It was a lazy day for the kids at No. 12 Grimmauld Place. The Order was busy so they had a full day to themselves. Ginny was pestering Ron about something, and Fred and George were off improving extendable ears so they could listen in on The Order. This left Harry with Hermione. Seeing as everyone else was busy, they decided to look through the attic. It turns out, old wizarding families have some pretty interesting stuff.
As Harry watched Hermione, he had a lot of time to think. He had known Hermione almost as long as he’d known the wizarding world. From the moment she spoke to him on the train, his life had changed for the better. She’d helped him through his adventures, planning and making sure they succeeded. He realized, without Hermione, he wouldn’t have made it this far. When he claimed Voldemort was back at the end of last year, she was one of the only people who’d believed him.
Harry looked up at Hermione. She seemed to be enjoying the books. She thumbed through them, skimming the pages. Harry loved the way her eyes light up reading them. He loved the way her hair shone in the sunlight coming through the small window. He loved how her vanilla scent seemed to pervade the entire attic, despite its size. He loved the way she smiled when it was just for him. He loved her strong personality, how she stood up for what she believed in. He loved everything about her.
Harry wondered when he started feeling this way about Hermione. Maybe it was when he saw her after barely escaping death last year at the Triwizard Tournament. He realized how much he depended on her during their adventures. Maybe it was at the Yule Ball when he first really looked at her. Maybe it was when she helped him save Sirius; he realized how brave she was, going to find someone he believed was a serial killer. Maybe it was when he saw her after she was cured by Mandrake Root. She had helped them without even being present, and he had realized how much he missed her company. Maybe it was when she bravely drank the potion and sent him to find the Philosopher’s Stone before Voldemort. Harry had learned how much she was willing to do for her friends. Or maybe, he had liked her from the beginning, back when she introduced herself back on the train. Harry had once read, “We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is, at last, a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.” [Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury]. He wondered if the same was true for love. He was sure of only one thing: He loved her.