Lists

Hermione had learnt the benefits of list-writing when she was young.

It all began when she was ten. Hermione had decided to take up a couple of projects that she thought she could handle. Her mother had advised her to write everything down, along with the details of her undertakings. Unfortunately, as most ten year olds do, she had blatantly overestimated herself and ignored what her mother said. She was left with a pile of mess that she was stuck with cleaning for the rest of the week.

It would be rather logical then for Hermione to make a list of hypotheses to her current predicament. She took out a piece of paper and transfigured a quill from a comb left lying carelessly around. She was thankful for the privacy that she had. The Dursleys had made a trip to visit their Aunt Marge because of some ‘family emergency’. Ron was taking a walk (“I do hope he doesn’t attempt any magic in front of muggles!”) and Harry was sleeping in his cramped bedroom.

She sat down at the dining table and began writing. The familiar sounds of her quill scratching paper slightly soothed her.

Problem: 1) Harry isn't talking to me.

Hermione had seriously no idea what was going on. Hermione hated not knowing something, feeling out of place – especially when it had something to do with either Harry or Ron.

She, Harry and Ron had gone to Harry's 'relatives' house just the day before. Harry had threatened them with magic, as both Hermione and Ron were already of age. Luckily, Mr. Dursley was completely terrified of them and consented to Harry’s request of letting both Hermione and Ron to stay at the house for the week. Of course, it did not prevent Vernon Dursley to curse colourfully under his breath.

Harry was (rather) deliriously happy.

Hermione had suggested that they went out to the muggle world, much to Ron’s delight – to temporarily forget their worries. After all, they were living on borrowed time as it is. Their days had been rather limited since Voldemort became more ruthless than he already was, killing as many people as his Death Eaters could get their hands on. Pureblood or Muggleborn, Wizard or Muggle – it didn’t really matter, as long as everyone was terrified of him.

And they were.

Hermione had taken them sightseeing. Harry, cooped up in his house every summer and Ron, being a Pureblood wizard who did not see anything muggle other than the Dursleys’ home – enjoyed themselves thoroughly. The day had gone by rather smoothly as there no squabbles between Ron and herself nor there any detectable brooding by Harry.

Which was why Hermione was tearing her hair out (almost) in confusion on why Harry could completely ignore her while chatting cheerfully to an oblivious Ron.

Hypothesis (1):

(a) I have accidentally insulted/degraded/hurt/etc. him in some way which I cannot fathom at the present moment.

(b) Harry just needs some quality ‘bonding time’ with Ron and it is a signal for me to leave them to themselves for a while.

(c) Harry hates me.

Hermione studied her hypothesis slowly. (a) was rather probable, although Harry was more likely to confront her with any misunderstanding that might occur. After all, his maturity had certainly blossomed from his fifth year when he was continuously screaming at his two friends without a chance for them to explain. Near-death experiences tend to be quite reforming. Hermione crossed out hypothesis (a).

(b), on the other hand could be possible – if Harry had not spent the previous days completely with Ron. Harry had called them ‘man to man’ sessions. It would be believable if Hermione considered the both of them men. In her eyes, Harry was still the skinny little boy with cello taped glasses occupying most of his narrow and Ron the tall, lanky boy with dirt on his nose. Even if they were men, (she scoffed at the word) Hermione had been ‘one of the guys’ (according to Ron) to her best friends. Therefore, they would never exclude her out of anything – except for Quidditch and the occasional dorm room confessions. Reasoning to herself, she crossed out (b).

She was left with (c). Hermione shook her head at the impossibility of her hypothesis. After all, Harry had been her friend for six years. There was simply no way Harry could hate her, right? Right?

She was brought back to a quote her mother had once uttered.

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

Does this mean that Harry hates me? Unless there is some other explanation it must be the truth!

She looked at the parchment anxiously, of which she had unconciously scribbled her worry on it. Hermione closed her eyes in frustration, and began to massage her forehead. She left her list on kitchen table and decided to take a little fresh air to clear her thoughts. After all, she felt rather immature to analyze so thoroughly something that might just been a mood swing. A very long and horrible mood swing, that is.

She was about to walk out the front door when she found out it was locked.

“Honestly…” she muttered, fishing out her wand. She pointed it at the door and whispered an always-handy “Alohomora.”

“Hermione,”

She paused.

Hermione recognized the voice immediately. Unidentifiable joy filled her, as Harry finally spoke to her for the first time in that entire day. She turned to face a blushing Harry Potter.

It was then when Hermione realized how tall he really was, not as tall as Ron was – but tall nonetheless.

Harry was adjusting his glasses nervously, his usual trait whenever he felt uncomfortable. Hermione was suddenly struck at how adorable the man-boy looked at that moment.

After a few moments of staring at her best friend for six years, she finally noticed the piece of rather crumpled paper that Harry was holding.

Her list.

Her blood turned to ice.

“Hermione-” Harry began. He shook his head furiously, as if angry at himself. “I’m really sorry for what I’m going to do to you right now.”

“What do you m-“

Hermione could not continue, even if she wanted to- as she was kissed by Harry Potter.

She felt his soft lips on hers, the tingle of his touch as he pulled her closer. Warmth filled her senses as she noted how comfortable it was to be this close to Harry. Her thoughts fled when Harry deepened the kiss, his tongue softly touching her lips. She kissed back with a passion she had never known. All she needed was to be closer to him. And she was. She wrapped her hands around him tightly, feeling as if she never wanted to let him go. Her body seemed to fit against his perfectly, as if it was made for that sole purpose.

They broke apart.

“Wow.” Hermione first word was.

“Wow.”

Hermione had never felt such a horrible pause of silence in her life.

“I’m really sorry, Hermione.” Harry said anxiously, raking his hand through his messy hair. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why?”

Harry looked up, startled. “You and Ron are meant to be, after all. I should not have done that to you. Let’s forget about it, okay? I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Not with Voldemort rising and-“

“Why did you kiss me?” she interrupted.

“I just couldn’t stand it anymore,” Harry said clenching his fists. “The way you talked, the way you sigh in frustration at me and Ron whenever we don’t do something you want us to, the way you do simple things for me without expecting anything back… I tried to fight it, Hermione; by ignoring you…”

“You don’t hate me, then?” asked Hermione tentatively.

Harry laughed hoarsely.

“What I feel is anything but hatred. I thought by talking to you less I could forget you. And when I saw that list,” he gestured to the ball of paper left forgotten on the floor. “I couldn’t resist.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hermione, for the brightest witch in Hogwarts – you sure are dense. Did you ever consider (d) Harry Potter might be in love with Hermione Granger?”

At that moment, that sweet, sweet moment, Hermione knew that she was in love with Harry Potter, her best friends of six years.

She pulled him into a kiss.

“I might, I just might consider that.” Hermione said breathlessly, after they broke apart.

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Love is a decision not an emotion or feeling,
that if made from the heart will outlast anything...

- Raul and Samantha Juarez –

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:Finite: