Private Emotion

As Harry dismounted his broom on the Quidditch pitch, his mind was filled with a deadened buzz. A crowd was cheering from what seemed to be miles away. Hundreds of flags waved as fans spilled on to the field to congratulate the winning team. Slowly his mind finally accepted what his eyes were showing him. Gryffindor had lost. None of this was for him or his team. They had been defeated, and it was his fault.

Harry saw Hermione trying to fight her way through the crowd to him, the sea of green and silver threatening to swallow her whole. He looked away, determined not to meet her eyes. He caught sight of Malfoy and his teammates being lifted onto their fellow Slytherin's shoulders and being carried toward the great hall. Fury and self-disgust overwhelmed him and he began to walk briskly, clutching his Firebolt, away from the Slytherin's gutting cries of triumph.

He replayed the scenario over and over in his mind. He hadn't even been close. Harry closed his eyes, envisioning himself at the Gryffindor end of the Quidditch pitch. He was scanning the Keeper's hoops for the snitch, when behind him he heard a deafening roar. He had seen Ron's face grow pale and felt his own stomach plummet, for the cheer had not come from the Gryffindor supporters. Harry had turned around to see Malfoy, struggling to keep hold of the Golden Snitch he had just caught.

Harry kicked the ground hard as he neared the Forbidden Forest. A clod of grass and dirt was sent flying into its borders. He didn't know what he could have done to prevent this from happening, but he should have done something. Hermione's voice flooded his mind, "It's only a game," she reminded him. Harry angrily brushed this thought away. I should have been paying better attention. Why wasn't I watching that part of the pitch? Why didn't I mark Malfoy more closely? Why did we have to loose to Slytherin; Slytherin of all the houses! Why, why--

"WHY?!" Harry shouted at nothing in particular.

"Because you're only human," said a voice behind him.

Harry turned around so quickly that he tripped on his own feet and landed sprawled on the grass. Hermione laughed quietly and sat down beside him.

"What do you mean by that? And how did you know what I was thinking about anyway?" he asked angrily.

Hermione laughed again, "Because I know you. And because you do this to yourself all the time. Can't you accept that the great Harry Potter is fallible like the rest of us? You always blame yourself for these things that aren't your fault, that you couldn't possibly have prevented," she stopped, then she added quietly, "You did the same thing when Sirius died."

She immediately bit her lip and looked cautiously at Harry.

Thanks Hermione. I really needed you to drag that up.

"I'm sorry Harry," she said quickly, "I didn't mean--well I did, but I didn't intend to--I mean, I don't--"

"It's okay Hermione," Harry said softly, gently placing his hand over hers. He felt tears pricking his eyes, and he quickly tried to blink them back. He should be over this by now; others had had to endure things far worse than he had. He glanced silently across at Hermione and realized tears were beginning to fill her eyes as well.

"Oh, Hermione, don't--" but his words were choked off by the lump rising in his throat. Memories of Sirius began flooding his mind as they so often did. How silly worrying about loosing a Quidditch match seemed now. He thought of the time Sirius had found the photo album Hagrid had given to him. Sirius had paused for quite some time over the picture of Lily and James' wedding. He had had many stories to tell about that day, including how he had heroically scarified himself to save the cake from Remus' allergies. "You mean you never wondered why I'm not wearing my suit coat in this picture?" he had asked indignantly. He had looked back at the picture, then gone off talking about the bridesmaids (he had dated almost all of them at one point or another).

Harry pulled himself painfully back to the present. That's the only descent picture I have of him, he thought fleetingly. All these thoughts and memories bubbled out of him in the simplest words possible, "I miss him Hermione. I miss him so much."

A sob escaped her lips and Harry slowly wrapped his arms around her. A barrier seemed to come crashing down inside Harry, and he began to weep with her. All his rage and bitterness slowly ebbed from him as he let himself be cleansed with his tears of guilt and sorrow.

Finally, after the crying had slowed, Hermione gently pulled herself away from him. She looked at Harry's face and let out a choked laugh.

"Sorry, sorry...it's not really funny at all."

"What?"

"It's just that your face is all blotchy. You look a little like you got on the wrong end of a Soreum Hex," she gave an uneven sort of giggle.

Harry laughed in spite of himself. "Well, you wouldn't be winning any beauty pageants at the moment either, Miss Granger." Though Harry thought privately that she still looked beautiful, even with puffy eyes and a splotchy face.

"Come on," he said finally, "We'd best be heading up to the castle; it's getting late." He stood up then offered Hermione a hand up. To his surprise she continued to hold his hand even after she was standing.

As they walked back to the castle, Harry thought of something Dumbledore had once said to him. "Do you think the dead we love ever truly leave us?"

No, Harry thought. He never will.