"Confiding Secrets"

By Charlene

The fire cracked and popped comfortingly as Harry turned the page in his journal, the orange glow of the flames casting all the light he needed as he dipped his quill in his ink again and brought it to the page, pausing before tearing on in his seemingly endless rant for the week.

It was a late December night, the first night of Christmas break, and the only two occupants of Gryffindor Tower were Harry and Hermione. Night had fallen hours ago, and the snow was building up again, the flakes thick and cold as they landed on the sill out the window. Harry had begun a journal at the end of his fifth year, one entry to sum up each week, and he was writing in it now. Sometimes he would write special entries that had nothing to do with his week. This was one of them.

The walls were cast into flickering shadows from the roaring fire. Harry stood up from the table and moved over to the couch, tucking his legs underneath him. He quickly scanned his entry and blushed at his own thoughts and words. There had been ups and downs over the past few years, first with Cho, then with friends, and the Ministry, but there was always one constant thing he always had in him.

Dec.20th, 'I'm not sure why I feel like I do. Sometimes I think about her and I have to scold myself, but I'm still not sure why. Is it wrong? Somewhere in the back of my head I have this feeling that it's wrong, and that I'm breaking the rules if I think about her like that. I would understand if a guy was mad at himself for liking a guy, but a guy mad at himself for liking a girl? Is there something wrong with me?'

He bit on the end of his quill and thought for a moment. And then, with much hesitation, he continued.

'She looked at me again today. Not with one of those 'Hey, Harry,' kind of look. I don't think I can describe what kind of look it was. At first I thought it was some sort of joke, and I gave a laugh. When I did, she looked ready to cry, so I patted her hand apologetically, and she blushed. I don't get it. Now she's doing it all the time. I think it's time I spoke to her. She's my best friend.'

He thought for a moment he'd heard a noise, and suddenly he was snapped back into reality and plunged on agitatedly.

But Journal, what if I ask her and she avoids me because I suspected her of suggesting things towards me? Would it ruin us

He paused, swallowing, and added the question mark slowly. Would it? He slipped the quill carefully into the pages and shut the book. He sat still and thought about it. His heart felt that it was being ripped apart.

Suddenly, the portrait hole opened. It was Hermione. She stormed into the common room with a book tucked under her arm and walked over to the table Harry was just at. It seemed she couldn't see him in the shadows. She set the book down and leaned against the table. At first it looked like she was looking at the cover. She started at it for the longest time, and Harry made to get up and go see what was so interesting, until he heard the sniffle. Her shoulders were trembling. It wasn't until he heard the soft patter of tears on the book that he realized she was crying.

His heart broke clean in half at the sight. Her knees began to buckle and it was all she could to hold onto the table. Harry jumped up and strode over cautiously, preparing to catch her. "Hermione."

She gasped and looked up, and when he saw her wide brown eyes swimming with tears, he swallowed. But before he could say anything, she let out a wail.

"Oh Harry!" she cried, and flung her arms tightly around his neck, breaking down on his shoulder and making him stagger in shock. He was startled at first, but he quickly wrapped an arm around her waist and put a hand behind her head. "Shhh, it's okay, it's okay," he said to the muffle of loud sobs against his chest. He walked her over to the couch and sat her down, rubbing her back.

"Shhhh," he whispered into her hair. "Don't cry . . . it's okay, don't cry . . ."

"Oh Harry," she sobbed again, clutching to his sweater with every ounce of her strength. He wasn't used to seeing such a sad Hermione. He softly dragged his nails up and down her back, taking advantage of having the girl of his dreams in his arms, even if it was for the wrong reason.

"What's wrong?" he murmured. She didn't seem to notice, but she wouldn't answer as her sobs slowly turned into loud sighs. He could still feel the warm, wet patch of tears on his shirt. "I hate seeing you cry, Hermione," he said quite truthfully as she started to calm.

She buried her head into him, her fingers grasping his sweater tightly. He stroked her hair and rocked her. It was as if she was completely helpless, and his heart was yearning for her. It took all he could not to drop to his knees and thank the Lord at that moment.

