Magic Never Dies (Harmione)

Chapter 3

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Hermione had thought she knew what it was like to live with Ron and Harry. She'd known them both since they were eleven, she'd spent the last six years in boarding school with them, eating meals, studying, taking classes. Yet somehow, nothing in all their years together at Hogwarts had prepared her for this.

Perhaps it was sharing the bathroom? But no, it couldn't be that, not entirely, that was a casual irritant, nothing more. It must be something else, something more far-reaching and, well, important.

Because all of a sudden, Hermione had found that she couldn't quite keep her eyes off of Harry, and Ron was seriously starting to drive her insane.

It wasn't Ron's fault, exactly. Hermione realized that if their relationship were still on the same footing it had been until a brief while ago, they'd've been fine. She still liked Ron. In fact, she still loved Ron. Just clearly not... that way. Because all of a sudden all of her that way was way too preoccupied with Harry.

And how, exactly, did that happen? The best explanation that Hermione's anxious brain could provide was the transition from the structured environs of the school to the entirely unstructured atmosphere of Grimmauld Place. Suddenly everywhere she turned there was the sight of sweaty Harry in trainers and soaked workout clothes dueling with Ron in the sweltering attics; half-clothed Harry emerging still damp and freshly clean from the shared bathroom after a shower; intent Harry, sitting cross legged with a map on the floor of the drawing room looking for some of the places Dumbledore had taken him in their pensieve travels.

Patient Harry, not in the least put out by Crookshanks plopping down on the map to get his tummy scratched.

Indignant Harry, reading the Daily Prophet and snorting to himself.

Sleepy Harry, fingers wrapped around his coffee in the morning, green eyes still drowsy and far away.

They were all Harrys she already knew fairly well (except perhaps the shower one, with whom she had particularly enjoyed becoming acquainted) yet she seemed to be seeing them in an entirely new light.

And she was desperately afraid that she loved them all.

Not could love, not might love. Not falling in love. Did love. Done deal. Maybe always had, from the force of their intrusion on her awareness. Because what had surprised her most about living at Grimmauld Place wasn't just the sudden influx of physical Harry moments, it was the deeply comforting sense simply that he was there, even out of sight. And the way he would glance up upon her arrival in a room with that look that told her that he welcomed her presence as well, aware she was there no matter how quietly she crept in.

And that, perhaps was the heart of it all. There had always been, long before Trelawney's stupid prophecy, the desperate knowledge that one day Harry might very well be... not there. Gone. It defied logic when she considered that they had remained best of friends and always faced whatever came together, but Ron seemed safe somehow, while Harry... well, Harry had a target indelibly scarred on his forehead. It had never stopped her from worrying about him when they were eleven and twelve. From hugging him, grabbing him, thrusting him behind her when she thought that Lupin and Sirius still meant to kill him when they were thirteen. But as they had grown older still and she had begun to be aware of it she realized she had distinctly different relationships with Ron and Harry. The connection with Harry had completely by-passed the teasing, shy, does-he-does-she phase that she had engaged in with Ron, and Viktor Krum. If she was kind to herself she would say it was as if there wasn't time to waste, but if she was honest she would have to say that she had removed Harry from the range of 'boys' and into a little subsection of her mind designated only 'Harry.' She had continued to worry about him, continued to consider him one of her best friends. But love him? He was Harry.