Epiphanies

Epiphanies

(Prologue) Dawn at The Burrow

The first rays of the rising sun broke out over the horizon surrounding the still-sleeping town of Ottery St. Catchpole. The breaking sun cast its light on the small hills surrounding the village — and on the chimneys on the roof of a large, rather ramshackle house on the outskirts of the village. At first glance, the house looked as if it had once been a large stone pigpen, but rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high … and so crooked that anyone seeing it for the first time would think that it was being held up by magic.

As the sun rose further, a stray beam of sunlight illuminated a small rise standing to one side of the house – a small, grassy lump of soil and rock that stood close to the edge of the gardens surrounding the house. An ancient stone bench (actually, two slabs of stone set upright with a longer slab on top of these) had been placed on the rise, allowing anyone sitting there to enjoy a view of the rising sun as it welcomed a new dawn.

On this particular day, the rising sun showed two figures on the bench. They were so still that a casual observer would have mistaken them for the concrete gnomes populating many a garden around the country. A closer look, however, would have revealed that these were definitely not gnomes.

One figure was a rather petite and slim girl, with bushy brown hair streaming over her back, wrapped in a red-and-gold Quidditch robe. Chocolate-brown eyes looked out on the rising sun, slim hands clutched tightly at the robe around her shoulders. The other was a medium-height teenaged boy with black, unruly hair, wearing glasses which reflected back the light of the rising sun. If one could look behind those glasses, one would have seen brilliant, emerald-green eyes that stared out at the lightening ground, seemingly seeing nothing but, in fact, acutely aware of their surroundings.

They’d been sitting in companionable silence in the garden for some time, waiting quietly for the dawn to break. The boy had woken up earlier and couldn’t sleep; rather than laze around for a lie-in, he had decided to step outside and enjoy the silence and calmness of the remaining night.

Silently he had crept out of his bed in the cramped bedroom, putting on a maroon sweater with a lion knitted on the front, and pausing only to grab a scarlet Quidditch robe from his trunk before stealing out of the house, and into the cool air of the night. He had been sitting on the bench for only a few minutes when he felt the presence of someone moving around in the garden.

Startled, he had looked up into a pair of sleepy brown eyes framed by bushy brown hair. The girl looked as if she were sleep-walking – except her eyes were wide open. She silently stopped beside him, and sat down on the bench, careful to keep some space between them.

No words were exchanged – nor were words needed to be said. They were friends … the best of friends, who sometimes seemed to communicate at a level where words were irrelevant.

After a while, he felt the girl shivering; her nightdress, while comfortable for sleeping in a warm and cozy bed, was decidedly not suited for a cold stone bench with a soft but cooling breeze blowing. Silently, he removed his robe and wrapped it around her, at the same time, rubbing her arms through the fabric to help her warm up – she looked up at him and smiled, stopping him from his actions.

She wrapped the robe more closely around her, and leaned gently against him. He shifted a bit, unconsciously shielding his companion from the wind, and placed an arm around her back to provide some support as she tried to slump comfortably on the backless bench.

Nothing needed to be said as they both waited for the dawn.

* * * * *

Neither one knew that someone was watching them with great interest.

She was a rather plump woman with a very pleasant demeanor at most times (only her family and their closest friends knew how swiftly that could change into a rampaging tiger when aroused) who was watching the scene from a large bedroom in an upper story. She had a wide smile on her face as she watched the two sitting on the bench. ‘How romantic,’ she sighed, and laughed softly to herself. Generations of Weasleys had sat on that same bench over the centuries, either watching the rising or the setting of the sun, or contemplating the stars and the moon on many a warm (or even cold) night ... and sometimes, sometimes, letting the magic of the spot pull them into a kiss – or a promise.

In fact, her husband Arthur had proposed to her on that very same bench, one cool and breezy summer night over thirty years ago. (‘Admit it,’ she admonished herself , ‘you were just as ready to propose to him if he hadn’t made the first move. That bench really has something going for it …’)

She smiled at the memory and half-turned to call Arthur to join her. She stopped when she saw the empty bed; her husband and Percy had been called to the Ministry of Magic for some emergency or other at 3:30 in the morning. Arthur had shaken her awake to tell her that he was leaving, and had given her a kiss before Apparating out of the house.

She had been unable to sleep since then, and had been sitting at the window of the darkened room, looking out at the stars when she saw the boy walk out to the bench. She wondered if she should go down and talk to him (‘Goodness knows, he needs someone to talk with after what happened during the year,’ she thought) but decided to wait for a little bit. It was a good thing, too; less than five minutes later, she saw the brown-haired girl stepping out of the house and walking towards the bench.

