And yes, the title is shamelessly stolen from a t.A.T.u song...I thought it fit the theme. *sighs*
I giggled softly as Hermione told me of Ron Weasley’s antics during the Yule Ball. Apparently they had gotten into a huge fight over Hermione’s date, Viktor Krum. Being a third year, I had not been allowed to attend unless invited, which I hadn’t been. I wasn’t really a friend of either Ron Weasley or the more famous Harry Potter, but hearing about them from Hermione on a daily basis made me feel as if I was part of the clan.
We were sitting in the library, which we did often enough. Even though we were in different years, Hermione occasionally helped me with homework. Hermione had helped me with my work loads of times, which I greatly appreciated. It seemed odd how someone as intelligent as her hadn’t been placed into my own House, Ravenclaw.
“You’re laughing?” asked Hermione incredulously. “What on earth could be funny?”
“It’s just “ ‘fraternizing with the enemy.’ It’s hilarious!”
Hermione blinked and then reluctantly shaped her lips into a smile. “You’re hopeless.”
We both succumbed to loud laughter then, which provoked Madam Pince to promptly shoo us out with a look of stern disappointment on her face. I understood why. Hermione and I were usually her quietest patrons, only speaking in soft tones. I suppose that day was just an oddity.
“Come on, let’s go outside!” exclaimed Hermione, and she took my hand in hers and led me away. I felt my arm tingle slightly, and I found myself focusing entirely on her hand, her fingers entwined with mine.
Hermione led us to a tree where she usually sat with her two best friends. However, the boys were not present today. In fact, most of the grounds were empty. It was not unusual, for it was early and cold.
Hermione and I stood at the edge of the lake. She muttered an incantation, and blue fire appeared in her hands. “It’ll warm us up,” she said, moving closer to me.
I looked at her looking at her own magic, noticing little details on her face I had not seen before. She had very few freckles, maybe four or five on each cheek, and a couple on the bridge of her nose. Her eyes weren’t as dark as perceived from a distance; they were in fact a light brown color similar somewhat to darkened honey. Her face was so close to mine, I could practically feel her breath, which only quickened my pulse. Hermione looked up at me and smiled, her eyes blind to my observation “ and my feelings towards her.
Later that day, just before I was about to go to sleep, I stood in the bathroom, gazing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I wondered if Hermione thought me pretty. My straight dark hair is cut very short, just at my neck. I have unmarred skin, although it’s a little on the pale side. My eyes are brown, like Hermione’s, only mine are a much lighter shade and can actually claim the title ‘hazel.’
I turned away from the mirror, stepped out of the bathroom, and went straight to bed. I drew the curtains around me and pulled the covers up to my chin. I was tired and wanted to escape the swirl of thoughts that always “ always “ came back to her.
I’d known Hermione Granger for three years now. In my first year she’d been a nice girl who’d helped me get to know Hogwarts, as a fellow Muggle-born. She’d been kind and sat with me occasionally. In my second year we got closer, close enough to truly call ourselves mutual friends. We opened up and spoke to each other about many things.
However, this year it was different. This year, I was beginning to see Hermione differently. It made me sink deep in thought, these feelings I felt towards a girl. It occurred to me that I couldn’t be gay, exactly, because I’d had crushes on boys before. I didn’t find boys repulsive and I wasn’t indifferent to them. But had I always been indifferent towards girls, though?
I squeezed my eyes shut tight. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to confess to Hermione how I truly felt…but could I do it? Could I tell her that I often felt like running my hand through her hair? Could I tell her I wanted to feel her lips beneath mine? Could I expose the fact that I was longing to run my hands over her flesh? It was a decision that had been eating away at me for quite a while, and I continued to shove it away. Why? Why couldn’t I face her? Why couldn’t I face the person I loved, even if that person happened to be of the same gender as me?
