The Matchmaker

Hermione entered the library, not at all surprised to find it nearly vacant. Classes had been called off for the day out of respect for the many students who were mourning the loss of their friends and housemates, and Hermione had decided to try to get some work done. Throwing herself into her work was the best thing she could think of to distract her mind from the horrible events of yesterday.

Harry had dealt with the news by barricading himself in his room, and no amount of persuasion from she or Ron had convinced him to come out. Although he refused to talk about it, she was sure that Harry was blaming himself for what had happened. Harry's habit of sometimes thinking the world revolved around him could be completely aggravating, but this time at least Hermione could understand his reasoning. Thinking back to yesterday's events, she remembered Draco Malfoy's strange behavior. Hermione had not been able to dwell on it at the time, but now it seemed obvious that Malfoy had been trying to get to Harry. Given his past history and who his father was, it seemed reasonable to assume that the Death Eaters had also been after him. Throw the prophecy into the equation and it all seemed to make sense. There was absolutely no way that she would admit any of this to Harry, though.

The one thing that Hermione had really wanted to do today was spend some time with Ron. She had hoped to be able to talk to him about what had almost happened between them yesterday and what that meant, but he hadn't seemed up to it. Ron seemed to be dealing with things the best way he knew how, and that was to challenge anyone within shouting distance to a game of chess. It was almost as if beating everyone he knew at chess would somehow make up for not being able to do more yesterday.

Hermione knew that sooner or later though, they would have to talk. She couldn't really explain it, but something had changed between them. Hermione blushed as she thought back to the way that he had held her hand in the common room in front of Harry and everyone. She wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but it certainly wasn't normal behavior for Ron. He had been so wonderful with the younger students as they had tried to calm their fears. She smiled, remembering all the little ways Ron had been a comfort to her yesterday - a look, a hand on her back, the feel of her hand held tightly in his bigger one, his arms wrapped around her as he hugged her.

Hermione was startled out of her reverie as she turned the corner into an aisle of books and saw an obviously distressed redhead focused over a book. Ginny was sitting at a table, her right hand pushing her fringe back and keeping her head propped up. Her unmistakable hair was hanging loosely around her, hiding her face from view.

"Hey," Hermione said softly, not wanting to startle her friend. "We must have had the same idea."

Ginny looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes and a look of complete despair contorting her pale features. Hermione knew immediately that Ginny was not succeeding with her own attempts at distraction. She would have been blind not to notice Ginny's abrupt exit after the announcement the day before. She assumed that it must have had something to do with the fifth year that was killed. Setting her book down quietly on the table, Hermione moved a chair closer to Ginny and took a seat. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Ginny sighed. "I suppose so. Not that it will change anything."

"What's the matter?"

Ginny's large brown eyes looked at her. "Hermione, I am a horrible person."

Hermione would have laughed at her had the situation not been so serious. "You are not. What in the world makes you say that?"

"I knew Marcus," Ginny said, taking a deep breath as if she had a lot to say and just wanted to get it out all at once. She paused, and Hermione waited for her to go on. "We have double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and Marcus always worked right across from me. We had talked once in a while, and he was a really sweet guy. I think he had kind of a crush on me. He had even asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him this weekend, but I turned him down."

Ginny trailed off. "Is that what this is about?" Hermione asked. "Ginny, you know it's not your fault that he -"

"I know that!" Ginny interrupted. "I'm not blaming myself for what happened to him. But I still feel guilty." The confusion must have been evident on Hermione's face because Ginny continued, "Professor McGonagall came in and told us what had happened, and all I could think was 'Thank God, it's not him. Thank God, it's not Harry."

Ginny choked back a sob, and Hermione put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. "I knew this boy, I should have been upset for him. But I wasn't. I'm still not really," Ginny said. Tears began to trail down her face and she wiped them away impatiently. "This poor boy died, and all I'm worried about is the fact that Harry's all right? What kind of unfeeling person does that?"

"It's ok," Hermione said soothingly as Ginny cried into her hands. "It's perfectly natural to worry about the people you care about in a crisis. I know you love Harry. We all do."

"It's not the same, Hermione, and you know it."

***********************************

Harry stumbled back from the bookcase, thankful that he did not make any noise in the process. When Harry had finally left his room and escaped to the library in an attempt to drown himself in homework, he had no idea the repercussions it would have. Stepping into an aisle to find a book that he needed for Potions research, Harry had been surprised to hear familiar voices on the other side of the bookcase. Once he had figured out who was talking, he knew that he should walk away and stop eavesdropping. Harry had not seen Ginny since yesterday, and he was very curious about why she seemed to be taking recent events so hard. Once she had started talking, it had been like watching a traffic accident. He didn't want to listen, but he just couldn't help himself.

Now Harry had overheard something that he most definitely should not have, and it was making his mind race with a jumble of thoughts and emotions. How could Ginny's feelings for him be different from Ron and Hermione? He knew that they all cared about him, and he obviously cared a great deal about them. With Sirius gone, his friends had become the closest thing to a family he had left. But Ginny had said - she couldn't possibly mean..., Harry thought to himself as he made a quick exit from the library and began to head back to his dormitory. Merlin, I can't deal with this right now!

A light hopefulness had invaded Harry's mood after hearing Ginny's declaration, but he quickly squashed it in favor of the more familiar guilty feeling that had hung around him like a veil since yesterday afternoon. Harry was convinced that the attack had been an attempt to get to him, and he blamed himself for the lives that had been claimed. As soon as Professor McGonagall had told them the news, Harry had mentally added their names to the ever-growing list of deaths that he was responsible for. Cedric, Sirius, Marcus and Orla, and if he was going to be technical about it, his parents. He was the reason they were all gone, and Harry was finding it harder and harder to live with himself. He was sure that when he finally defeated Voldemort, if he even could, it would not be enough to make up for the lives that had already been lost.

Harry crawled through the portrait hole and headed straight for his dormitory, ignoring the friendly gesture from Ron to join him at the chessboard where he was currently involved in a game against Neville. Harry trudged up the stairs and into the sixth year boys' room, collapsing onto his bed once he reached it. He quickly threw his glasses on his bedside table, closed the drapes to keep out the light and any well-meaning visitors he might have, and let the darkness envelop him. Despair settled in as a great weight on his chest, making it difficult to breathe and pushing a lump into his throat. Harry fought back the tears as he waited for the empty numbness of depression to take its place or the blissful oblivion of sleep to overtake him.