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Author: Calixa Story: Talk Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 3 Words: 30,925
Part Five At one point last year, Harry had thought that it could never be worse with any girl than it had been with Cho. Cho was like a leaky faucet, leaping at every chance to cry on him, to mourn Cedric even when they went on dates together - and while Harry understood she needed to talk to someone who understood how she felt about his death, he'd hated being her personal handkerchief. He'd hated it to the point of hating every moment he spent with her. The relationship had been doomed from the start, he realised. But he had been wrong – Cho was not the worse. Ginny was infinitely many times worse. The most frustrating aspect of this was that Harry could not get his mind off of her. He could not stop thinking about Ginny, and how she was being ridiculously stubborn. He'd been able to set Cho aside – but to be fair it had not been altogether too difficult. Harry clenched his fist into the folds of his robes. Not difficult at all, what with everything that had happened. Umbridge, Voldemort, Sirius – looking back, Harry could say with surety that his fifth year had been one from hell. Yet, as he probed his deepest feelings, Harry knew there was a difference between what he'd felt for Cho, and what he felt for Ginny, now. He wasn't able to forget about her because he honestly, genuinely, cared about her. He was hurt that she didn't want to talk to him. He was constantly worrying about it, constantly wondering what on earth had gone wrong. Ginny was infinitely many times worse, yes, but Ginny was… Well, she was Ginny. And that was enough for Harry to keep on trying, no matter how sick he got of this silly feud. His hands hurt from being clenched so tightly, so Harry loosened his grip on his robes and attempted to do some homework instead. Sighing, he pulled a roll of parchment towards him and started writing his potions essay. Snape was being extraordinarily evil these days – ten feet on the usage, brewing and effects of Slithering Tree Pherrels on human intake. His mind kept wandering back to yesterday's Quidditch practice, and how badly it had gone. Just then, Ginny walked into the common room, surrounded by a group of fifth years. They were all chattering loudly, laughing and looking like they were having a good time – except for Ginny, that is. She looked downright depressed, and there was a distant sort of look in her eyes that made Harry wonder what she was thinking about. She didn't see him as she passed, because he was sitting in the far corner, partially hidden from view. He crouched over his essay, furtively watching her as she settled down into the sofa by the fire, that vacant expression still on her face. The other students milled about for a while, talking softly and starting on their own homework. A little voice in his head went, go over there and talk to her. Harry dropped his quill. He couldn't possibly do that. Why not? She'd kill him… wouldn't she? But she looks so depressed. Go cheer her up. She was probably depressed because of him. How would he go about cheering her up? She'd probably tell him to leave her alone, or start another fight like the one they'd had in the Room of Requirement. Harry picked up his quill again. No, he couldn't go over there and talk to her. It was too risky. Things were bad enough as it was, what if he made it all worse? What then? They'd lose the Quidditch match for sure. Not that there was much chance of them playing any better than they had yesterday. Harry groaned. He snuck a glance at Ginny, wondering if the bruise on her arm had healed yet. Had she gone to see Madam Pomfrey? You really care, don't you? Harry told himself to shut up, and tried to write more of that bloody Potions essay. He found himself hating Snape more viciously than ever, and with every other word he scribbled he imagined dumping a cauldron full of itching powder onto the greasy-haired git. He wasn't quite sure when it happened, but for some reason Snape had turned into Dean Thomas, who had been transformed into a six inch long Flobberworm, and was begging for Harry's mercy. Harry wrote some more, feeling slightly better. Pathetic. OK, so maybe he was just a little on the pathetic side. But after the last few horrible days, Harry guessed anyone else who'd gone through what he had would be talking to themselves as well. It wasn't his fault. Go talk to her, you idiot. That was it. He'd had enough. Something inside Harry snapped, and before he knew it, he found himself on his feet, halfway across the room. Ginny's red head bobbed slightly above the back of the chair she sat in, almost in sync with the uncontrolled beating of his heart. Harry paused and gripped a table edge for support. He took another hesitant step towards her. His throat was horribly dry, and his legs felt strangely like rubber. It was nerve-racking. What would he say? What would she say? What if she ignored him, or worse, what if she just walked away? Harry cringed. Someone bumped into him. "Hi Harry," said Dean, breathlessly. "Sorry, mate." Harry grumbled something in reply, along the lines of ‘sod off' but in a low enough voice so that Dean couldn't quite make out what he'd said. Dean gave him a comradely pat on the shoulder, grinned, and