The only problem, she sighed, was that neither one of the two sitting on the bench was a Weasley. The boy was Harry Potter, better known in wizarding circles as ‘The Boy Who Lived,’ Seeker for the Gryffindor House Quidditch team, Hogwarts Champion and winner of the recent Tri-Wizard tournament -- and the only person in the entire wizarding world who had come up against the Dark Lord four times – and lived to tell the tale.

And incidentally, her youngest son’s best friend.

The girl was Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born witch who was at the head of their class academically, a very bright but extremely nice young girl who was also Harry and Ron’s other best friend. She smiled as she remembered her other children calling them either “The Trio,” or the “Dream Team.”

She shivered slightly as she recalled the adventures and near-death experiences the three, especially Harry, had gone through in the past four years. To think that so much has happened to children barely in their teens! They should be enjoying themselves now, doing the things that wizarding children their age should be doing … not walking around with the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Or, perhaps, on Harry’s shoulders.

She muttered darkly to herself. She wondered what sort of Divinity there was to have placed such a burden on the young boy … parents killed when he was barely a year old by the Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort, for reasons still unclear … Voldemort turning his wand on the baby Harry to kill him, too … the curse rebounding on the Dark Lord, and rendering You-Know-Who (even she could not say his name out loud) a mere shadow of his evil, corrupt self.

Many in the wizarding world looked up to Harry Potter as a hero, because of that first abortive encounter with the Dark Lord, which had led to over a decade of serenity and quiet after that incident … long years of peace that more than compensated for the years of terror when Voldemort was at his prime.

Very few wizards or witches, however, knew of the emerging threat of a revived Dark Lord, which had started the year that Harry Potter re-joined the wizarding world when he went to Hogwarts – an attempt by the still-weakened Voldemort to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone in Harry’s first year … the opening of Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets in his second year … making use of the revived Tri-Wizards Tournament to trap Harry and use him in ensuring You-Know-Who’s resurrection to flesh-and-blood life.

Molly knew of these developments, in part because of her son Ron’s involvement in these adventures with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger … and also because the emerging evil had struck directly at her family in the Trio’s second year at Hogwarts. It was Harry who rescued her youngest child and only daughter, Ginny, from the Chamber of Secrets. Working with clues provided by the brainy Hermione (who had provided Harry with a vital piece of the puzzle even when Petrified and in the hospital), and the able (although reluctant) support of Ron and his Spell-o-taped wand, Harry had gone into the Chamber after Ginny – emerging triumphant, and bearing with him the sword of Godric Gryffindor.

Molly Weasley shuddered again at the memories. There were times when she wondered whether Ron’s friendship with The Boy Who Lived was a blessing -- or a curse. Ron, a normal (for wizards) 16-year old boy should have been enjoying the summer with his family and what friends he would have had at that age, rather than being involved in more adventures and than most older wizards did in their whole lifetimes! He’d already been confined to the Hogwarts’ hospital wing once in his third year, when most students never even saw what the hospital looked like.

Hermione herself had been confined in the hospital in her second year; however, being Petrified, she had no knowledge or awareness of what happened until she was revived with Mandrake potion – after which Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts’ nurse, allowed her to go off immediately to the Great Hall for the celebratory feast.

Harry, on the other hand, had been in the hospital wing at least once for every year he had been in Hogwarts. The Weasley twins, Fred and George, often teased him about naming the Hogwarts’ hospital “The Harry Potter Hospital Wing” in his honor.

There was no doubt that Harry had been very lucky. Molly wondered, however, whether Harry’s luck will one day run out – and drag one or both of his friends down with him. Deep down, she hoped that it would not be Ron … losing a child was something she could barely comprehend – or even contemplate.

‘What am I thinking about?’ she said to herself savagely. ‘First, it isn’t Harry’s fault at all. More importantly, I … no, we owe him a life. The family owes him Ginny’s life! If it were not for Harry …’

She turned away from the window, tears prickling at her eyes, to look at a picture on her bedside drawer. It had been taken soon after she had given birth to Ginny; she saw a younger self with a baby Ginny in her arms, waving at the camera.

Arthur and Molly had both resigned themselves to a household full of boys, a round half-dozen of them. While she was happy with it, Molly had been secretly hoping for a girl … someone to whom she could pass on her precious hope chest (it had been passed down from eldest daughter to eldest daughter in her household for centuries, slowly accumulating a wealth of tapestries, photographs and memories that she had been loath to let go, even when money was tight), a daughter to whom she would teach all the secrets of her own fabulous cooking and the running of a household …

But there were moments like this, sitting in the dark with Arthur out on another midnight emergency for the Ministry of Magic, when she wondered whether her deep-seated desire to have a daughter was an indulgence it would have been better to forego.