Attempting to look calm, I approached Hermione, who had just started to walk to the castle with Harry and Ron. They had been sitting underneath their favorite tree, but as it nearing nighttime, they were most likely heading back to their common room.
“Hermione?” I called hesitantly.
She turned around, a look of slight surprise on her face. “Sara? Hello.”
“Can I speak to you alone for a moment?” I asked gravely, trying to keep my face a blank slate.
Hermione’s face registered brief surprise at my expression, before she smiled and said, “Sure.” She gestured for Harry and Ron, who looked curious themselves, to go on with out her and promptly followed me back to the same tree “ I made sure we stood behind it, so as to be hidden from view.
“So what is it?” Hermione was looking at me with interest. “Is there something the matter?”
The words I had prepared escaped me when I thought of saying them. My throat caught, and I cleared it hurriedly before facing Hermione and attempting to look her straight in the eye. Throwing caution to the wind, with my heart pounding so hard I had to wonder vaguely whether or not Hermione would hear it, I placed my hands on her shoulders and stood on the tips of my toes. I felt a flash of panic, but I ignored it. Too late to stop now, I thought. I brought my face close to Hermione’s and briefly touched her lips with mine. I felt her shoulders stiffening horribly beneath my hands, and her lips didn’t respond or refuse me: they remained frozen.
I took my hands of her shoulders and backed away. I took a deep breath and said, “Hermione, I…” I’d had words planned. I’d fed myself a speech. Now that the time was here, however, all of those words swam right before my eyes, each and every one of them mocking me.
I shook my head to clear the images I saw in my mind’s eye and attempted again to say what was on my mind. I focused my vision on the dry autumn leaves Hermione was crushing with her feet.
“Hermione, I “ I know this might sound “ erm “ awkward but I “ I think I really l-like you…as more than just…a friend.” I breathed a sigh of relief at having said what I’d just said and lifted my gaze to meet Hermione’s.
The expression on her face was not pleasing. I can’t very well describe the emotions playing on her face, being unsure of what she felt. However, I could see one emotion very clearly: shock. That wasn’t necessarily bad, though. Maybe she really was just surprised.
“Hermione?” Trying to lighten the mood slightly, I attempted a very lousy chuckle. “Uhm “ say something. Come on, say something, anything.” I clenched my fists tightly and gritted my teeth. No longer could I delude myself about Hermione’s feelings. The way she had just reacted disproved the illusions I continued to relentlessly feed myself.
“Sara-” Hermione stopped abruptly and sighed in what seemed to be defeat. She certainly looked dejected enough.
“Do you think it’s weird?” I said suddenly and quite coldly. “How I feel about you, I mean?”
Hermione glanced at me, and I could just barely make out the hint of a smile on her face. I could feel the flames of my hope flaring and licking at my heart, giving me a feeling of almost euphoria.
“No, I don’t think it’s weird,” she said earnestly. “Not at all. It’s just...”
“Are you worried about what other people will say?” I inquired, beginning to show my excitement. “Because if you are, we don’t need to tell anyone if you don’t want-”
The pained expression on Hermione’s face was enough to cut me off. Was that pity on her face? “Sara, I don’t feel the same way about you. I never will.”
I gasped. The hope in me quieted as suddenly as if it had been doused with a bucket of water, to be replaced with dampness and despair. It was amazing how, with two sentences, Hermione Granger had crushed me as easily as her shoes had crushed the brittle leaves she stood on.
My vision began to blur, and I could feel my eyes grow damp. I whirled around, not keen on allowing Hermione to see me cry.
“Sara, I’m sorry.” Her apology meant very little to me at that point. What could her apology do to ease the pain I felt, the shame at admitting my true feelings for absolutely no gain? In fact, I had probably ruined the relationship she and I had already had. Or maybe…
I steadied my voice and managed to keep it from cracking. Without turning around, I said, “Maybe we could still be friends, though? You know, talk in the library and all that, like we always did?”
