"
"But Harry, that's over. I'm okay," she says, looking at him quizzically.
He shakes his head. "No, you say you are but you're not. How can you be? You're not the same person you were before the War and I don't blame you. No one is, though they all are trying so hard to go back to the way things were before. " He stops here, not sure how to continue; not even sure why he began.
"But you're not trying, are you?" she questions. "You're not trying to pretend like everything is okay."
Harry just looks are her, knowing he's going to hear it for his actions and attitude. But that's okay, he realizes, because he deserves all of Hermione's anger.
"Harry, other's want things to go back to normal, not because they are afraid of the future but because they want to make up for the past. Don't you see what you've done? You've lifted all the fear and anxiety off of everyone and now they can go about living their lives. They're moving on, Harry. That's something you should do because even though you aren't pretending everything is okay, you're hiding from the future instead of living for it. What you're doing is worse than pretending, don't you see?" She is searching his eyes, looking for signs of understanding, hope, maybe even love.
"But everything isn't okay," he replies stubbornly, ignoring the things she said about pretending and living.
She squeezes his hand, the one she had quietly taken while delivering her speech, whether in assurance or frustration he doesn't know. "I know. Everything isn't okay but it's better. So much better. Voldemort is dead and though there are those who still hate everything there is to hate about the Light Side, the leader is dead. A new one may arise, who knows, but no one will be as terrible as Voldemort."
He wants to ask how she knows that but finds himself wanting to believe in this, no matter how questionable.
She continues, "Life moves on and even though it may seem as if everyone has forgotten the War, no one will. And no one will forget about you. You'll always be a hero."
Harry isn't sure what to think. How does she know about his troubling thoughts when he hasn't told a soul? "How ... What ..." He can't for the right question so resigns himself to just staring at her in shock.
Hermione gives him a small smile, a tentative one. "You don't know that I actually think about this? Every day. Since you began to pull away from all of us I've been trying to figure out why and now I think I've found my answer. You, Harry Potter, are afraid that now since you've fulfilled the prophecy and killed the darkest wizard of all time, no one will need you anymore. You'll be cast aside like a lost hero, and why not? You're task is over, isn't it?" She shakes her head at her own question and her smile grows. "That will never happen. You will always be needed, Harry."
He scoffs at this, looking away with a half amused half annoyed look on his face. Now that she found out his secret, the reason for his behavior, he felt vulnerable and he didn't like it. "Yeah right. Who would need me?"
"Me."
The simple one word statement echoed throughout the room, bouncing around in Harry's head and trying to get him to read between the lines. "What?"
"I need you! I always have and I always will," she says, almost urgently.
He gapes at her a bit, her words not yet penetrating his heart. How could this strong person in front of him, the one he held onto so steadfastly, the one who knew just about everything, need him? It had always been the other way around, though he had never really told her that, of course.
"Harry ... I, um ..." Her sentence trails off and she no longer sound so confident. He turns towards her, wanting to give her his full attention, when it dawns on him, staring at this person who knows him more than he knows himself, that he would have been devastated if she had died while standing by his side.
He had never really thought about it but the question decided to make itself known at this moment. What if she had died?
If Ron had died, he would have been crushed, he would have lost the closest thing he had to a brother, but if Hermione had died, a part of Harry would have died right along with her. He knew now that he wouldn't be able to live without her. He wouldn't be able to live without hearing her voice everyday, feeling her next to him, reassuring him, comforting, always helping him. He suddenly loved all those reprimands and scolding, all those reminders about homework that would so annoy him and Ron in the past.
He realizes for the first time that she did all that to show him how much she cared about him. But cared in what way? a voice pipes up in his head, startling him. In what way? A friend, of course! But these thoughts aren't enough and he begins to wonder if he really wants that kind of caring from her? He has never really been loved growing up and not shown love, in turn he didn't know how to show his love either.
What is love anyway? And is his hidden, kept feelings for Hermione really love?
He lets out a small smile unknowingly when he finds himself answering his question. Love is feeling that person around you even though you can't see her or hear her. Love is undying loyalty and trust. It is reassurance in everything you doubt, comfort when everything around you is cold and cruel. It is whispered words of friendship, an everlasting bond. It is letting you know when you're out of line or when you deserve recognition for either a small kindness, a large one, and all in between.
Love is knowing she is your constant, your rock, your stability. She holds you up when you can't, takes care of you when your sick, and listens when you need an ear or two.
Love is everything and anything. It is a touch, a look, a thought. Love is air, food, water, life. Hermione is love, he thinks, this one coming as a blow.
His first question is answered, but his second?
Yes, I love Hermione. The revelation brings on a rush of emotions never felt by the famous Boy-Who-Lives and it overwhelms him. But does she feel the same? With this his new found knowledge becomes slightly less exciting.
I love Hermione, he repeats and at the same time hears the last words of Hermione's speech, the one he has been thinking right through,
"So, what I'm trying to say is ... I love you, Harry."
He has to shake his head to clear the cobwebs, has to look at her closely. She's wringing her hands nervously, looking at him as if his response will either save her or kill her.
"Harry? Please say something. I ..."
He wants to know her, he wants her to know him. He wants to spill out his concerns and dreams out to her. His fears and concerns. He wants to know her. Every feeling, every look, every movement. He wants to know everything there is to know about his best friend. Her favorite color, favorite food, favorite everything. But he just doesn't want to know, he needs to know.
He looks up at her then, brown colliding into green, hearts pounding out the same rhythmic beat. In that instant, secrets are revealed, feelings are no longer hidden, thoughts are no longer private.
They both know everything about the other in that one moment and no words are needed. They would have spoiled the love that is spilling out of their eyes, their hearts, and their souls.
She knows him and he knows her, and for now, that is all that matters.