There were already six little Weasleys when Ginny came along – money was already very tight, with Arthur not getting the promotions he deserved because of his over-fondness for Muggles. And yet, Molly had so wanted a daughter that she had thrown caution to the winds, and made one more try with Arthur …

She smiled with nostalgia as she remembered waking up in St. Mungo’s, and the medi-witch excitedly telling her, “It’s a girl!” … the goofy, happy grin on Arthur’s face as he kissed her (‘Thank God,’ she thought, ‘that Arthur had wanted a girl as much as I did!’) … the day she brought Ginny home from the hospital … the wondering look in the eyes of her eldest son Bill as he contemplated this new addition to the family. The other boys were really too young then to understand … but Bill … Molly remembered the way Bill had held the Ginny in his arms, as if he was cradling a basket full of spun glass …

Molly sniffed a little at the memory. She missed Bill, who had been working for some time as a curse-breaker at Gringott’s in Egypt. Her eldest had an unusually well-developed sense of responsibility even as a boy; it was Bill that she had turned to in order to keep her rowdy brood in line, Bill who had watched over his younger brothers as she went about her daily chores … and Bill who had taken over much of the caring for the baby girl that she loved.

As the boys grew older, however, it seemed that it was only Bill who maintained his unrestrained and open affection for the youngest Weasley. Not that the others had no use for little Ginny ... it was just that whatever love and affection they had for her was overshadowed by their own personalities.

Charlie, for example, had been as unrestrained and affectionate towards Ginny as Bill had ever been; he was just too obsessed with Dragons and Quidditch to give Ginny the care and concern that Bill gave without reservation. Percy … Percy’s sense of responsibility was firmly focused on his “career” (a game plan which will culminate in becoming the youngest ever Minister of Magic). Percy, therefore, tended to treat Ginny as if she were a subordinate, rather than his youngest sister.

The Twins … were as they had always been: inveterate jokers, quick with a pun or a joke (sometimes to the point of utter disrespect), and, too often, a reckless tactlessness that often got them into trouble … and, too often, inadvertently embarrassing Ginny.

And Ron … Ron had been the most insecure of the brothers – probably because it was so difficult to find his own place in the sun, given that he had five brothers who had the opportunity to do everything before he did it. That same insecurity led to a confused relationship with his youngest sibling: alternately affectionate and caring, teasing and embarrassing, tactless and bossy – which wasn’t helped by having a hair-trigger temper too easy to rouse.

Molly Weasley heaved another deep sigh (she was having one of those days again, she knew. But there was nothing to do now but to let it all out …)

Still … no matter the jokes played on her by her older brothers, no matter the endless teasing they had given her during her formative years … there was no denying the love and affection the brothers had for their youngest sibling. ‘Even if,’ she thought to herself, ‘one had to dig deep for it.’

As had happened the day they learned that Ginny had disappeared, kidnapped by the unknown horror that lived within Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets.

She could recall with vivid and horrible detail that day … Arthur, shaken and very, very pale, Apparating at The Burrow, and leading her to the couch to tell her what had happened … her fainting when told of what was contained in the owl that Percy had sent to his father … the slow flight to Hogwarts on their ancient broomsticks as both she and Arthur were too distraught to try Apparating to Hogsmeade … the slow walk to McGonagall’s office, avoiding the sympathetic looks from students and teachers … again, breaking down inside McGonagall’s office when she saw Albus Dumbledore looking shell-shocked himself, but trying to hold out some hope that she knew in her heart was false …

And that incredible moment when the door to the office opened and Fawkes the phoenix flew in, leading Harry, Ron and a shaken and crying Ginny into the room.

Ginny was extremely pale and thin, having been held in the Chamber for almost a day without food or water. The front of her robes were wet from the river of tears she had been shedding since Harry woke her up from her enchanted sleep, after burying the basilik’s fang in Tom Riddle’s enchanted diary, thus breaking the spell that had held her for so long.

Ron, caked in mud and dust from trying to move rocks and stones around the ruined tunnel to make an opening into the Chamber of Secrets, also pale and shaken from the ordeal … but not as much as Harry.

And Harry Potter, barely thirteen years old, covered in slime and the blood of the basilisk, clutching in one hand the ruined diary of the young Voldemort (or Tom Riddle as he was then known), a jewel-encrusted sword and the school’s Sorting Hat tucked in his belt, exhausted but still half-dragging, half-carrying a still-sobbing Ginny Weasley.

Molly could remember every detail of the incredible story that Harry told them all that night. Later that evening, she and Arthur had related the story to the rest of the family: Bill and Charlie, who had Apparated in from Egypt and Romania, fully expecting never to see their beloved sister again; Percy, Fred and George who had opted out of the celebratory feast in the Great Hall to be with their sister as she slept in the hospital wing. Only Ron wasn’t there – he had been with Harry and Hermione during the feast, a celebration that he so richly deserved, having shared the dangers of the Chamber with Harry.