His murmurings seemed to be calming her down, but she wasn't answering him. Now he was worried.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he repeated.

"I-I can't . . ." she sniffled.

"Sure you can," he said softly. "You can tell me anything. You're my best friend, remember?" She nodded slowly against his chest and he wended his fingers lovingly into her hair with a tenderness he hadn't known he even possessed. "Please tell me."

". . . No . . ." she sighed. Harry waited for a moment, thinking she was trying to gather herself together. He felt her chest rising and falling against his rhythmically, pressing and contracting, and he blushed at the wonderful feeling. Then he realized she was asleep.

"Hermione?" he breathed. When she didn't respond, he tapped her behind the head lightly. No, she was out. She'd cried herself into exhaustion.

He sighed and patted her back before gently detangling himself from her limp, sleeping arms. He picked her up behind her back and knees and laid her down properly, adjusting her head on the armrest. Just looking at her damp cheeks and red nose made his heart ache. He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed it gently before laying it across her stomach.

"Oh, Hermione," he said sadly. He started over to the other couch near the fire to get a blanket for her when something caught his eye. The book on the table. Was that what made her cry?

Harry stared at the book for a moment and shook his head, going for the blanket, but his nerve then got the best of him and he strode back to the table, grabbing up the book with a quick glance towards Hermione.

She's asleep, she'll never know, he told himself as he opened it. And then his heart stopped as he read the first page. It was her diary.

"Oh no," he said aloud, shutting it. "I can't." He looked back around to Hermione. "But if something's making her upset . . ." He bit his lip, and hesitating, opened the diary and flipped to the last page she'd written on. He began to read.

'Diary,

I can't take it anymore. Every time I see him I want to collapse, and I hate myself for it. Worst is, he probably doesn't even think of me as a girl. To him, I'm just one of the boys. That's how everyone else thinks of me. I'm no girl. I hang out with guys who are so attractive and because I'm not hanging on them like every other whore in this school it must mean I'm strange. I keep wanting to tell him and that makes me mad and then I get mad at myself for making me mad and then I get mad at him for making me mad at myself and it's a never ending circle that's getting rather ridiculous. What does it take? Am I just some kind of walking talking example of what no woman wants to be? Or does he like having girls like Lavender and Parvati with him to hang around all over him? Is that why he doesn't like me back?'

Harry looked around at Hermione, his heart throbbing. He never even knew she felt that way about anyone . . .

'I looked at him the other day again during class. I'm such an idiot. I guess he must have read it in my face because he laughed at me. He laughed! Can you believe it?'

It felt as though a knife had just stabbed Harry through his forehead. His legs wobbled with the sudden weight protruding from his heart. It was him.

'God, I don't even know why I bother. Maybe Malfoy was right. Mudbloods are good for nothing . . .'

Harry slammed the book shut and looked around at Hermione's sleeping form. Hatred was burning his lungs. Malfoy. That smarmy bastard. So that's why she was upset. Harry silently pledged to rip out Malfoy's stomach at the next available moment. How dare he say something like that to her? It was enough for make Harry's blood boil with hatred towards his stupid Malfoy guts.

Carefully walking over to Hermione as not to wake her out of what he was sure was a fretful sleep, he sat down by her feet and stared at her sleeping form. So, she liked him back. As gleeful as he felt, he knew he should have felt guilty for making her feel the way she did. It was his entire fault she was like this, and he knew it, but what kept him from being angry at himself was that it wasn't true, and that he did like her. Wrong, he corrected himself. He loved her.

* * *

Something hit his leg and Harry was jerked out of his sleep, staring around. And then he saw Hermione's shoe. She must have been rolling around and kicked him. He sighed and let his head fall back against the couch, bringing his wrist up in front of his eyes to see his watch. He'd been asleep for almost an hour.

Hermione stirred with a tiny whimper and squirmed a bit before her eyes opened, her cheeks still damp from her tears. She looked over at Harry and sat up, sniffing and wiping her tears away. "Oh, Harry," she muttered miserably. "I'm so sorry. That was so . . . well, honestly!" she said, hitting her hands on the cushions and looking positively furious with herself. "I'm just acting like a big ninny, is all. Forget it happened."