No response. When all I continued to hear was the quiet song of the wind, I forced myself to face Hermione. She was looking at the ground, her left arm clutching her right wrist tightly. Her brows were drawn tightly together. She appeared to be in deep thought.
“Hermione?”
“I don’t think so, Sara,” said Hermione slowly, but firmly. “It’d just be too awkward. I’m sorry.”
“But “ why? You just said you didn’t think it was strange in any way.”
“I don’t,” she reassured. “It’s just…if you liked other girls and liked me simply as a friend, I wouldn’t mind. But knowing how you feel…I just wouldn’t be able to get on with you as comfortably as before. I’m sorry.”
Why did she have to keep repeating that damned apology! Did she think it mattered whether or not I believed she was sorry? Did she think I wanted her to pity me? I resumed my previous position of standing with my back to Hermione and allowed a tear I had been holding back to travel down my cheek.
“It’s late,” said Hermione suddenly. “We should go back to the castle. Come on.”
“You go,” I replied tonelessly, hugging myself. “I’ll come up later.”
“Sara, it’s late and the forest is dangerous-”
“I’m not going to go in further. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” I felt her draw back quickly as if bitten by a snake. I knew it was mean and tactless of me to say it, but I couldn’t help myself. I heard Hermione leaving, each footstep a punch to my gut.
I leaned on a tree and slid down until I could bury my face in my knees. I sobbed whole-heartedly, letting go of any self-control I still had. I fell to my side and curled my knees up to my chest, my sobbing subsiding steadily. Anger and grief filled my mind. I’d lost a friend, a very good friend at that. I’d never speak to her again. Never again would we laugh together over the stupidity of boys or discuss the latest books we had read. And then another thought invaded, one that filled me with dread: would Hermione tell people? Would she tell Ron Weasley and Harry Potter? They had seen her go off with me, after all, and they’d ask her what I had wanted. Would she tell them what I had said? Would everyone know tomorrow? Would they point and whisper as if a freaky exhibition from a carnival was on display?
This thought troubled me more and certainly didn’t give me any incentive to pick myself up from the ground. I could feel my eyelids drooping, though, and soon enough I slipped into the blissful release of sleep.
When I awoke, the sun was starting to come up, painting an orange-pink strip on the horizon. I looked at it for a moment, mesmerized by the glow, and then shook my head fiercely. I gathered myself and stood, leaning on a tree for support. I was still quite sleepy. Looking around, I had to admit how lucky I was to have slept on the edge of the forest and still be alive.
Regaining my senses, I quickly made for the castle. The grounds were eerily quiet; not a single person was to be seen, not even Hagrid. The doors to the entrance hall of Hogwarts appeared shut, but as I pushed against them with all my strength, they swung open. I quietly but quickly ran all the way to my dormitory and stepped into the bathroom to shower before my housemates could see me and have the chance to ask me why I was covered in dirt, leaves, and twigs.
Later, I dressed and made my way down to breakfast. My books were clutched to my chest, and I was trying to hold myself in a very nonchalant manner. I was anticipating stares, at the very least. For all I knew, there wasn’t anyone else at Hogwarts who was openly gay.
However, any person I came across, even Gryffindors, treated me the same way they had every other day: with swift ignorance. Nobody looked at me twice, which only led me to one conclusion: Hermione hadn’t told!
As I passed the Gryffindor table, I stared at Hermione, not being able to help looking at her and wishing her a ‘good morning,’ even if that greeting was inside my head. As I stared, I caught the eye of Ron Weasley, who was sitting on Hermione’s right. He waved and yelled, “Oi! So what’s this secret business between you and Hermione, anyway? She doesn’t want to say.”
I watched, half-surprised, half-amused, as Hermione shoved Ron. As he was yelling, she looked at me with an apologetic look on her face. But she needn’t be sorry. I gave her a small smile and nodded, to show my appreciation at her discretion, and calmly walked towards the Ravenclaw table.