As Molly ended the narrative, she could see the looks being exchanged by the brothers, and the glances they were giving their sleeping sister. Without a word being spoken, they had all reached a silent agreement: there was now a new member of their family, and they would be extending the same love and protection they had always given their sister, to Harry Potter.

And, to Hermione Granger.

Molly remembered with fondness the family’s trip to Egypt that same summer, helped by the incredible luck of Arthur’s winning the annual Daily Prophet’s Grand Prize Galleon Draw. It had given all of them a chance to recuperate, to mend the pains and memories of the previous year, especially the guilt felt by Percy, the twins, and Ron for their constant teasing of Ginny during the school year, and not paying enough attention to her to prevent her from being enchanted by the diary of the twice-be-damned Tom Riddle.

It was during one dinner in Cairo that Ginny, who had studiously avoided discussing the Chamber of Secrets all the time, suddenly asked Ron how he and Harry were able to find her in the nick of time. Although she had been in McGonagall’s office when the tale was first told, little had penetrated her numbed brain. Later, of course, she had been under a Dreamless Potion when the story was told to the rest of the family.

Molly could still hear Ron’s voice in her mind: “I don’t mind telling you, Ginny, that if Harry hadn’t found that page in Hermione’s hand when we visited her in the hospital, we wouldn’t have known where to start.

“That was the key, Ginny,” Ron continued. “When Harry and I read it, everything fell into place. What Aragog had told us about a girl being killed by the basilisk in the girl’s bathroom on the first floor, the fact that Moaning Myrtle had died in that same bathroom, and so on. We knew that the entrance could only be through Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom … something which we confirmed when we asked Myrtle how she had died.”

As the tale ended, Molly caught the glances and looks being exchanged by the older brothers with their father, and then herself. Again without words, a silent agreement was reached: Hermione was now a member of their family, and would be given the same affection, protection and respect that they were giving to Harry and Ginny.

Molly knew that it was for this reason that the older brothers and Arthur had scrimped every stray Knut they could get their hands on, as well as Arthur practically twisting and threatening to break arms and legs in the Ministry, in order to get the prized seats for the Quidditch World Cup.

It was worth it, they all thought. It was an opportunity for the whole family to gather – and for Bill and Charley to get to know the newest members of the family … the members to whom they owed their sister’s life.

Molly glanced out the window and saw that the day was well and truly started, with the sun finally breaking out on the horizon, lighting even the corners of her darkened room. She should go down to start breakfast for her family, but hesitated for a moment. She knew that the moment Harry and Hermione heard her clattering around the kitchen, the two of them would be in there trying to help out … even though there was not that much help needed in her magic-run kitchen.

She was loath to see them doing chores around the house; they were family, after all, but she knew that there was little she could do to stop them. Hermione had been too well brought up by her Muggle parents to impose herself on a household where she was, after all, a guest. Harry, on the other hand, would also feel uncomfortable doing nothing to help in a household where he truly felt he belonged.

Molly decided to give the two a few more minutes of leisure, and walked to the window to see what they were doing. Glancing outside, she smiled at what she saw …

Harry still had his arm around Hermione’s back, supporting her, while Hermione’s head with its bushy brown hair was also resting on Harry’s shoulder, leaning back against Harry. She also had one arm around Harry’s waist, as if she was supporting him. Harry, however, appeared to be resting his cheek on top of her head – seemingly relaxed and contented just sitting there with his best friend.

Molly studied them closely, and was surprised as a wave of mingled disappointment and hope passed through her mind.

It should have been a most romantic pose for the two young people. And yet, Molly could not feel any sense, or aura, of romance emanating from the two. It just seemed to be a very … comfortable, contented … even warm pose for the two. Nothing more, nothing less.

Nothing romantic … nothing sensual about it.

They were two people sharing a moment of comfort together.

Best friends, definitely. More than best friends … and Molly realized that only time will tell.

Molly felt a slight ray of hope beating in her heart. The more she got to know those two, the more she hoped – and yes, she admitted to herself, prayed and prayed hard – that they would become really, truly, members of her family.

Hermione’s coolness and logic were the perfect balance to Ron’s impulsive nature and fiery temper. Her intelligence also was not to be sneezed at; at the same time, Molly dismissed Ron’s oft-said complaints about Hermione’s bossy nature and tendency to run to the library whenever confronted with a problem. He needed someone like that to keep him focused on the important things … he still hadn’t realized that being born a wizard to an ancient and honorable wizarding family was never enough.

Nothing would ever replace knowledge and understanding of how the wizarding world and magic operated. Being born to a wizarding family meant only a longer exposure to magic, and perhaps, the confidence to do magic instinctively and without fear of the consequences. But all that that would make you is just an average wizard.

