Tell Me How You Really Feel

Tell Me How You Really Feel

Distraction

I always thought I could talk to him. Talk to him about anything, anytime, no matter what. It’s official however that Harry and I cannot talk about “us.” It’s not that we haven’t tried, we’ve sat in silence time and time again, and in the end . . . all we can do is pounce on each other. Yes, I Hermione Granger pounce. The physical attraction between us is . . . electrifying. He makes me so . . . charged? Ha yeah charged. Our conversations start with a polite greeting and a “We should talk.” which is followed by a few stammers and then a great deal of snogging. In fact, the other night . . . I tore his short. No, I didn’t just put a tear in it . . . I ripped it off of him. I had to get to him . . . I had to rub my fingers over his bare chiseled chest. There is something about muscle and a man being a tremendously beastly fellow that turns me on. No not fat, thin but tall and made of muscle . . . mmm and the arms.

         This is absurd! I am much more responsible than this. I could at least hold out until we can somehow manage to talk about it and I can see if he even wants me for anything other than some amazing snogging and probably some amazing . . . never mind. I’m acting like one of those moral-less, promiscuous adolescents that can’t manage to keep her robe on. And, on top of it all, the fight is coming. Ronald says he can “feel” it. I say I just bloody well know it’s coming. They can only wait so long. If my mind isn’t completely on my work, I could be killed, or worse, one of my friends could be killed. I need to find a way to work out this stuff with Harry before the battle, or we will just have to forget about it because wondering and hoping and wishing at all times of the day is enough to make any girl scream.

            I really do care about him. Caring makes everything so much harder. It makes losing someone more real, more vivid. I know it doesn’t make it more probable but that’s almost how it feels. I’m caught in this web, this tangled mass of feelings that I want to get out of and stay in at the same time. It’s frightening to know that even if I really knew I wanted to get out, I don’t know if I could. He has this . . . electric power that surges through him and draws me to him. When I’m near him, I have to touch him, kiss him, hug him . . . his energy feeds me. He’s there in my mind’s eye when I blink, he walks my dreams, he distracts me from my work. I should be furious. I should forget about my addiction to his personal electricity and tell him “no.” We all know I won’t though, I can’t, even if he is a distraction.

I want to be distracted.