A Camouflaged Connection

------- A Camouflaged Connection ---<@

I've known you for so long

You are a friend of mine

The three Gryffindors entered the bookshop for the second time that day. They had already done their schoolbook shopping for the upcoming school year but had just returned because she insisted on coming back.

"Why are we here again?" whined Ron as he gestured vaguely at their surroundings. He then dropped his hands back down when the person behind their once-again-bookshop-visit disappeared behind one of the shop's well-polished wooden bookshelves.

"I think you ought to rest your case, Ron." Harry placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. He leaned closer and whispered. "It is, as a mirror once annoyingly commented about my hair, a losing battle."

Ron glared at his friend but later on a small smile crept on his face. He knew it was a losing battle of course. It had, after all, been five years since they had all become friends.

Friends. It's really interesting how people become friends. A simple 'hi', a little 'hello'...

"Hey Ron, I'll see you in awhile. I'll just uh," said Harry as he patted his friend's shoulders. "Anyway, wish me luck!"

... A warm smile and a little chat...

Ron nodded when Harry gave him a wink before heading out the door. Not knowing what else to do and at the same time lost in his thoughts, Ron entered the aisle to his right over which two tall bookshelves towered. With nothing else to do, he scanned the shelf, as though challenging each book to capture his indifference toward anything about reading. He continued to walk and scan through the different sized books, until he saw the golden engraving on a large red book right above his head entitled Spark.

... And then, the spark - two people had suddenly connected, and the magic of friendship starts to unfold...

He reached for the thick book and pulled it out of the dust-proof shelf. It created a gap large enough for half of his face to fit. He placed the three-pound book flat on his left hand while his right hand flipped through the pages. He ceased his nonchalant browsing, however, as a black-and-white image caught his attention.

... But, how does one differentiate such a connection? When does a strong feeling for a friend turn to this inexplicable feeling they refer to as love?

He stared at the charcoal image of a man and a woman dancing atop the clouds, with the large full moon illuminating their surroundings. Then, he thought of 'her' - her warm smile, her weird obsession with everything about Hogwarts, her worried face every time they battled danger, her relaxing sighs, her every moment with him. A smile blossomed on his face.

... Maybe that's it. It's inexplicable. One just simply knows...

He traced the entrancing picture with his finger. The spell of blissful reminiscing and fantasizing worked its way on his mind until it was bitterly cut by the caption at the bottom of the picture: "The Finale: Forever treasured in the best man's heart was a last dance with his beloved, the newly wed bride."

... A picture is indeed worth a thousand meanings. And words... Words are devious angels of death who can take a miserable man's only life source into the very thing that kills him...

The glimmer in his eyes grew into tears - tears that were very much like blood flowing out from an injured heart. He shut the book and looked away. Damn, he thought as his eyes landed on a green book entitled Facing Reality.

... It's unfair how words and reality can take sides. They're the sweetest thing for the happy, and yet, the sharpest dagger to those in misery.

"Damn it, I know!" he murmured in anger as he glared towards the ceiling. She isn't mine. She never was. And she...

And babe, is this all we ever could be

"Ron, would you give me a hand?"

Ron swallowed his sadness and looked up at the gap to see the woman in his mind. "Yeah..." He managed to give a friendly smile. "'Course."

* * *

You tell me things I've never known

I've shown you love you've never shown

"Really Hermione," said Ron as he approached the girl looking up at the shelf, in the middle of the aisle. "Haven't you bought enough books this morning?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I told you, this is for the extra reading I've got to do for Arithmancy."

"But you've already bought three books for it!"

He was always her critic. He questions the things she does - her choice of words, her way of thinking, her preferences. It was logic versus practicality between them. Sometimes the logical meets the practical...

"Are you going to help me or should I just look for Harry?" Hermione placed a hand on her hips and raised her left eyebrow huffily.

Ron looked up and let out a resigned sigh. "Where's the book?"

... Other times, they don't; or perhaps, they just don't matter. How can they matter when those involved are blinded and deafened by certain preoccupations of the mind...

"Actually, I'm not sure." Hermione turned her head and pointed at the row of stacked books four feet above her head. "The lady up front said that it's on the top shelves of this aisle. I think it's somewhere there... I couldn't read the titles; they're too far."

Ron nodded his head. "I'll get the ladder," he softly said before lamely departing.

... Or of the heart...