But combining one’s innate talents and confidence with knowledge and understanding would make one a truly outstanding wizard. Hermione had that and more; Molly knew that it was only through her sheer persistence and bossiness that Harry and Ron were getting better than average grades in school.

She sighed, again. At least, Harry seemed to be “getting it” (in the quaint language that her children used.) He seemed to understand the need for knowledge of magic to supplement his own innate skills, sharpening the latter into a powerful combination of inner magic and knowledge.

Ron, though … ‘it would be better if someone keeps his long nose to the grindstone,’ Molly thought. ‘Otherwise … he may fall flat on his face and break that nose – or something else more important!’

Harry, on the other hand, had been gaining both the confidence and knowledge he needed to become an extraordinary wizard. Again, he may have the blood of wizards running through his veins, but his constant companionship with Hermione had helped sharpen his skills … to the point that he was able to defeat Voldemort in a wizard’s duel.

Molly had also learned of Harry’s mastery of the Patronious Charm when Remus Lupin had passed by The Burrow on a mission for Dumbledore. She herself, in spite of the centuries of wizard blood in her veins, had never been able to conjure up a Patronious as easily as she had heard Harry did – and at only fourteen, at that!

Arthur could – but it often took too much out of him. Again, it was totally different from what she heard Harry could do – apparently, he could conjure up a powerful Patronious whenever needed, without the drain on his inner strength that made it so difficult for many wizards or witches to make effective use of the charm.

But it was Harry’s innate gentleness and caring nature that had always touched her heart, from the moment she first met him on Platform 9 and ¾ over four years before. It was just the gentleness and caring that Ginny needed to build up her confidence and self-esteem; although her brothers loved her and protected her, their constant teasing and jokes (especially from the twins) had not done much to build her confidence up.

She knew that it was this lack of confidence that had pushed Ginny into confiding all her thoughts and secrets to that infernal diary in the first place! When she had asked Ginny much later why she hadn’t asked for a diary in the first place, Ginny had stammered for a while before admitting that she had felt that they didn’t have enough money to buy her one – on top of all the course books required by that stupid git Lockhart, and everything else …

Molly squirmed again in embarrassment at that talk with her youngest child. For lack of a few silver Sickles, a life was almost lost.

But with Harry … with Harry’s kindness and gentle nature, Ginny would have been protected from all that. Ginny would have been covered with a loving protection from someone who, having experienced so little of it from others during his formative years, would understand how it felt – and would have an abundance of it to give in return.

Molly thought of her two daughters – the real one, and the “adopted” one – and considered how they had dealt with their relative insecurities. Hermione had covered it up with her bossy nature and know-it-all, smarty pants attitude … Ginny, on the other hand, had nothing like that to fall back on, and allowed her insecurities to lead her to the diary from hell.

And yet, when she realized what was happening, she had instinctively tried to turn to Harry for help. Ginny had confessed to her mother, months afterward, that she had tried to tell Harry about what was happening, and her fears that she was losing her sanity. It was the constant teasing of her brothers, however, that prevented her from doing so … that, and the fear that Harry would only have laughed at her, in much the same way that her brothers often laughed at her.

Ginny admitted to her mother that, deep down, she knew that Harry wouldn’t laugh at her … but she just couldn’t be sure of it. Which had led to the unfortunate set of circumstances … even to the point of stealing the diary from Harry’s dorm, rather than take the risk that he would get a chance to read what she had written. In the end, Tom Riddle had gotten more and more control over her … leading her, finally, to the Chamber of Secrets, and the certain death that awaited her there.

Until Harry and Ron came to the rescue.

Molly Weasley shook her head, and sighed. She looked out the window again, and watched Harry and Hermione as they sat together in comfortable silence watching the sun rise.

‘It could still go either way,’ she thought. ‘What makes them so perfect for Ron and Ginny also makes them so perfect for each other. I only hope that they both recognize what they have … what they found in each other … and grow stronger together.

‘If they go with each other, I can only hope that they can bring Ron and Ginny with them. If Harry goes with Ginny, and Ron goes with Hermione …’ she sighed. ‘I hope that they will still have that same closeness and comfort they have with each other. They both need it … all four of them need it.’

With that thought, Molly Weasley stood up and started to prepare herself for the day ahead. She took one final look around the room, and her eyes rested on the photograph of herself and the baby that was Ginny in her arms.

‘Whichever way they go … whoever they go with … we still owe Harry and Hermione a life. We still owe Ginny’s life to the two of them.’

She took one final look at Harry and Hermione, still sitting on the ancient stone bench, watching the sunrise in comfortable silence.

‘Either way, I’m happy that both of them are here with us.’

Looking out at the sky now turning blue with the ever rising sun, she murmured a small, heartfelt prayer. “Thank you, Lord for the two of them. Thank you.”

