To Wonder or Not to Wonder

To wonder or not to wonder... there really is no questioning.

*

Sometimes I wonder. Wonder whether he even notices me, really sees me, you know. He probably doesn't. I mean, with the things this world shoves upon him, how could he? And besides, I don't get noticed, that's just a plain fact, everybody knows it.

When I sit here, in my bed, at midnight or something - yes, sit, not sleep - I look at him sleeping. You'd think that's when one can rest, let go of all that matters for just a few hours. Wrong. Not Harry, he can't.

Even his dreams are haunted by all that seems to matter to him. Or in other words, all the deaths Voldemort's caused. He thinks a lot of them are his fault. No matter what Mione and I tell him... And people say I'm stubborn! Ha, I'd like them to hear Harry say... no, cry to them that he killed those people. Yes, that's what he does when things get too much for him. He doesn't hide... well, he tries, but Mione and I always seem to be able to know where he is. Anyway, Harry doesn't hide that well, he doesn't spill tears over it, although you can just tell he'd like that every once in a while. No, instead, he just wants to 'shout' it out so badly, one's forced to call it crying.

Like one time, when we were on the Quidditch pitch, Harry and I, he suddenly got quiet. Deja-vu, no doubt. I asked him what's the matter. Not that I didn't know. It's just another way of asking 'do you want to talk about it'. He kept silent. I never understood how people could use the phrase 'silence before the storm' when they're not even talking about the weather... not until that night. Then I knew. Merlin, how I knew.

He started whispering, then talking rather quietly, then not so quietly anymore, and before I realized it, he was shouting in that way you can only call crying. He then became quiet again, and I... I just couldn't help it. He looked so unprotected, so vulnerable, so fragile. I just had to hold him, so I did. That's when I first noticed that he wanted to cry.

As I still sit here, still watching him, I want to hold him again.

*****

Still wondering, I am now in Hogsmeade with both Harry and Hermione. It's snowing in the 'white-Christmas'-way, and the village looks like a Christmas card. Yes, even the merry lights are present. Well, not really. I mean, come on, it's October, for Merlin's sake! But in my head, you know. I'm happy.

We just came from the Three Broomsticks, and we're heading back to the castle. A bit early maybe, but Harry made us go. He's up to something. How I know? Well, for one, he's grinning like a madman... a grin that ought to be forbidden when used by one Harry Potter. BUT, never mind that. Second, he's been talking more than he's ever done, I think. And he seems to be able to have a discussion with Hermione AND stay on her good side. At the same time! That's hardly done by anyone. Except for Harry when he's up to something, 'cause then he isn't so damn serious. I think Hermione knows that and automatically feels more light-hearted. Though I don't think she's caught on to the fact that Harry's up to something.

I look over at her and, indeed, I notice a small smile playing with her lips while she's looking at nothing in particular.

OW! Something just hit my head hard. Something bloody cold!

"HARRY!!!" I yell as I turn around. And yes, a insanely hard laughing Harry could be found, doubled over with laughter, looking in my direction. I franctically try to get the snow out of my hair and neck. Realizing that might not be my biggest problem, I start building my defence - lots and lots of snowballs.

Hermione then laughs. No need to tell you at who she's laughing... She'll pay. My revenge will be sweet. Well, cold, actually... As she sees what I'm doing - making an extra large snowball just for her - her eyes grow big. I steel a quick glance at Harry, and silently we agree to a plot. Hermione misses out that one small, yet very important detail of a wink. She runs away from me, but I couldn't be more lucky.

WHAM!!! And Hermione is wet. I told you, she missed out that small, yet very important wink Harry shot me.

"HARRY!!!" she yells. Then I remember. Harry still needs to pay. And what better time than now?

WHAM!!! Now, we're all wet. Cold, wet, probably getting tired, but were happy.

Harry looks at me with a look that tells me I'm done for. And as we walk back to the castle, I wonder just what he'll do, although I have a feeling that our pillows aren't goint to live much longer...

And indeed, as we get ready for bed, again rather early, I notice Harry paying just a bit too much attention to his pillow for my liking. At one point, I'm forced to turn my back on him, as my pyjama shirt is on the other side of my bed. A quick rustle is heard and instead of picking up my pyjama shirt, I grab my pillow and throw it at Harry as hard as I can manage.

