Fully illustrated! After his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, Harry woke to a disturbing reality. The wizarding world only saw him as an expendable pawn, his carefree attitude towards studying left him struggling to survive, and he had never tru...
It was getting late and almost all the students had already retired to bed. Harry fought to keep his eyes open as he flipped through the pages of yet another book on magical contracts. Underneath all his anger and frustration at being thrust into the Tournament, he felt a weary resignation that came from the knowledge that nothing would change. Nothing ever did. It wasn't like anyone had believed him anyway when he said he didn't put his name in—well, besides Hermione, of course. Somehow that was never in doubt.
He was suddenly filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire in the common room setting a pale glow on his face. That's right. Hermione was the one who believed in him even when Ron had cast his words aside. She was the one who dragged him by the ear to the library and forced him to try to find a way out of this nightmare; the one who, for the past few days, had dealt with all his moping with a firm shove forward. She was also the one currently sitting by his side when she could be upstairs in bed and far, far away from the headache Harry called his life. But she was here. By his side. Just like—
Plop. Her head landed on his shoulder and he could feel her breath on his neck.
"Hermione?" No response.
Harry smiled warmly but his smile disappeared once he considered just how tired she must have been to fall asleep without warning. Have I ever thanked her? Have I ever told her what she means to me? He racked his brain but couldn't find a satisfactory moment where he had expressed to her just how important she was to him. I'll tell her when she wakes up, he promised himself. In...in the morning. I'll tell her: thank you.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. They were side by side, in that moment. Together. Just like always.
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Harry didn't want to wake up. His dreams were full of bright colours of orange and yellow passing by like a mirage as little snippets of memories ran in front of him: Hermione's worried face as she watched him leave with his aunt and uncle for the summer. Snip. Hermione's overly enthusiastic, bone crushing hugs whenever they first saw each other in September that had almost become a ritual at this point. Snip. Hermione glaring at him to focus on schoolwork, but easily becoming distracted with one of those pesky, life threatening mysteries that came for him every year—the bright gleam in her eye when she made a revelation. Snip. Hermione holding back the tears in her eyes and stubbornly insisting that turning in the firebolt had been for his own good even as he angrily turned away from her.
Snip. Hermione meeting him with toast and taking a walk with him outside, saying "Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself. The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name!" Snip. Hermione embracing him fiercely for what felt like the first time he had ever been held so closely and telling him what a great wizard he was: "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and —"
And? And what? Her voice drifted and try as he might he couldn't hear what the last word was. All he could hear were mumbles. Harry. Harry. Harry. Someone was calling out to him but he didn't want to leave just yet. Here, there was nothing to fear. Here, it was warm. Here, he was comforted. Here, he felt loved.
"Harry! For goodness sake!"
The pleasant warmth in his dreams vanished as he opened his eyes only to be greeted by a frustrated Hermione, leaning close to his face and shrilly informing him that it was already morning and "If you don't hurry up, we're going to miss breakfast!"
Harry wisely chose to obey her orders with haste and freshen up in time to meet her in the Great Hall, but perhaps because of the strange dream the night before, he subconsciously avoided meeting her eyes. Hermione said nothing until one instance where he looked up from his goblet of pumpkin juice and caught her staring at him with a look of such concentration that he nearly choked and spurted the liquid out of his nose.
"Harry," she asked slowly in that careful, caring voice she reserved solely for him when he was in one of his so-called moods. "Is everything all right? You've been acting rather off this morning ever since we woke up."
Something about the way she said we had him freezing in his spot on the bench.
"Well, it's—it's nothing—not a big deal—really!" He managed to stutter out and mentally kicked himself for acting like a nervous buffoon. Hermione, for once my dreams weren't empty, showing me dying during the Tournament, or tainted with visions of Voldemort and I think I have you to thank for that. Oh, and speaking of thanks, I realized just yesterday what a giant prat I've been to take everything you do for me for granted and worse yet, never tell you how much you mean to me. For caring about me and not just the Boy Who Lived—
No, that was better suited to stay in his head. He couldn't have Hermione abandoning him too once she realized what an emotional wreck he was. As soon as he had that thought, he felt guilty for even considering it, but the fear from years of stifling his emotions with the Dursleys had him swallowing back the words of confession.
"It's just I feel guilty, that's all," he mumbled, deciding to go with the truth—just not the whole truth. "Here I am wallowing in my own despair and barely going through the motions to get through this Tournament while you spend day and night trying to solve my problems. Merlin, Hermione, look at those dark circles under your eyes! I can't believe I didn't notice earlier how much of a burden you were taking on because of me. Especially when no one else has even bothered to consider whether I'll survive past the first test. "
"Oh, Harry, that's not—"
"But it is!" He was speaking louder now, anger driving him forwards to finally let out the words in his heart. Anger at everyone who had formed their own opinions of him without ever giving him a chance, anger at everyone who stared at him with those cold, judgemental eyes, anger at himself for barely acknowledging the one person who hadn't.
He stood up from the bench, no longer feeling hungry. People from different tables were glancing over at him and whispering and out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron's sullen face with a frown directed his way. Harry let out a bitter laugh.
"None of you even consider that I never wanted to be the Boy Who Lived, you act like it's a badge I'm proud to wear and you use it to condemn me as a liar and an attention seeker. I never wanted to enter this bloody tournament either, but you're all so far up your delusions, you'll never believe that. I could die tomorrow, and you would simper and say that I brought it upon myself. And some of you...some of you I was stupid enough to call my friends."
He looked at Hermione who had also stood up and was staring at him anxiously. "Too bad, I only realized recently: I only have one of those."
