Holding Onto Hope
It’s nice in the common room at night. It’s quiet, and the people are scarce; I can relax. I can hide from view and watch others hustle and scrounge to finish last minute essays. I can take it all in. I don’t have to worry about friends approaching me with the latest gossip. I don’t have to worry about others seeing me and wondering. I can document my days, reflect and tie up the loose ends.
I can unwind. I can even watch him without anyone asking why I’m staring when I already have a boyfriend. There is no one to see me stealing glances and thinking about him. There is no one, not even Hermione, to see the look in my eyes.
If I turn my head, I have a clear view of Ron and Hermione from where I’m sitting. They are near the fire. Ron is sprawled on the rug, most likely trying to do homework. Hermione is sitting in a chair, responding to Viktor’s latest letter, I think. Harry isn’t with them and I can’t help but wonder where he is. I am tired, and would like to see him before bed.
It was a grueling day, full of work, homework, and a D.A. meeting. Some days I think the work is the source of my exhaustion, but I know that it’s really not. Deep inside, I must admit that it’s the pretending. Until now, I never really knew what it was like to feign feelings and emotions, to hide true ones.
That’s what it’s been like lately with my boyfriend, Michael Corner. I can’t do it much longer. It’s becoming difficult to make sure others don’t notice my breath catching in my throat or my heart skipping a beat when Harry passes. It’s hard to pretend that all is put into Michael and me.
It’s not that I don’t like Michael. I really do. I like seeing him and I like being around him. I like that he cares where I go and what I do. I like having someone wondering where I am and how my day was. It’s nice. It’s nice to have someone return feelings for you.
But, at the same time, Harry is in the back of my mind. I tell Hermione that I’ve moved on, because she suggested it and I know it’s the right thing to do. I know that I shouldn’t spend my life pining for someone who has never once hinted at reciprocal feelings. So I act as though I’ve moved on. I tell myself I have, but maybe I never will.
I’m aware that Harry is on my mind. His face penetrates my brain, but I don’t push him out right away. I allow myself a few moments with him; I like the feeling. Whenever he wanders in, a smile spreads across my face and my heart is light, so I let him stay.
I wonder if that’s how Harry feels. Not about me, of course. Harry will never think of me in any way other than Ron’s little sister. I’m just a girl he knows. Actually, I don’t even know what I am to Harry. I don’t know how or what he sees when he looks at me. I guess now that I don’t bother him, now that I’ve “given up,” he doesn’t see anything.
It’s Cho I’m wondering about “ Cho Chang. I guess one could call her Harry’s love interest. Well, according to Hermione, that is. Cho is pretty and popular. She can have any boy in the school, yet she fancies Harry. And Harry fancies her too, which is just my luck…
I wonder if Harry feels about Cho the way I feel about him. I wonder if his stomach swoops when he sees her. Does he thank Merlin for being alive when she laughs? Is she the only other person in the room? As much as I hate it, that’s how I feel about Harry Potter. Stupid, I know, but I can’t help it. My heart swells when he grins, even if it’s not directed toward me.
What does Harry see in Cho? Is it because she’s pretty? I can’t think of any other reason. From what I’ve gathered, he hardly knows her. He rarely talks to her and barely sees her. Is it because she plays Quidditch?
Quidditch. Another subject comes to my mind. Since Harry was banned, I play Quidditch. I am officially the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s new Seeker. I wanted the position, I really did, but when I tried out, I couldn’t help but think it’d be a good conversation starter with Harry. I could ask for tips, throw in a joke or two, show him my charm, and it’d be justified. I guess I always have ulterior motives. Always.
I glance over at Ron and Hermione again. It’s been quite a bit since the D.A. meeting’s end and Harry is still not back. I wonder what is taking him so long, but part of me knows.
I know something happened with Cho, but not what. I heard her tell her friend that she’d be along in a bit; I saw her lingering. So I told Michael that I couldn’t find my jumper. I wanted an extra moment with Harry, to see what was going on between him and Cho. Everyone was almost gone, except Harry, Cho, Michael, a few others and me.
I continued to look for my sweater. I wanted to interrupt their privacy. I wanted embarrass them by being there. I wanted to somehow steal Harry’s attention, but I couldn’t do any of these things, for Michael reminded me that I wasn’t wearing a sweater earlier. Not wanting to be caught in a lie, I pretended to remember and grudgingly followed him out of the room.
I want Harry to return. His being gone so long makes me nervous. What could he be doing with Cho? I don’t want to think of the possibilities…
I yawn, enjoying the concealment of my seat. Right now, I am nothing. I am not here. Everything I see and hear, I don’t really see and hear. I am just an observer, a shadow lurking in the corner, a ghost watching through a window…
In the midst of defining, I hear something. I don’t have to look up; I know Harry is back. I can tell when he’s near. I’m not sure how, but it’s a certain feeling in my chest.
He looks strange, dazed almost, but happy. I know something happened with Cho, but I don’t want to get disappointed yet, so I hold onto hope. He just looks so happy, though, and that within itself saddens me.