Our pillows collide in mid air and fall down on Harry's bed. Both of us are silent and staring at each other for a moment. Then, without warning, Harry jumps forward at the same moment as I do, and we end of wrestling for the pillows. As we start hitting each other just about everywhere with the pillows, I can't help but wonder. Wonder whether he ever notices me.

I've stopped hitting him, and he's stopped hitting me. He looks shy, and that's kind of... well, cute. In a very manly way, of course. He's staring at me, but I'm not sure if he's staring at me because I'm staring at him, or if he's staring at me because he finally notices me. Suddenly his expression turns serious and he tilts his head in a pensive way. Again, I catch myself at the act. Once again, I find myself being attracted to Harry.

It's happened a lot lately. Like that time on the Quidditch Pitch. No, not the time Harry started shouting, but a time when we were practicing. Not with the team, just the two of us. Both of us were flying. We were throwing each other the Quaffle, and everytime I threw it at Harry for him to go after it, he seemed completely in his element. His chest was pressed against the handle of his broom, as were his hands. His legs seemed to be doing all the steering. His eyes were merely and completely focussed on the Quaffle, much like they're always focussed on the Snitch. Much like my eyes were focussed on him. Call me a wanker, but I do believe I found Harry... beautiful... that day.

Come to think of it, now that he's staring at me with a pensive look, I still do...

Thump. Thump. Thump.

And our moment's broken. The other guys are coming up, and with a faint 'yeah' we decide it's bedtime for real now.

*****

I wake up to find Harry's bed already deserted. I turn around.

"WHA!"

I nearly get a heartattack. Just inches above my nose hover two huge green eyes, both the size of a plate.

"Dobby, sir, Dobby the House Elf - "

"I know who you are, Dobby! Just don't ever do that again."

"Dobby the House Elf, sir, I has come to wish Harry Potter's Wheezy a merry Christmas, sir!" I blink. I've just nearly been given a heartattack and now that person... creature is wishing me a merry Christmas.

"Happy Christmas to you too, Dobby, but would you please let me take a shower, thank you very much."

"Harry Potter sir sent me to see if you was awake, sir."

"Well, tell Harry Potter sir that if he wants me awake, he shouldn't get me scared to death by a House Elf... Oh, and Dobby, your Christmas present is in my trunk. Find yourself some nice, mismatching socks, will you?" I add that last part as an afterthought, because... well, it is an afterthought. I mean, I can't just send the poor thing away without socks, now can I?

After having had my shower, I walk down the stairs. I spot Harry sitting on the couch besides the Christmas tree with a few carts and Hedwig.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," I tell him as I sit down next to him.

"Merry Christmas." He looks up from the card and gives it to me. It's Hermione's Christmas card, I now notice. Her parents wanted her home for Christmas so she could be here for her last Christmas at Hogwarts again. Although I would've liked her to be her, now I get to be alone with Harry. That makes up for just about my entire two-week holiday... Not that there was anything to make up for.

I look at the pile of cards and gift that his my name on it. There are several cards. One from my family, one from Hermione, one from Lupin... Remus, excuse me, and one from Hagrid.

Presents from just about anyone I could think of are piled there, although I doubt I'll like Fred and George's...

I read all the cards. Hagrid's says that we could come by for lunch. 'No, haven't made it meself. Dobby brought me just about 20 sandwiches. Now you know I can eat, but I'd actually like to spare me stomach for tonight's dinner, so be my guest and drop by.' The deciding aspect eventually is the fact that Hagrid did not make lunch himself.

So now, at about twelve, both Harry and I are making our way through the snow to Hagrid's, presents still unpacked as we decided to do that after dinner.

"Oh, by the way, Ron," Harry starts, "sorry 'bout Dobby this morning. I think he took my question to 'go check if Ron doesn't sleep in too late' a little too literally."

"'s OK, mate. Would've been worse if it were you checking on me." I'm not quite sure it's safe to challenge Harry when he's wearing a grin like that, especially since I've found out I'm not exactly able to concentrate on anything but his face when he's grinning like that, but hey, life's boring without risks... Although I do think this was quite a risky risk...

WHAM!!! Point proven.

We arrive at Hagrid's door, me wet and Harry dry, for I chose not to test my luck any further. I knock and almost immediately the door opens.

"Merry Christmas to both o'ya!"

"Merry Christmas, Hagird."

"Merry Christmas to you too."

"...Well, come in! Yer 'bout to freeze, but if ye plan on stayin' ou' there, I suggest a nice bit o' Firewhisky afterwards."

