[1ALONE
Harry leaned against the common room wall and ran his hands roughly through his hair. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes sighing. It was raining. He could hear it pounding relentlessly against the windows. The room was empty and quiet just as he had suspected it would be. Everyone was still down at dinner and, if he had estimated correctly, would remain so for at least another forty-five minutes. He pulled himself away from the wall and collapsed heavily down onto the couch. A few lone embers crackled in the fireplace shedding small dancing shadows across the floor. Harry watched them, unblinking. For the first time in a long time, he felt alone. It was a feeling he'd long abandoned the night Hagrid had taken him away from the Dursely's, the night he'd discovered how wonderfully different he was; the night he'd learned there was somewhere he really belonged in the world. Acknowledging these thoughts made him feel foolish. He was surrounded by people who cared about him, people who understood him. Yet, here he was, sulking in the Gryffindor common room, watching the dying fire and feeling sorry for himself.
But, he had seen it.
Of course they didn't know this, but he had just the same. He balled up his fists. It had been quick; so quick in fact that Harry wondered at first whether or not it had been his imagination. Earlier this afternoon, walking out of Potions class, Hermione had grabbed Ron's hand and squeezed, following it with a wink as she had turned to go to the girl's dormitories. Ron had flushed, but composed himself immediately, never faltering with the conversation he had been having with Harry about the upcoming Quidditch match. It had all happened in a few seconds, but the wrenching feeling Harry felt in his stomach had lasted much longer.
In the Great Hall, sitting across from Ron, who had shoveled food ungracefully into mouth, and Hermione, whose nose had been buried deep in a Herbology book, dinner had become unbearable within minutes of sitting down and Harry had excused himself complaining of a stomach ache. Now here he sat miserably, wondering why his blood was boiling with anger and hurt. He slouched down further on the couch so that he could stare at the ceiling.
Was it the fact that he now felt like the odd one out of their little trio? Like there was some delicious secret they were sharing without him?
Was it the fact that Ron hadn't thought to confide in him? That his best friend who normally spouted out every single thought or feeling in his head to Harry as though he'd drunk a gallon of Vertiserium had chosen to keep this to himself?
Was it the thought that maybe he had blown this whole thing out of proportion and was being a complete git?
No, Harry thought, swallowing hard. No, it was something else; something more. It was something lurking just below the surface; something that Harry couldn't, or wouldn't, put his finger on. Harry glanced at the window again, watching rain droplets slide down the pane.
Admit it Harry. It's her.
He shook his head quickly, trying to quiet his thoughts, but it only seemed to rile them up more.
It's her Harry.
Shut up.
It's her. It's everything about her.
Stop it. Just stop it.
It's the way she taps her quill when she's thinking really hard. It's the way she tries to cover her mouth with the back of her hand when she chews. It's the way she dog-ears the pages when she thinks she's found something important and ends up with an entire book with the corners folded in.
Be quiet!
It's the way she crosses her arms and crunches her eyebrows on those rare occasions when she's wrong and the way that satisfied smile stretches across her entire face when she's right. It's the way she'd rather perch up on her tiptoes, stretching her arm over her head, exposing her smooth, cream colored midriff to reach a library book than ask for help.
Harry stood up and began pacing the room in long, anxious strides. He needed a distraction; something to keep his wandering mind busy. But, as realization began to gradually sink in, his pacing became slower and slower until he was standing still. He closed his eyes and sighed loudly.
"Hermione."
"What's that Harry?" Harry's head whipped up. Seamus and Neville had just walked into the common room. Harry shook his head, ready to put up a defense, but the two boys were already focused on a new conversation. Quietly and thankfully unnoticed Harry made his way to the staircase and headed up to bed.