Five Days

Prologue - making the decision

I gave a sideways glance to Harry - again. It had been a week since he had come to spend the end of the summer holidays with us at the Burrow, and I wasn't used to having him around yet.

I'm not saying that having him around is a bad thing. Oh, no, I like having Harry around, it's just... Well, the house is not safe when he's here.

I know what you're thinking, so stop right there. I'm not afraid of him bringing danger to the house - I'm saying I become the danger. I can see objects shrink and shiver when I pass by; not one of them is safe, especially if Harry smiles at me, or even looks my way. I've broken vases, glasses, clocks; I ripped up the sofa and then shredded books I was supposed to be reading.

My father, even busy as he was, had already noticed my odd behaviour and asked me if anything was wrong. Mother, on the other hand, knew better. I saw her I-know-what's-going-on smile when I broke my favourite mug and consequently burned my hand in hot tea after Harry asked me to pass the jelly the other day.

The whole situation was truly pathetic. Alright, so I have had a crush on The Boy Who Lived for five years - even before knowing him well - but you know what? Five years is too much time to have a crush on someone, so it should have been over by...

Oh, Harry is getting up to leave the table. He's so grown. His body is so developed - I never expected he would get so... manly. And what a beautiful man he's becoming. His dark hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are turning a beautiful shade of green, shining as never before. There is where I can see all his changes - he shows maturity and confidence in his look. But he also shows a sadness that breaks my heart. It is always there - behind any other emotion he shows. Sometimes, this sadness is replaced by something even worse - numbness. That is when he shows that the world can affect him still, and the past year's happenings are still fresh in his memory; when he isn't even looking around, not realizing what is going on around him.

Of course, it was stupid of me to think he would be absolutely sad or absolutely dumb all the time because of what had happened. But I really didn't think he would look so resigned - and yet so brave. Sometimes we can see signs of insecurity, like when he blinks several times at something my father's telling him, or when he gazes vaguely at the floor.

My brother and Hermione haven't realized his changes of mood yet, for they have been too busy bickering at each other. She arrived in our house two days before Harry did, and since then nobody is crazy enough to be around them when they're together - except for Harry. It is so obvious they like each other, and even still, not one of them has realized it yet. Yesterday, when I asked Hermione why she wouldn't just kiss Ron instead of screaming at him, she got really mad at me. In fact, she has been ignoring me since then (and, according to Fred, Ron threatened to tell Mum about his plans for a joke shop if he said one more thing about Hermione being kissable.)

But at least she was talking to the boy she liked. She actually knew him, and Ron also knew her. They had a reason to like each other. My reason for linking Harry is impossible to define. So I think he's cute; big deal. Although the fact that he had saved my life back in my first year at Hogwarts was a big deal, he had been a kind of hero to me since before that.

That's why I could never talk to him properly. What would he think of the stupid little Ginny, his best friend's sister? And what exactly could I talk to him about?

See? Talking to him was a stupid thing to do. I would probably just start to babble about something until he begged me to stop. Yes, that's what would happen.

I looked outside and saw Harry smiling at my mother while Ron complained about something, my brother's face showing disgust and tiredness. Amazing, as I think about it, Harry is a kind of hero to Ron, too. All my knowledge of Harry came from Ron's stories about him; how great he is, what they had done together, the dangers they faced... Of course, I know I can't really trust Ron's stories - he has a tendency to fantasize and make the thing look more dangerous than it would actually be (really, how could anyone have believed his story about fighting mermaids down in the lake during the second task?)

But Ron could keep a decent conversation with his hero. So why couldn't I?

I was still immersed in thoughts when felt someone gently tapping my shoulder. I looked up, startled, to see Hermione staring at me, her face pale as if she was scared.

"May I speak with you?" If her voice hadn't been so squeaky, she would have sounded so formal.

I nodded, smiling warmly, without knowing what to expect, when I realized we were alone in the kitchen.

"You were right," she started, and she sounded like she was admitting a crime, "I like Ron."

I tried not to roll my eyes at this; I knew she needed a friend's support. I mean, it was obvious to everyone, but it must not be easy to admit to being in love with a pain like my brother.

"What do I do?" Now she seemed absolutely desperate.

I shivered in panic, frozen for a moment. Was Hermione asking me what to do?

When I met her anxious eyes, I had to refrain from asking her the same question back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"But I can't simply talk to him about this!" Hermione shrieked.

She was now sitting on my bed, a quill in her hands and a large parchment before her. Trust Hermione to treat a girly chat about a boy like it was a class.

"Of course you can," I promptly said. "Aren't you his best friend?"

"Along with Harry, yes..."

"And don't you talk to him about many things?"

"Well, yes..."

"So, that's just one more thing to discuss with him. Don't worry," I said, as I watched her write 'just one more thing' on the parchment. "I know he feels the same way about you. It may be embarrassing to begin with, but it will be a relief to get this off your chest."

Obviously, I wasn't talking from experience, but I definitely knew what I was talking about. The day I could finally admit openly I was in love with Harry would be the happiest day of my life.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief, showing she wasn't brave enough. What a Gryffindor!

"Establish a deadline, then," I tried desperately, knowing it was that or my brother would never have a girlfriend. Who else was stupid enough to want him? "Let's say... five days! Yes, five days. If in five days you can't bring yourself to talk to him about this, then you give up."

Her face lit up after she heard that.

"Brilliant!" she exclaimed. "Yes, that's great! I'll try for five days. And in those five days I'll really bring myself to it. If I can't talk to him in five days, then it isn't supposed to be, right?"

Well, not really, I wanted to answer, but she was so happy with my idea I couldn't destroy that now, so I just smiled in return.

But I tell you something: if she couldn't bring herself to tell Ron she liked him in five days, I would do her a favour.

I'd tell him myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank God I never needed to. Three days later we were at Diagon Alley, so when they went to the magical pet shop to buy treats for Crookshanks and Harry stayed behind to help me with my books - both because he is a gentleman and because my mother is a plot demon -, she took the courage she needed.

Later that night she told me how romantic it had been, how they shared their first kiss right above an acrobatic rat, with a magical toad singing them a song. I couldn't help but think that would be my idea of the least romantic thing to have for my first kiss, but she was so happy - and I was so relieved - that everything was fine.

Harry had been so happy for both of them that it made me love him even more. He had smiled and touched my back gently, saying, "That's great!" And then he turned to me, still smiling. "Isn't that great?"

I mumbled something incoherent and smiled, too. I think Ron seemed happy, too - I'm not sure, because Harry had smiled at me, so I couldn't be sure of anything.

Later that night, I came to a conclusion: the truth would be my best weapon. It didn't matter anymore why I was in love with him, or how he felt about me: I was in love with him and he should know about it. I would establish a deadline for myself: five days. In five days or less, I would bring myself to go to Harry Potter and say out loud that I was in love with him.

Five days.

Starting from tomorrow.