Not That You Asked

Harry Potter sat in the Gryffindor common room and listlessly stared into the fire. He did his best not to think. He did his best not to think about her.

He had spent all summer thinking of her. He had spent all summer thinking of the kiss she had put on his cheek at the end of the previous year.

Summer had been hellish. When not waking in the middle of the night, drowning in sweat, he was worked to the bone doing chores for his 'family'. He had applied so many layers of paint to his uncle's house, inhaled so many fumes, he could sense it on the air just as he could visualize every feature of her face. Her face was the only thing that kept him sane. Her kiss was the only thing that kept his spirit going.

When he arrived at the Burrow for the last week of the summer, and saw her holding his hand, his heart broke. He kept a stiff upper lip. He tried not to let his emotions show. He had survived Voldemort: he could survive this. It was only a matter of time until the pain would fade and he could move past it.

They had kept up their correspondence with him, but failing to mention the letters of their own they had shared. She had spent all august with him and never mentioned it. Not with Harry trapped in purgatory. He would have gladly stayed there if it spared him the sight he saw on arriving there.

They tried to explain, they tried to comfort and tried to be his friends, but they never asked. They never even imagined. They never noticed as he retreated away, withdrew from their lives. They were too happy to notice.

That Harry had been made captain of the quidditch team helped deflect things. He kept himself busy, but the pain never left him. That he had made the team and she came to watch him only served to make it worse instead of better.

He buried himself in his schoolwork, trying to fatigue himself into exhaustion, to make himself too tired to dream of her. It never worked. He saw her face when he went to bed. He saw her face when he woke up.

They sat across from him at meals, oblivious to his feelings, oblivious to the pain in his heart or the tears that he worked so hard to contain.

He walked away. They were safer this way. Everyone was. It was better if he was alone.

Christmas break came and went. They returned home, they didn't question when he remained behind. That his mother was the only one to remember him was what hurt the most. He didn't mention it when they returned. He had bought them presents, but left them on their beds for when they returned.

He lifted his gaze from the fire and turned his head and saw them playing a game of chess. He hadn't played with either of them in what seemed an eternity.

He stood up and felt his stomach growl. He headed for the portrait hole, deciding on a late night raid of the kitchen. House elf rights be damned. If she wanted to help them, she could ask HIM to help her with it, he was hungry.

They called after him, asking where he was going. He told them. They smiled and announced they would come with him.

He told them not to bother, he was getting quite used to being alone, as he shuffled into the hallway as he thanked them for not asking.