"No, it's alright," Harry said, patting her on the back with sympathy. "That's what I'm here for, isn't it?" Hermione glanced up at him and attempted a smile, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to do it, looking down at her lap where her hands were twiddling. Now Harry was faced with a new dilemma he hadn't thought about. How would he tell her about the diary? She might rip his head off in a state like this. Or worse, cry again. He sighed heavily, and Hermione looked at him sideways. "Is everything alright?"

He looked over at her, and then at the diary. He couldn't keep it from her. If he ever wanted anything between them, he had to be completely honest. He looked her right in the eye and said, "Hermione . . . I'm sorry."

She gave him a funny look, still removing any traces of tears. "Sorry? For what."

"I, er . . ." He mustered up all that was Harry Potter, and said without hesitation, "I read it."

Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Read . . ." And then dawning spread across her face and she blushed so deeply Harry thought he saw steam issue from her ears. Her eyes flew from him to the diary on the table and then at the floor in front of her, her mouth open and trembling. The sounds she omitted were the beginnings of words, but she seemed unable to make them full words. Harry, however, merely watched. He really didn't feel guilty about it anymore. He felt it was a problem that he was set on fixing, and he couldn't feel guilty about that. Of course he felt bad that he had invaded her privacy, but he would more than gladly take the heat for that later.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You . . .you read my diary?" she said in a would-be calm voice. Her eyes flitted up to his, her face reddening by the second. "You read it?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Something was making you upset, so . . ."

"You," Hermione cut him off, her voice rising behind clenched teeth, "read my diary? My diary?"

Harry backed up as she clawed her way towards him, all weakness gone. He reached behind him to keep his balance, but he fell on his back on the floor with a thud. He tried to crab-walk, but the look in her eyes was petrifying him. She began crawling towards him menacingly, and when his back hit the table legs he could go no further.

"How . . ." She was trembling so much she couldn't speak in sentences. "I . . . you . . . my diary . . ."

She climbed her way up him and grabbed his collar, looking so furious she might be capable of dangerous, wandless magic. She became level with his face. "I . . . I'm going to--going to --"

Whatever she was going to do, Harry would never know, because at that moment, he put a hand behind her neck and crushed their lips together forcefully, muffling and stopping all words she was about to say. A moan escaped her throat, and she let go of his collar and put them on his chest to steady herself. Harry sat up so that she was straddling his legs on her knees, winding her arms around his neck, and his went around her waist, pulling her tightly to him.

The message had gotten across so fast their heads were spinning. Hermione pulled away, gasping for air with her eyes closed. She buried her head into his collar, panting as heavily as he was. Such a heat was permeating through them every breath was fiery in their lungs.

"I love you, Hermione," he breathed raggedly. "I love you . . ."

"I love you too," Hermione said, trembling. "Oh God, I love you too, Harry Potter . . ."

Harry's hands were trembling from the intensity of the moment, and he was running them up and down her back, combing through her hair and down to the small of her back, making her shiver. Harry soon realized she was crying.

"I thought . . . I thought . . ."

"I know. And I'm so sorry that you didn't know sooner. I just . . . you're my best friend. I would do anything to keep it going. If I lost that . . . I didn't know what I would have done."

Hermione sniffed, panting with her head still nestled under his chin. "What about this?"

Harry grinned. "This is better. This is what we had times a million, and I would do the impossible to keep this going."

For hours they sat their, contributing the occasional kiss as they laid up against the table, limbs intertwined. The pain of the wood digging into his back was annoying, but Harry didn't care. He was living a dream that he'd been having since his sixth year. The smell of her hair and her perfume was so intoxicating, he almost couldn't think straight. This was heaven. She loved him! This thought ran through his mind the whole time.

It wasn't long before Harry remembered something.

"Hey, did you know I kept a journal?"

Hermione looked up at him. "Really?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, of course. I started it when I started liking you."

Hermione's mouth fell open and she smacked his chest. "No way! Copy-cat!"

