Etiquette

Etiquette

So what exactly is the etiquette when you fall in love with your best friend? I really have no idea what to do here.

I'm utterly lost.

And Hermione Granger is never lost.

There is always an answer; always an answer that I can find. When in doubt, go to the library. It has always worked for me before.

But I don't think any library in the world will help me right now. I'm in a right mess.

Why the hell didn't I see this coming? To have thought that flattered fancy I felt for Viktor Krum was love. Why didn't I realize what tie it was that held me to him? That I could have sooner cut off my right hand without agony than be without him.

If you had told me that I would be in this situation, even this morning, I would have laughed you out of the castle. I would have even been so brazen as to suggest that perhaps I wanted my other best friend like that? I mean, who doesn't love the rush you get from fighting with someone? And teasing them?

Yes. It's all very well and good.

Until you realize that you are already inextricably tied to someone and you are never going to get free.

Until you realize that you wouldn't want to get free, even if you could.

Until you see that person vanish before your eyes, not to appear again for hours.

Until you feel like a very large, very heavy object has landed squarely on your chest.

And you're not able to breathe or talk or even think because it is all you can do to just get through the next five seconds. Because if you try to think about anything further than that you'll go crazy.

Until you feel like your mind and body are trying to separate from each other.

And it is a struggle to even breathe.

But you have to stay in control, because Hermione is always in control.

God, how did this happen? When did this happen? Tonight? Four years ago when I first saw him? That first Halloween?

Who the hell knows now? And does it really matter?

It's here now and it's never going away. I know it's not. I know that everyone is going to tell me that I'm only fourteen, well, almost fifteen, and that it's a crush. It's puppy love. An infatuation.

It'll pass.

Right.

I wish.

I mean, who wants to know who your soulmate is at fourteen? Shouldn't I have a few good years of flirting and kissing and dating and debating with myself about how far I go with my current paramour?

That's what I always thought it would be like..

Especially after getting my letters from Hogwarts. A boarding school? What could be better? Boys living with you. I know everyone thinks I'm just this androgynous brain, but I'm not. I've got blood pumping in my veins. I'm flesh and blood. So I thought nothing could be better than this. Learning to be a witch...with the added bonus of boys.

Amazing.

Of course, this was before I got here.

And made friends with the boy who lived, an added benefit of which is escape from certain death at least once a year?

And who really wants to fall in love with the boy who lived? He's not even that cute, and there's a price on his head and he's being hunted by the most feared dark lord in centuries.

You're always concerned about the safety of your loved ones, can you imagine loving him?

Knowing that your soul is intertwined with his?

Knowing that he's going to be attacked?

Knowing that you are never going to be able rest until he has either defeated or is defeated by Voldemort?

Knowing that this person has your mind and your soul, and if you give them your body, when they leave there is going to be nothing of you left?

Yes, that's exactly what I've always wanted.

To not be my own person, to be so caught up in someone else that self ceases to exist. Yes, exactly what I've always pictured growing up.

Having the man I love in constant danger for simply being on the planet.

*****sigh*****

It's amazing that I can be so flip about this.

But I suppose after hours of tortured not knowing and agonized waiting, I can't handle it anymore. You can only worry about something for so long before you go insane.

Plus, he's here with me now.

Alive and breathing and holding my hand.

Much paler and very shaken and I can't imagine what else...but alive.

Back with us.

Back with me.

I have never felt such relief about anything. I thought watching him fly around that Hungarian Horntail was trauma enough. Knowing that he was in Voldemort's clutches and barely escaped is almost past the point of endurance.

I realize that is pretentious of me to say. I mean, he's the one that had to go through it. But while he was going through it, we had to sit there and wait.

Not knowing where he was or whether he was coming back.

Of course, we all knew who took him. Even if most people won't say it, they all know. We all knew the moment they vanished. And that just made it worse.

How many times can he be lucky? I know his strength and courage pulled him through, but he is lucky. No one would deny that.

As I sit here, squeesing his hand and watching the moonlight across him and the sheets, I realize that there is one thing I know for certain.

I would walk through hell for him.

And he's got more people here that need him and love him than he'll ever realize. And we are stronger than anything, any hatred Voldemort has.

Our love will pull him through.