"That's good," she absent-mindedly said as her eyes squinted and darted back and forth the row of books high above her head. Hardly seeing anything, Hermione took a step back... and another... and another, until... THUD!

Four thin but large hardbound books crashed on the floor a second after she hit the shelf behind her. She immediately picked up the books and searched the row where they probably had fallen. Reasoning dictated her to place the books back on the spacious row by her head. It was only after she had slipped the four books back into place that she noticed the book adjacent to those she had replaced.

... Reasoning was a common denominator with being logical and being practical. It is a method by which one decides or arrives at a conclusion on which is logical or which is practical...

Her furrowed brow somewhat relaxed as a reminiscent smile crawled on her face. This was the book where she first heard of his name, his fame, and his greatness. She pulled out the book and enthusiastically opened it to the chapter discussing the famous Harry Potter.

"At the innocent age of one, young Harry Potter tasted the bitterness of death and sorrow... Leaving but a scar behind, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named vanished into oblivion as the Boy-Who-Lived rose into fame. It was a battle where winning was not even considered a fair option for the young contender. Demise was intertwined with the prize of Survival..."

These were the passages that initially intrigued her of his story. She leaned against the mahogany shelf as her thoughts took her five years back. She had read almost every book that told about the famous boy. She had built an image of him in her mind - how he might have looked, spoken, and acted. She glanced at the sketch of a baby with a lightning bolt scar on his head.

... But reasoning does not always give an answer. Instead, it leads you to other questions, other queries, and other possibilities. Imagination, as they say, has something to do with it. The mind then faces a dilemma, and the heart meddles in...

"Blimey," said Ron as he positioned the ladder against the opposite shelf. "This ladder's quite a bit of the-" He pointed and gaped at the old book held by the lass in front of him. "Please don't tell me that I hassled my way out of a pesky Hufflepuff to get quite a heavy ladder for nothing."

"What?" said the distracted Hermione. She traced her friend's gaze and suddenly shook her head. "Oh, this isn't the book I was looking for, but it's rather interesting. Did you know that this was the book where I first heard of Harry? I used to imagine that he was some sort of super wizard who would crackle with magic, performing spells all over the place. Of course I was mistaken, and I found out the truth but, still..."

... What's curious is that, the heart doesn't really give an answer. It doesn't even tell which is logical or which is practical. Instead, it offers another choice for one to weigh...

"Okaaaay," he said as he looked away from her dreamy smile. He held the ladder and tried to examine the books above. "What book were you looking for again?"

"Um, Traversing the Unseen," she replied. "I wasn't able to get the author. Oh, and get the fourth edition. There are additional footnotes there."

"It's a good thing Harry and I didn't take this subject."

"Where is Harry anyway?"

... There really isn't wrong or right in the choice offered by the heart. Only, there's pain and less pain, to one's self and to those involved, to choose from. One would think that it's a 'lose-lose' situation. But really...

He stared blankly at the pile of books. She was craning her neck over the passing people in the center aisle.

... It's just a matter of perception... courage to make a change... and acceptance of what cannot be changed.

"He's..." he began.

"... with your sister," she finished.

* * *

But then again when you cry

"What?" asked the perplexed Ron. He had just zoned out.

"He's with Ginny." Hermione skimmed inattentively through the pages of the old book. "They're um, back, errr... near the stairs..."

Her heart accelerated beating. Funny, she thought. I thought the pulse slows down when one's dying. I suppose not.

Ron saw his sister talking gleefully with his best friend. They both seemed happy. Finally, he thought. He was about to heave a content sigh, but he saw the girl below him, flicking through the book. Ginny and Harry... this is supposed to be good, and I'm supposed to be happy for my sister; but why... The content sigh morphed into a heavy one. "Hermione..."

"Did you find the book?" she immediately cut in.

"No, bu-"

"It might be in the next row." She closed the old book and placed it back on the shelf. "Just-"

"Hermione!" interrupted another voice.

I'm always at your side

"Harry!" she said, a little surprised that the person in her thoughts had just appeared behind her. "I - where's Ginny?"

"She went upstairs with her friends." He sounded cautious, curious, and concerned... For whom the concern was, she never got to know. "You... saw us?"

She let herself, with some pain, smile. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Well..." He glanced at Ron, and then looked back at Hermione. "I... There isn't anything to tell..."

