Harry got up bright and early on Monday, well before the sun came up. He had an hour before he was supposed to see Hermione. Half an hour to clean up, get changed, and then another half an hour of waiting just to be safe. He ended up sitting in one of the armchairs in the common room, watching the girls' stairs. Wait, this doesn't look good, he realized. He got up from the chair and stood facing the stairs with his arms crossed. Ack! This makes me look like I'm angry or something, he thought as he placed his hands in his pockets. No, too casual. He put his arms behind him. Pacing back and forth, he started to worry that being empty-handed in itself wasn't a good idea. He tried conjuring a few flowers, but a once-living, highly detailed object was difficult to make. The first one, a rose, came out looking more like a big, red daisy. He tried a tulip instead, hoping that the simpler flower would work better. He ended up making something with the proper shape, but it had one giant cup-shaped petal. He kept trying one after the other and forgot about the time.
"You know, you don't have to conjure them individually. There's a spell for making flowers. Orchideous." Harry looked up to see Hermione standing there at the top of the stairs with a small bouquet sprouting from her wand. He dropped his latest attempt on to the pile at his feet. The earlier attempts were already vanishing, but he was still ankle-deep in poorly conjured flowers.
"Oh... I didn't know that. Um... these are for you?" Harry couldn't believe he had become so distracted.
"Oh, wow. These are some of the... ugliest flowers I've ever seen," Hermione said, picking one up off the floor. "Except maybe the Rafflesia flower. But I guess it's the thought that counts." She giggled lightly, twirling the misshapen flower in her hands.
"Orchideous. Oh, wow, that was easy," Harry said, trying out the bouquet spell. "Why don't you take these ones instead?"
She took the flowers from him and sniffed them. "Thanks, Harry. Let's sit down. We need to talk."
Harry did, noting that Hermione also set up a strong silencing and notice-me-not wards around the couch. This couldn't be a good thing. "Uh, should we go somewhere more private? Wards are good and all, but if we have to keep a secret..."
"No, this doesn't really have anything to do with our... OWL project, Harry. I wanted to talk to you about... you."
"What about me? I understand what you meant after the duel, and I'm sorry I went overboard..."
"I know, Harry, and I accept your apology... but now that I've given it some more thought... how should I put this? I think it's a symptom of a bigger problem."
"A bigger problem? What do you mean?"
"Do you remember the night before the first Trial of Champions?"
Harry smiled. That was a memorable night for him, and not one he'd forget that easily. "Of course. That was right after our practice duel. That's when I really realized how important you were to me." He had a sinking feeling in his heart as he awaited Hermione's response. Her feelings hadn't changed, had they?
Hermione sensed his tension building, and responded reassuringly, "I still meant everything I said. I love you, Harry, and I always want you to be a part of my life. But some of the things you said... well, they felt romantic at the time, and I guess it might have been the atmosphere or something else... but I'm worried."
"What was it that I said?" asked Harry.
"Do you really mean you have nothing else to live for, Harry? I know the Dursleys treat you badly, and I'm sorry your parents are gone... but surely I'm not the only thing in your life that keeps you going, am I? What do you want to do with your life?"
Harry paused for a few seconds, but ended up with only a weak, "I do have to kill Voldemort..."
"What you want to do, Harry, not what you have to. What if you could forget all that destiny and fate rubbish and just let the adults handle it? What would you do with your life then?"
"I've never given it much thought. Get through the tournament this year. Get through school. Live out my life with you." He gave a half-hearted smile at the last line.
"So you really don't have any goals for your life, do you? This year, at least, you've got a nice temporary goal of winning the tournament, and you're putting a lot of energy into it- more effort than I've seen you put into anything else, to be honest."
She was right, of course. The first three years he had been forced into do-or-die situations and he was scared out of his mind every time, but the tournament had never really put his life on the line. He could have conceded and put in a lacklustre effort, but he still fought for the prize as if he were facing Voldemort again. And he had started to enjoy it. "Yeah, I guess I have. It's fun, putting my passion into the events."
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