Not quite knowing what that's supposed to mean, we enter the cottage. Although a little weird, the cottage looks very cosy, except for maybe the half chickens dangling from the ceiling.

After a bit of talking Hagrid puts the sandwiches on the table and gives both of us some hot chocolate. Is it just my imagination, or does it look (and smell) a bit... darker? I'm starting to pick up clues as to what that 'Firewhisky-comment' was about, but I don't say anything. I look at Harry. He, too, has noticed, but instead of looking apprehensive in any way, he grins his 'ought-to-be-forbidden-by-law'-grin. Although I do find it rather curious that Hagrid would gives something as strong (he might not even be aware of it), I decide that hey, it's Christmas, who cares?

The afternoon is spent playing Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap. We're getting better at predicting a Snap, and it shows. No singed eyebrows this time. During the time we play chess, I catch myself staring at Harry several times, none of them having to do with trying to figure out his stragety. Yes, I'm still wondering wheter he notices me in that way. Well, actually I've turned my curiosity up a notch. I'm now going as far as wanting to know just what he feels for me... although I fear it's nothing more that friendship.

"Checkmate," I declare as I move my queen in front of his king. It's hardly five o'clock and it's already dark. We actually wanted to go play some Quidditch this afternoon, yet somehow, we apparently managed to get caught up in playing chess... and other things, yes.

As we come back from dinner, where we had several butterbeers, mind you, both of us are feeling rather tired. Not tired enough to skip presents, though.

It turns out that Hermione has given us the two big boxes in the middle of the piles. I decide to open that one first. Surprise, surprise, there are books in. As I look closer at the books, or rather the author's name, a real surprise shows clearly on my face. At least I think so, because Harry asks me what's the matter.

"The writer's... well, the author... just... just look!" I shove the books in his lap and his eyes grow big when he sees the name R. J. Lupin written in curly golden letters on the cover.

"I didn't know he writes. How did Hermione know?" he asks me. I don't know. I guess he's told her, or something. God, she really does know everything, doesn't she? I shrug.

With a whole lot of laughter and several mugs of hot chocolate we open up the other presents, until there are only two left. One's my present for Harry, and the other is probably Harry's present for me. We both take our presents and unwrap them. As I see what Harry gave me, I'm completely stunned.

Last summer I'd been nagging dad if he could get me tickets to next summer's European Quidditch Cup, preferably the match between England and Bulgaria. Yeah, I'd like to see our team give hell to Li'l Vicky Krum... I don't know how Harry managed to get these, but he just gave me two tickets to that very game. And I still don't know what to say.

I look over at him. He's still unwrapping his present. Again, I find myself wondering as I look at his brilliant green eyes. If I'd now kiss him, what would he do? Then a sudden rustle of paper brings me back to this reality. The book - yes, I gave him a book, just imagine how I'm feeling now, he gave me tickets, I gave him a book - falls out. It's a Quidditch record-book. He seems to love it, though. He flips through it. 'Longest Games', 'Shortest Games', 'Tallest Seekers', 'Slowest Brooms Used at World Cup', and then a page dedicated to the 'Most Cranky Referees'. We both laugh at that one. Then he gets to 'Brittain's Best Seekers'. Harry's in there too. Well, OK, I wrote in his name, because I think it's just stupid that he doesn't get to be in there just because he doesn't play for any national team. I mean, he does play in Brittain, doesn't he? And he's a great Seeker, even better than Charlie, so he sould be in there too, right?

Harry looks up at me, and I'm still staring. He keeps his eyes locked on mine, much like I don't blink my eyes away from his. I can't help but wonder again. We're so close I could easily try and find out what he'd do if I kiss him now. Is it just my imagination or are we getting closer ever second. Probably my imagination... though it would be the perfect time to try and found out, wouldn't it? Yes, he's definitely getting closer, but I don't think he's aware of it. You know, I think they should invent a word for the moment just before you kiss someone, 'cause I don't think it exists yet.

"Thank you," he whispers, but still doesn't blink. Then ours lips touch. Hey, I didn't do it, he did! Doesn't really matter now, does it? The kiss is soft and doesn't last very long, but it's perfect. As Harry breaks the kiss, we look at each other again.

"Any time," I tell him, and he starts grinning that famous grin. I'm lucky to be sitting, 'cause I don't think my knees would've lasted if I was standing.

Well, I guess I won't be wondering very long next time, will I? No, 'cause next time, I'll just trie and find out. That seems to work.