He takes a seat next to Hermione. I watch their interaction carefully. Hermione and Ron look expectantly at Harry, curiosity all over their faces. Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, it looks as though he is having an internal struggle “ to speak or not to speak.
So I listen closely, hoping Harry decides to speak. But a large part of me doesn’t think he will. He is very private, and keeps things to himself. Well, that’s my theory. I wouldn’t really know.
I don’t think I’ll be able to hear their conversation. I think that they’re too far away, that I'm too far away. And I'm right. They are all talking, but I can’t hear them. Hoping Hermione will fill me in later, I turn away. I’ve never been good at reading lips, and I hope Harry isn’t either.
About a minute later, I hear Hermione’s crisp voice. I don’t know if she is suddenly louder or if I’m just listening closer, but all the same, I clearly hear her ask, “Did you kiss*?”
I am suddenly alert. For the split second before he answers, I take everything in. I hold my breath and it is as if the world has stopped. I search for any subtle hints or clues, anything in his features that might make the answer less painful. Nothing. So I await his answer; I await my fate.
Slowly, Harry nods. My heart sinks. I know it shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t care. I know I have Michael, but I can’t help it.
Ron looks delighted, the idiot. He is rolling around on the ground, laughing like a pig in the mud. Hermione looks…I can’t tell you. Neutral, maybe? I think she knows that I will never have a chance. The image of Harry and me that I had pushed into her mind is beginning to dim. And it is for me too. Almost.
I want to forget him so badly. I want to have never felt this way. I want to let go of whatever I’m holding onto. I can’t stand it. So I try. I try to erase the past; I try to feel nothing. But it doesn’t work…I still feel sick.
Sure, Cho may be pretty, but that’s all, I try to convince myself. She’s whiney and needy. She cries all the time. I see her everywhere, tears running down her face. Every time I do, my fist always clamps; I can’t understand what Harry sees in her. I just can’t fathom how Harry can stand it. I know I can’t.
It’s funny how things turn out. Michael used to have a crush on Cho and I used to have a crush on Harry. And now I’m with Michael and Harry is with Cho. Harry is with a girl that other boys have been staying away from lately, making him the only boy not interested in me. The irony is that he’s the one I want. The one I want. The one I desire. It sounds like he’s an item that I want to put in my pocket.
Maybe that’s how it was at first, but not anymore. I can’t explain it. There is no way to explain having such strong feelings for someone I barely know. In all honesty, that’s how I feel about Harry. I don’t know what he feels or thinks. I don’t know what he’s really like “ one on one.
I know every pigment in his eyes and every curl in his hair, but I don’t know what he wants to do or who he wants to be. I don’t know when he’s scared or lonely or happy and I’d hardly be able to tell. He doesn’t confide anything in me.
Yet I think of him more than a girl with a boyfriend should. I admire him when he’s patiently teaching at D.A. meetings. I laugh at the jokes I hear him tell. I laugh at the witty remarks Hermione reiterates to me. I know when he is going to dive for the Snitch. And when he leaves the room, my eyes linger on the spot he previously stood. He’s constantly there and I can’t make it go away.
I try to listen to more of their conversation, but I can’t hear anything. I’m not sure if it’s because they are talking more softly or because I don’t want to hear any more.
I look over one last time, my eyes set on Harry. I wonder whether he would notice if I stared at him “ stood right in front of him and stared. Would he see me?
Probably not. He’d probably look right through me, not thinking twice about it. His eyes would look past me, searching for Cho.
I lower my quill to the parchment and begin to write an entry for today. I won’t mention Harry, though. This year’s journal doesn’t know anything about how I feel about Harry. As far as what’s written in it, he’s Ron’s best friend and I’ve given up on him. All my journal knows is that I’m crazy for Michael Corner, and I’m going to keep it that way.
So I go on and on about Michael, describing every detail. I get lost in my writing, I get lost in the words appearing on the parchment. It’s flowing freely, coming out so easily. And I’m finished. Another day is documented.
I flip the page and go back to read what I’ve written. Trying to make out the words among the cursive-print mix, something strikes me as odd. I squint at a word. And another. The description is not that of Michael. Michael doesn’t have green eyes or black hair…
Sighing, I rip out the page and crumple it. Harry on the mind again… I silently wonder how many pages I’ve had to rip out, how many pages I’ve had to waste for that reason.
I glance up, but Harry, Ron and Hermione are gone. Trying to hide my disappointment, I turn back to the parchment.
I start fresh, a blank page, awaiting my thoughts. Awaiting my lies. I dip my quill in ink and start to write.
I don’t write about Harry again. I don’t even mention his name. But I do write about an upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. I write about how much I want to win, how I’ve never felt more determined to win anything in my life before.
After all, winning a Quidditch match is the best thing for the spirit. Or maybe catching the Snitch before the Ravenclaw Seeker…
Holding Onto Hope by KASK
Chapter Notes: Mariah (MissPurplePen) and Melissa (solemnlyswear_x) -- thank you so much for the speedy Beta jobs!!
* = Text taken from Order of the Phoenix.