made a beeline for Ginny. Harry watched in disbelief as Dean walked away, fighting the urge to wipe off his shoulder. Ginny looked up in surprise when Dean plopped down onto the seat next to her, and she smiled at him, looking quite pleased to see him. Harry snapped his mouth shut. Fuming, he went back to his seat, and yanked his essay out. He watched them gloomily from his little niche, feeling like a fool. Dean was talking to Ginny in a very intent, serious manner. He looked a bit nervous too, and Harry felt a nagging curiosity… what were they talking about? He was so absorbed in contemplating using a spell of some sort to magnify their voices (but he knew it would be impossible to do without someone noticing) that he didn't notice Hermione approach him. "Harry, what are you doing?" asked Hermione, sounding horrified. "You've ripped your homework into shreds!" Harry stared down at his lap and saw much to his own dismay that he had indeed reduced his half-written essay to tiny scraps of parchment. "Great," he muttered angrily, slamming his book closed. "More work." Hermione arched her eyebrow. "Are you feeling quite all right, Harry?" "I'm fine," he mumbled, glancing darkly at Dean. Hermione slid into the seat across from where he sat, giving him a thoughtful look. He stared glumly back at her, wondering gloomily if she was going to lecture him about planning his time properly. He was definitely behind on his work, and the added stress of Ginny's silent treatment was not helping his situation. "She's still not talking to you, is she?" Hermione threw him a knowing look. "Who?" he said, trying to look clueless. It was useless, he knew, Hermione could see right through him. "You two are the talk of the mill this week," continued Hermione, making a mark on her calendar. "Everyone in Gryffindor knows." Harry looked at her, aghast. "What do you mean everyone knows?" She shook her head, opened up her Arithmancy book, and started taking what seemed like endless volumes of notes. "Oh nevermind, Harry." "What?" he insisted, wanting to know. "Why does everyone think I don't understand? And what does everyone know about?" "I never said anything about you not understanding things," said Hermione, absently scratching out something on her parchment, "And everyone knows about your fight with Ginny." Harry sighed deeply. "It can't be that bad," said Hermione calmly, which only served to anger him further. "Easy for you to say," said Harry bitterly. "You're not the one being ignored." Hermione gave him a look that clearly said I'm just trying to help you. He bit his tongue, debating the prospect of asking Hermione for advice. Chances were she understood this whole thing loads better than he did, but then again, what if she was on Ginny's side? Girls did that a lot – they took sides, and often Harry found himself excluded from it. Then again, Hermione and Ginny were close friends – almost as close as she was to Ron and Harry, really – so he was sure she knew what Ginny was thinking. She might be able to help him. And he was desperate for help. "Hermione," he said slowly, fidgeting in his seat. "You're good with feelings, right?" She paused in her scribbling, and looked thoughtful. "Well, in comparison to you and Ron, I suppose I am." Harry could only imagine what sort of response Hermione would have got for that remark if Ron had been here, but he was too anxious to dwell on it. "Well… do you think you could help me?" He must have looked really desperate, because Hermione took pity on him and laid her quill down. She gave him an impressive stare. "What do you want to know? "Why is she acting like this?" he asked bluntly. "I don't get it." "It's hard to say, Harry," said Hermione, biting her lip. "You and Ginny have a complicated history." "What's that got to do with anything?" "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe this isn't about your fight?" "What's it about, then?" asked Harry, utterly lost. "What is she thinking?" "She's probably confused, you know… after all, it's not like you've really given Ginny much attention – well, not before last year, anyway." Harry felt sick. "I know I'm a prat," he said quietly. "I've heard it all, already; you can stop rubbing it in now." Hermione looked horrified. "No, Harry, that's not what I meant! You're not a prat… you're just really preoccupied with other things." "I didn't mean to," he said simply. "Of course you didn't," said Hermione firmly. She seemed so earnest it moved him a little. But he couldn't help but feel he had to shoulder some of the blame for this. "She doesn't think so," he said hollowly. "It's a bit harsh, I'll admit." Hermione sighed. "I don't think she should be treating you like this, in any case." "Yeah," said Harry, glad to have found someone who saw things his way at last. He felt a small of wave of appreciation for Hermione wash over him. It was times like these that he was glad she was his friend. "But you're not exactly understanding her point of view, are you?" "And what's that?" he demanded, the feeling of appreciation receding slightly. "Ginny's not having fun ignoring you, you know-" Harry gave a small snort. "I mean it," she said, giving him a serious look. "She's just as depressed about this as you are." "Why does she keep doing it, then?" he demanded hotly. Funny, he thought sarcastically