"You mean . . ."

"Yes! I started mine when I started liking you."

They looked at each other, mouth agape, and then burst out laughing. Hermione wiped a tear from her eye. "Harry, are we not the most insane people you've ever known?"

"More insane than that. We're pathetic!"

They sighed, chuckling. "Want to read mine?" Harry said.

"Only if you read mine."

They got their respective books and handed them to one another, pouring over the thoughts of the one they loved. Hermione burst out laughing at one. "Harold James Potter, how can you possibly let yourself be so graphic in your writing? Does anyone really need to read this?"

Harry frowned. "What?"

Hermione couldn't contain her laughter, her face flushing. "This! Your entry for October third. Read it, you'll see why."

Harry took it from her and his eyes flitted over the page, and when his they snagged on a certain word, he paused in horror and slowly read the sentence. His entire face turned crimson. "What was I thinking?"

Hermione was rolling on the floor, clutching her stomach. He looked over at her, his mouth on the floor. "Can you believe I wrote this?"

Hermione couldn't answer. Harry laughed just watching her. Her face was so bright, lit in a way he'd never seen before. He growled playfully and lunged at her, pinning her down on the ground. She didn't stop laughing.

"I . . . I gave you . . . gave--gave you . . ." she tried to say, but she was laughing to hard to string any words together. He blushed even harder.

"Do you think I wanted it to happen?" he said, a foolish grin on his face.

This brought on more squeals of laughter. Soon, he couldn't stop it, and he laughed to, collapsing next to her in a pile of giggles. She rolled onto her side and put her hands on his face. "That's . . . that's the sweetest thing . . . ever!" she laughed. "You . . . couldn't even . . . bring yourself to say it . . . flat out!"

He scooched closer to her and she brought their lips together again, her lips curled against his and small giggles rumbling from her mouth into his chest. When they separated, Hermione was still grinning harder than she'd ever grinned before and her face was its rosy color. "You know, Harry, most women think it's disgusting when guys say a woman has that sort of effect on them, but me?" She laughed a bit. "For some reason I don't. I think it's so innocent with you, like a stranger in a new world. And that's what makes it so sweet."

Harry knew he was blushing. "Thanks . . ."

She stroked his cheek. "Don't be embarrassed, Harry. I've read all about those things. It's perfectly natural. And that fact that you feel so strongly for me is . . . it's touching, really."

"It's true, though," he said honestly. "I don't remember feeling this way for anyone, ever. You're the piece of me that's so right. It's what keeps me fighting for all that's good in this world. Without that good," he said, gazing into her warm, brown eyes, "there'd be nothing left."

Hermione bit her lip and pulled him close, wrapping him in a hug that she'd always saved for him without even knowing it. Suddenly he pulled back and looked at her sternly. "You're not going to tell anyone I wrote that, are you?"

She giggled. "No. That's our secret." He grinned and pulled her back into a hug. Things were going so cheesy-romancish that Harry had to chuckle a bit. But then a familiar dread lit up in his stomach.

"You know," he said softly, "this does change a lot of things, Hermione. It's something no one saw coming. How're we to break it to everyone? To Ron?"

She sighed. "I don't know. But we have to. I've been waiting for something like this for almost a year and I'm not about to keep it under wraps. At least not for long." She yawned. "We have to talk, but not now. At the moment, let's forget any worries. We'll talk in the morning."

Harry nodded. "In the morning." He reached up onto the couch and pulled the quilt down on top of them, they snuggled against each other. Harry stared down at himself. Was this real? Was it actually happening to him? It was so surreal and fantasy-like he tried to wake up. He pinched himself and felt it.

"What?" Hermione said quietly as he gasped.

"Oh, nothing," he said.

"Are you sure we should sleep on the floor?" she mumbled sleepily. "We'll wake up hurting, you know."

He smiled. "I can't hurt when you're here. Go to sleep."

"Don't leave. If I wake up and you're not there . . . I'll know it's just a dream."

"I won't leave. I promise."

"G'night, Harry."

Harry kissed the side of her head. "Goodnight, Hermione."