She stepped out of the room to prepare breakfast for her family – the family that included two people who were still not aware that someone had been watching them the whole time.

Epiphanies (01)

Chapter 1. Densities and Insensitivities

The brilliant orb of the rising sun finally broke over the horizon. Harry’s eyes, seemingly staring blankly at the spot, blinked – and he took a deep breath. He felt Hermione, leaning on him, take a deep breath, almost as if they had both breathed in simultaneously.

‘Another day,’ he thought. ‘If I were still with the Dursleys, I would be marking another day off the calendar … another day until I can go home to Hogwarts.’

His breathing suddenly hitched. ‘Going home?’ he thought. ‘Going home to what? The scene of the crime?’ He grimaced – the events of last year running through his mind like an out-of-control movie … Cedric Diggory … Professor Moody an impostor, a Death Eater who had conspired to lead him into a trap … dueling with Voldemort in the graveyard … his parents coming out of his enemy’s wand … the portkey back to Hogwarts, holding on for dear life to Cedric’s body, fulfilling a promise made to his ghost (‘was it his ghost?’ he thought. Until now, Harry couldn’t be sure) … the Leaving Feast, and Dumbledore’s announcement … the train compartment, and the hexes thrown at Draco Malfoy and his cronies … the parting of the friends at Platform 9 and ¾ … and … and …

He started to shake his head, and stopped. He had been resting his cheek on Hermione’s head for the past ten minutes or so, unconsciously breathing in the sweet smell of her shampoo … he was loath to break this moment of comfort and peace by letting his thoughts intrude …

He couldn’t stop himself from stiffening slightly, however, as his body went into instinctive “fight or flight” mode with the surge of adrenaline triggered by his memories – and the fear of what the coming school year will bring. How will his fellow students react, now that they’ve had a few months to assimilate Dumbledore’s announcement that Voldemort was back? Will they look at him in fear as they had in his second year when the Chamber of Secrets was opened – and the rumors spread that he was the Heir of Slytherin? Would they be sympathetic, as had happened in third year, when the whole school learned that Sirius Black, escaped convict, murderer of over a dozen Muggles, right hand man of Voldemort, was after him? Or will they jeer behind his back as had happened only last year, when the Goblet of Fire named him as a champion – most of the school (including Ron, he thought) wondering whether his ambition had driven him to break the rules again – and the Hufflepuffs looking at him with hatred for the sheer audacity of trying to steal the glory of having their candidate as the Hogwart’s champion.

The situation hadn’t been helped at all by the reporting (more like scandal-mongering) of Rita Skeeter, a Daily Prophet reporter who thought nothing of substituting fiction for truth, of transfiguring grains of truth into a pile of lies with all their odious smell, of using her revolting quill to strike back at the people who crossed her. He tried to hold himself still as his mind raged over the way she had struck at two people closest to him: Hagrid, revealed as a half-giant (and almost whipping up all the old prejudices), and Hermione, who Rita Skeeter had first said was his girlfriend, and then insinuated was two-timing him with Viktor Krum.

He forced the rage from his mind, recalling how Mrs. Weasley had reacted to Hermione when she and Bill had visited him to watch the Third and final Task. At least, that was easy to deal with, he thought. But the sheer nerve of that … that …

He felt two slim arms encircling his waist and holding him in a warm hug. Startled, he started to move away but only felt Hermione hugging him tighter still. He couldn’t breathe – not because the arms around him were squeezing him – but because he simply did not know how to react!

As he moved his cheek away from Hermione’s bushy hair, he heard a calm, no-nonsense voice speak from behind the curtain of hair, “Don’t worry about her, Harry. I owled the Ministry and the Daily Prophet about her being an illegal Animagus … and asked Mr. Weasley to make sure that she gets what she has coming to her.”

Harry sat upright, looking at her in shock. Not about what she had done – if there was one thing he could count on about his friend, it was the perfection she put into her planning – but more to the point, the fact that she seemed to be reading his mind.

She looked back at him with a warm, but mischievous smile on her face, an eyebrow raised as she looked at him quizzically. “How …” he croaked, as he tried to work his suddenly parched throat. “How did you do that? How can you be reading my mind?”

She smiled at him fondly. “Elementary, my dear Harry. You always flex your hands as if you wanted to strangle someone whenever you think about Rita Skeeter, although I would admit that that is the same feeling I get whenever I think about her.”

“I do?” he asked, shocked. He looked down at his hands, one in his lap and the other still around her waist, clenching tightly into fists.

“Of course you do!” Hermione replied, shaking her head and sending her hair flying in all directions, strands almost hitting his face if he hadn’t ducked. “Come on, Harry! It isn’t as if we’re strangers … we’ve been friends for years … classes, meals, study sessions and all … not to mention the odd adventure or two.”