to himself, I was so sure one of us was having fun. "And don't tell me it's because I'm avoiding it – I've tried talking to her!" Hermione gave him a challenging glance. "Do you even know why she's upset?" "If I knew, I wouldn't be here." "I'm not trying to blame you for this," she said quickly, seeing the look on his face, "but honestly, Harry, don't you get it? She's afraid. She doesn't understand why you're acting this way – well, actually, I think she does understand, I mean, I'm certain Ginny can see it, even if you can't - but she won't let herself believe it's true." "Why not?" asked Harry, confused. "Well…you're jealous of Dean, but you won't admit it," continued Hermione, rather simply. "No, don't interrupt yet, let me finish you can deny it later." Harry snapped his mouth shut, feeling foolish, and she continued. "You're pretty obvious, Harry, to be honest. I'm pretty sure everyone knows." "I-" "You like her, don't you?" Harry hesitated. He probed his feelings, and much to his own wonder, he found himself nodding. Yes, he did like Ginny. A lot more than he would like to admit, even to his own self. When did that happen? he wondered, feeling shaken. Hermione looked triumphant. "I knew it!" "Hermione, just go on." said Harry brusquely, going red. "Tell her you like her," she urged him. "She needs to hear it from you." Harry flushed. "I can't do that!" "Why not?" "Because-" he stammered, thinking of a million reasons why he couldn't, and unable to voice a single one. "Because… I just can't." "You can," said Hermione firmly, "I know you can. You managed to ask Cho out last year, didn't you? That's more than R-" she cut herself off hastily. "That's something, at least." Harry had caught her slip of tongue, but he decided to let it pass. He was busy enough with his own issues, much less attempt to tackle Ron's. "I didn't really ask her out… and how am I supposed to tell Ginny?" "Tell her how you feel," said Hermione softly. "I don't… know how I feel." he muttered. "You know, Harry," Hermione insisted gently. "Just tell her." Harry opened his mouth, and paused. He found himself running out of excuses. A little smile played on the corner of Hermione's lips. "It won't kill you, I promise." "I know it won't," he said, gritting his teeth together. "That doesn't make it any easier. How come it's always me? That's not fair! She's the one making a big deal out of this! Why doesn't she apologize?" "It's not about apologizing!" said Hermione exasperatedly, "Harry, she wants to hear it from you." "What's wrong with you telling her?" She rolled her eyes. "For one thing, it's you she likes, not me." Harry's stomach did a strange, unexpected thing: it flopped with what seemed to be hopeful excitement. He looked at Hermione, unable to withhold the question he'd been wanting to ask her for a while now. "But Hermione…" he said with difficulty, trying to think of a way to phrase it. "You said – last year – that she'd given up on me." Hermione gave him a shrewd glance. "Maybe she didn't give up all the way." "But she was dating someone else," said Harry slowly, not wanting to say ‘Michael Corner' for some reason. "Isn't that why Ginny got over me?" "Not why, Harry," said Hermione, her voice annoyingly amused. "She dated him because she thought she'd given up. Besides… when did I ever say she'd got over you?" "You just said-" "Given up," Hermione interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "If you can't tell the difference between the two, Harry, then I don't think you're going to resolve things with Ginny anytime soon." Harry sat back in his seat, his head spinning from all of this information. He wasn't quite sure he'd understood all of it – a lot of it seemed beyond reason and rationale to him – but he felt strangely clarified, somehow. "I've got to tell her how I feel," he said eventually. He spoke slowly, coming to a realization. "That's the whole point of this, isn't it?" Hermione beamed at him. "That was quicker than usual," she said, sitting back, looking slightly superior. Harry ignored the jibe, and sat quietly for a moment, digesting this. "Thanks, Hermione," he said finally, feeling a little dazed. "Anytime, Harry." Hermione smiled at him. "What are best friends for?" He smiled back, albeit a little half-heartedly, as he wondered how he would go about telling Ginny how he felt. His eyes absently trailed over the whole of the Gryffindor Tower common room, and fell upon Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who had taken to screeching very loudly at some stupid joke Seamus had just told them. Harry's gaze moved towards Dean Thomas again, who was looking at Parvati longingly, much to his disgust and outrage. He felt an incredible urge to kick something. What on earth did Ginny see in Dean? Sure, he was a good artist. Harry supposed that he was nice, as well, in a boring sort of way. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that Dean wasn't the worst looking of the lot, either. But other than that – what was so great about Dean, that Ginny couldn't take one second away from him to talk to Harry for a change? "Honestly, Harry," said Hermione suddenly, snapping her fingers in front of his face in exasperation. "Stop staring at Dean like he's killed your pet owl or something."
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