"That's my sister you know," spoke Ron from above.

"Ron," Hermione patiently said. "Don't make me give you that speech again. Ginny's capable of handling herself. Besides," she hesitantly looked at Harry. "It's Harry were talking about."

"I wasn't-"

She raised an eyebrow at him. He withdrew his case, even before he presented it. She was wrong, but he dared not tell. I wasn't protecting my sister. He returned to his search. I was protecting you...

* * *

You tell me 'bout the love you've had

I listen very eagerly

"Oy," Harry said, looking from one friend to another. "I'm not going be the cause of any fight now."

"What fight?"

"'Course you're not!"

The two Gryffindors responded in unison. She glanced at Ron before softly saying, "He's just worried. You know him. He doesn't want Ginny to get hurt. Again."

"You know I won't do that!" exclaimed Harry.

She nodded and smiled comfortingly, but with a hint of sorrow he didn't catch.

"--- Not that I'm admitting anything," he continued nervously.

"Mate, you're busted already," Ron said. "Better speak now before I force you to."

The aisle was showered with chuckles among the three friends.

"It was the picnic at the Burrow," she asked Harry as she let her hazel eyes meet his glowing green, "wasn't it?"

"Well, yeah," he said his face grew redder that usual. "When I heard that she..."

She listened to his every word. She watched how his eyes twinkled when he recalled Ginny's graceful way of tucking her hair behind her ears, and her infectious laugh; how his lips seemed to be stuck with a shy but happy smile when he told her of how she pinched his heart when she cried. Light seemed to shine from within him every time he recollected his moments with her.

"And, when we talk - no," he said, a dreamy look still in his eyes. "When I'm with her, it just seems that the burden I feel from everything that had happened - they just disappear."

But deep inside you'll never see...

At these words, she felt her heart fall down to her feet. She dragged her eyes away from him, closing them in the vain hope of pushing reality away.

So that was it... The blazing light of understanding hit her mind and her fallen heart.

"She relieves me of those pains, the way..." he paused trying to catch the right words.

"The way I--" she softly filled in. "we, never could."

* * *

... This feeling of emptiness

It makes me feel sad

From his perch on the ladder, Ron looked down at his friends. He saw his best mate gaping at her last words. And he saw her, blinking away the storm forming in her eyes.

He grabbed the book she was looking for and slowly, quietly went down.

But then again

"Here, I got the book," Ron said wearing his usual casual, disillusioned smile.

Then again

"Thanks," she replied, smiling and taking the book from Ron. She seemed glad to finally have a concrete distraction from that awkward feeling growing inside her.

"It's not," Harry tried to explain.

Hermione looked at Harry, and nodded her head. "I know," she spoke soothingly. For her own and everyone's sake, she decided to exit her morose dilemma. "We understand, right Ron?"

Catching on with Hermione's change in aura, Ron glowered at his suddenly anxious friend, before easing up his face. "There's a good cake shop that's just opened here last week." He placed a hand on the shoulders of his sister's special one. "Ginny loves their Belgian buns."

Then again

Harry looked at the pair skeptically. "Are you guys insinuating that I-"

"Make your bloody move before someone here changes a mind," she teased and gave him a genuine smile.

"You really think so?" he asked, not quite sure if his question was for permission or for approval or even of concern for the two seemingly affected people.

I'm glad.

"Of course." Hermione patted his back and smiled.

"Yeah, Harry," Ron glanced at Hermione, then at Harry. "Of course."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and placed an arm on their shoulders. "Thanks." He beamed widely as they went towards the counter.

* * *

Meanwhile, a floor above, leaning against the wall was a young man in a dark suit supposedly reading a book. His silvery gray eyes however were focused on where the three teenagers were walking past. His face, though perfectly contoured and containing only three distinct shades could only be described as 'unpaintable.' He looked at the smiling faces of the tall redhead, the book-carrying witch - Mudblood - and the gleeful lad. Changes in their expressions were devious, for their eyes, he noted, marked a constant.

... People see what they want to see. So they say. But sometimes, in certain situations, people actually see what they need to and must see - the true form of reality...

He shut his book and snappily turned his head away. He shook his head and sneered. Glancing back, he saw her dwindling smile. His heart thumped heavily against his chest.

"What a load of shit!" Draco Malfoy pushed himself from leaning before swiftly walking towards the other side of the bookstore.

@>--- The End -----