The shock sent him flying backwards at what felt like a hundred miles per hour. He had never performed the killing curse before; he had never even practiced it on a patch of air. And he was not prepared for it.
He really hadn't wanted to use an Unforgivable curse, even on his biggest enemy. Those required hate. He didn't hate Voldemort. He had learned that about a year ago, towards the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts.
He had been sitting in the common room late at night, working on an overdue Potions essay. He was absentmindedly chewing on the end of his quill when he heard a soft whoosh as a figure in pink pajama bottoms and a white tee slipped down the stairs from the girl's dormitory.
"Harry?" She said, as she came closer to the fire, evidently shocked to see him there, "What are you doing down here?"
"I'm trying to finish this essay, Hermione, I still have to do another roll of parchment," he said, a little annoyed with her. He needed to focus on the essay, and Hermione lately had had the tendency of distracting him.
But he had to talk to her. "What are you doing down here?" he asked, as she plopped down next to him on the couch.
"Oh, I had a bad dream," she said, sheepishly twisting her hair around her finger, "And I couldn't fall back asleep, so I was going to come down here and make some more hats!" She finished, showing Harry her knitting needles and material for her elf hats, which lately, actually, were looking very good.
"But if you'd rather be alone," she said, starting to stand up. Apparently, she had noticed his tone of voice earlier.
"No, stay," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back onto the couch, "I could use the company.
Hermione managed to make about six hats in the time it took Harry to finish his essay. When he was done, he glanced at his watch. "Wow," he said, "Sorry I kept you up so late, Hermione."
"Oh, its no problem," she smiled, "I wasn't going to fall back asleep, not after that dream I had."
He sat back to the back of the couch, put his hands behind his head and asked, "Really? It was that bad? What was it about?"
He could tell she really didn't want to tell him, and he wasn't going to press it, when she suddenly spurted out, "Harry, please don't die."
Harry was utterly shocked, to say the least. "Well, ummm, well, that isn't one of my goals in life, Hermione, but I'm going to have to die at some point. Everybody does."
"I'm serious, Harry," she said seriously. She seemed angry with herself, but she also seemed to feel the need to explain herself. "Its just, if you leave me, everything will be terrible."
"Why would I leave you?" he asked, more confused than he had been a moment ago.
"Well, I mean, with V-voldemort, I mean, his whole goal is to kill you, and, well, I mean, you hate him so much and everything-" Harry cut her off there, surprising even himself with his next statement.
"I don't hate him," he declared simply, as though his subconscious had wanted to let that secret out for years.
"You don't hate him?" she asked incredulously. Hermione just didn't understand things like that, he realized. There had to be a logical explanation to everything. And Harry not hating the man who killed his parents and who was responsible for the deaths of many more, there was just no explanation. At least, none that she could see.
"I'm not sure why I don't hate him," he said, running his hand over his scar, "I didn't even know until a moment ago."
"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked, leaning back herself so that there eyes were even.
"Actually, yes.”
They spent the whole night talking. It was really amazing. By the end, Harry still didn’t understand why he didn’t hate Voldemort, but he did understood what Ron had meant when, a few days before that night, he had told Harry that it was obvious to everyone but Harry and Hermione that Harry and Hermione were meant to be together.