“Not to mention the hours spent in the library,” he teased, “reading till my eyes were blurred, breathing in all that dust from books untouched for years, feeling my arms and legs stiffen up because of all the sitting … getting bored, bored, bored because I had to sit there rather than fly … or run around the grounds …”

She gave him a quick smile of condescension. “Well, you gotta admit, Harry, it has been useful … else, you and Ron’ll still be in fourth year now. How would it feel, going to the same classes with Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey?”

She smirked at his reaction, and continued in a sweet voice. “Or maybe that’s what you really wanted, Harry? You know … walking around the campus with your fans’ club hounding your every step … waiting to hear pearls of wisdom from your lips, because this is the second time you’ve heard those lessons …”

He glared at her fiercely, but then smiled. He couldn’t keep himself angry at her for anything … not since third year and the Firebolt incident. Even then, she had been right … Sirius had sent him the broom, not to kill him but as a gift to make up for fourteen years of birthday presents from his godfather. But they didn’t know that at the time …

“You’re a witch, Mione,” he said, exasperatedly. He tensed, preparing to duck the punch she usually threw at him whenever he used that hated nickname.

To his surprise, her reaction was calm: “I should hope so, Harry. After all, what’s an education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry supposed to make of me?”

Harry gaped at her for a second and then, with a wicked grin, suddenly started tickling her through the Quidditch robes. Surprised at the sudden attack, Hermione fell to the ground, laughing, beating off his hands and trying to roll out of his assault.

“Harry! Get off me! Whatareyoutryingtodo, you, you …” she half-shouted, half-whispered, in between giggles and laughs.

“What did you do to Hermione, you evil witch? Where are you keeping her? Tell me … she doesn’t like that name … she never likes anyone calling her Mione …”

Finally, Hermione was able to roll away to a safer distance (the Quidditch robes now muddied and covered with grass stains), and sat up, laughing. Harry made a move to follow her, but suddenly kneeled down, a few steps from her, gasping from the effort.

Giving her a mock-glare, he gasped out, “Tell me, evil witch! What did you do to my friend? Where have you hidden her? Tell me!”

They looked at each other and suddenly rolled around, laughing at Harry’s melodramatic voice. With a sudden lunge, Hermione grappled Harry and they started tickling each other …

* * * * *

Two pairs of eyes were observing the melee in the grass.

“How cute,” one red-haired older boy said. “They really look good together … “

“Yeah,” his twin brother said, looking bemusedly at the two rolling around on the grass. “Good thing ickle Ronniekins is still asleep …”

“Or there will be three gits rolling around out there?”

The other swiped at his brother’s head, eliciting a painful, “Ow, watch it!” before continuing, “NO, you stupid ninny! Ickle Ronniekins will be jealous …

A light dawned on the other’s face. “He’ll be mad …”

“Resentful …”

“Mental …”

“Weird …”

“Jealous.”

“I said that, you git! Find your own words!”

“Hold it,” the other said. “We’re getting off topic here.”

“Huh?”

“We were talking about ickle Ronnie …”

“That’s what we were doing,” the other protested. His brother ignored him.

“Given what those two out there are doing,” he mused, “I think Ron’s gonna have a problem.”

His brother looked out the window, and saw Harry and Hermione standing up, foreheads touching, mirth in their body language as they continued laughing. “Oh, oh … George, they’re gonna start snogging in a second …”

Fred almost fell on the bed in their crowded room, as George pushed him from the window. “Watch it, George! You almost threw me into the cauldron!”

George, however, was not listening. He watched from the windows, and suddenly turned to his twin in surprise and annoyance. “What snogging are you talking about, you stupid git?”

Fred shoved him out of the way, “You blind, Geor –“

Fred stood there, mouth agape as he took in the scene below them. Rather than the passionate snogging scene he anticipated, he watched as Harry swung Hermione around, laughing all the time while Hermione hung on to his neck, also laughing, her bushy hair flying in the air.

Fred looked at George in shocked disbelief. “Are they …”

“Lovers?”

“Friends?”

“Acquaintances?”

“Associates?”

The two looked down again at the tableau below them. Harry and Hermione were now sitting on the grass, watching the sunrise, leaning against each other, Harry’s arm lightly draped on Hermione’s shoulder, her arm lightly wrapped around his waist.

As one, they looked at each other, and shook their heads.

“They’re either sooo thick …

“Or dense …”

“Blind … ”

“Dumb ...”

“Slow …”

“Dim …”

They looked again at the two figures on the grass.

“They’re either the best of friends …”

“Or they’re just hiding it …”

“Or they simply …”

“Don’t know it yet!” they cried out simultaneously. Slowly, the twins slid down to the floor, looking at each other in incredulous silence. After a few seconds, George (or was it Fred?) suddenly giggled … to be followed by his brother’s slightly choking sniggers … which George or Fred soon upgraded to chuckles … and then both were on the floor, roaring in helpless hilarity, accompanied by loud bangs and pops as the various experiments around the room appeared to join in their mirth.

