The next day was uneventful for Harry. He had been forced to stay two more days in the hospital to see how well he was recuperating. This annoyed him to no end. Being stuck within four walls and having only Hermione as an accompany in the mornings were boring.

Not that he hated Hermione's company, no. It was just that all she did was either talk about her upcoming final return to Hogwarts - bitterly reminding him of his broken bridges with a particular Weasley and all the massacre he had caused in that very place - or read a book to him regardless of whether it was a work of fiction or not. Ron was only free in the evenings owing to his auror training and it was applicable to Neville as well. Luna had visited him once, since then.

"Oh, Harry, you look awful. There are more than a dozen wrackspurts around your head. Don't you feel them?" she had asked with bulging, curious grey eyes.

In response, Harry had shook his head. "No, should I?"

"Not quite. You see, such visits to St Mungos are really enthralling. Once, I had a lucky one-minute encounter with a crumple horned snorkack. I still remember that."

That had, however, been more of a fictious story to him than an autobiography. There was simply nothing to do in a hospital, especially when you were bedridden with several magical indicators that beeped each time Harry felt light-headed. At one point, he felt Grimmauld Place would be better than St Mungos, but as fate and luck would have it, he was stuck for two more agonizing days.

"Harry! Are you even listening?"

The boy snapped out of his reverie and craned his neck to look at a frowning Hermione. She had her mobile phone - a Muggle gadget with buttons that he found quite complicated - in one hand. "Pardon?"

"Just asking you about today's weather," she said, waving her free hand around in an apprehensive manner.

"Er- yeah, it's pleasant." Truthfully, Harry had no idea. He had been locked in the damned room for too long to have a look at the skies outside. Additionally, he had been given a numbing potion to not feel pain, limiting his sensitivity to the temperature.

If it wasn't before, Hermione's frown lines increased. "No, really, I was asking you which ringtone sounds the most appealing."

"Oh? But Hermione, if you don't already know, I have a lucky voice when it comes to singing."

This time, Hermione's eye brows arched together comically. "I almost forgot!"

"That I'm a terrible singer? You've even heard me singing? Here I was thinking Ginny is the only one who heard me sing-"

"Oh, not that nonsense, Harry." The girl took out her purse with the extendable charm on it, quickly dismissing his rambling, and withdrew a rod. Or was it an umbrella? "Ron asked me to deIiver this to you. Don't ask me. I've no clue why you'd need it. He said I quote, 'tell him it's the charm to hearts.'" She placed the flashy green umbrella by his bedside. Harry eyed it wearily. Hermione seemed to have noticed his distaste. "Honestly saying, Ronald has a bad taste of aesthetics and colour schemes."

Harry nodded in agreement. "If you ask me, I'd gladly take chocolate brown - deep mesmerizing ones at that - to be my favorite colour even if I wish to hate her." He felt a pang of guilt strike the lonely monster in his chest and his spirits fell further.

"Harry!" His musings were cut short by his brunette friend. It seemed that he had zoned out again. "Why do you wish to hate her?" she asked, unapologetically. Harry's eyes met hers, and he hoped that would speak to her instead of words. She was blank, for a while, before a sympathetic smile spread across her face. "Look." She settled on the unoccupied side of his bed, dabbing at her Muggle phone once before turning her attention to him. For some reason, Harry felt hope rising in his guts. "Look, Harry. You don't have to hate someone to move on."

Ah, next time Miss Hope. "No, Hermione. You don't get it. You can't move on without hating the person you wish to - to leave behind!"

"Do you really wish to leave her behind, then?"

Her challenging tone was enough for Harry to spill it all, once again. He was beginning to wonder if he was really getting past the level of maturity he had during his earlier teenage years seeing that he was bottling up his emotions comparatively lesser than then. "N-no."

"What's gotten your robes in a twist, then?"

"I-I am not holding back, Hermione but I must. I wish to tell her everything; how I feel about her and all, but at the same time, I need want to, if that makes sense."

"You're right. You don't need to because she already knows it!" Hermione stood up, exasperated. "Everyone but you, yes even Merlin, can see that! You're in denial. That's the only thing I can tell you."

"Hermione, I-"

"No, you listen! Just tell me, are you really in love with her?"

Harry sighed in defeat. The truth had already been broken out of the prison of his mind before and it was my the brother of his beloved. "Yes." It was a simple answer, but the essence in which he managed to deliver it actually surprised him. "I have fallen, am crazy, and lost in love."

"Yes!" Hermione squealed in a very non-Hermione-ish manner. She then proceeded to pat his hair, the only part of him that was untouched by bruises, and skipped her way out of the ward without any prior warning as to where she was headed. Harry watched her retreating figure with confused bewilderment. She had just managed to squeeze out the truth from his throat, and she left as if there were important concerns about the world than his love life.

Harry harrumphed, trying to desperately switch his attention to something else. Then, an owl arrived at his door frame, flapping its wings to gain his permission to enter. In its talons was a letter, and it was not just any letter.

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