“I don’t believe it!” Fred said through his choking laughter.

“Yeah,” George said, pounding the floor softly with his fist. “Harry … was just … one … bloody … inch … from … kissing her … and he just spins her around! He’s dumb … dumb … dumb !”

“Hey, stop that!” Fred said. “That’s our investor you’re talking about!”

“Maybe that’s why he gave us the money?” mused George. He ducked as Fred aimed a punch at him. “So, what do we do, brother mine?”

“Join them?”

Fred ducked the pillow thrown at him. “No, you bloody dodo!,” George said. “I mean what do we do about them?” (His thumb was pointing out the window.)

“Just what I said! Let’s join them for a mud fight!”

George raised his eyes to the ceiling, muttering something about bludgers, bats, and his brother’s head. “No! I mean what do we do about our investor … do we help him out?”

“You’re forgetting something, brother mine.” Fred snapped his head around to his twin. “Or rather … some one.”

“Oh.” he replied. After a moment’s thought, he added, “Or some ones.”

George looked at him. “Ginny?”

“I didn’t mean Percy, you know.”

The two fell silent, sitting on the floor of their bedroom. Finally, Fred spoke up, “So what do we do?”

“Well,” George replied. “It’s obvious that those two out there (jerking his thumb to the window) really like each other …”

“But are they lovers or are they friends?”

George ignored that, and continued, “And our little brother has it bad for little Miss Granger …”

“Yeah … he’s been talking about nothing since the summer started. I was starting to wonder whether he will be asking Harry to stay away or come on down with us …”

“But our investor and ickle Miss Granger seem to have some thing going for them …”

“So who do we help? Our ickle brother or our investor?”

“It’s not that simple, Fred. Harry’s practically our adopted brother, too …” George’s voice trailed off. Fred raised an eyebrow questioningly. George, seeing this, elaborated, “He did save little Ginny, didn’t he?”

“Oh, right. We owe him for that … as well as for the money.” Fred looked at George. “So? Well … we can always match him up with Ginny-kins …”

“Except that Ginny doesn’t seem to feel anything for him anymore.” Fred raised an eyebrow. “Come on, brother! Three years ago, you couldn’t hear anything from her except that Harry was coming to visit … heard one peep out of her this year? Or the past two years?”

Fred shook his head.

“I think little Ginny’s growing up, Fred,” George continued. “… she may still feel something for Harry, but I think she knows that nothing can come out of it … not unless Harry gets a bludger to the head …”

Fred frowned at that, and then his eyes suddenly cleared. “Oh … you mean if something can knock Hermione out of his head?” George nodded at that, and Fred continued, “We can’t count on Ginny for that, do we?”

George shook his head, “No.” He thought about this for a moment. “No, we can’t be sure … maybe there’s still something there … but we don’t know, do we?”

Fred didn’t answer. He was again looking out the window of their room, watching Harry and Hermione who were now lying down on the grass, watching the clouds roll across the sky as the sun’s orb was a quarter up the horizon. George stood beside him, silently watching them also.

“You’re right. Those two have got some thing between them …”

George sighed. “The question, dear brother, is what? Are they just friends … or are they in the ‘friends but soon to be lovers’ stage?”

“In other words, do Ron and Ginny still have a chance at those two? Or do they need a little help from you and me? Hmmm?”

George was silent, deep in thought. Fred also looked outside, and then turned to George. “You know … you don’t look like Cupid, George.” His brother looked at him sharply. “You haven’t got the wings for it … you’ve got a face that can stop a clock … and I can’t imagine you flying around with little arrows tipped with love potion …”

“So what you’re saying is …”

“I vote we keep out of this.”

George stared at his brother. Fred continued, “I mean … it’s their life, after all. If Ron really likes Hermione … he better get going. I mean … the way things are going for those two down there, if he doesn’t do something, there will be no stopping them …”

George broke in, “You mean to say, our little brother better grow up. He’s not going to get anywhere if he keeps teasing and fighting with Hermione … “

Fred nodded. “All that crock about love-hate relationships turning into love is simply just that … crock … as you and Katie proved. You had to drop the act to get anywhere with her …”

“Hey, why pick on me? It worked, didn’t it?” George replied. “And besides …”

“Right, we’re going off-topic again,” Fred replied hastily, talking all over George’s rebuttal. “As for Ginny … if she wants to have something with Harry, she better get a move on … There’s nothing we can do … except pick up the pieces.”

“Maybe.” He amended himself.

George stared at him. After a moment, Fred started twitching uncomfortably at the silence emanating from his usually ebullient twin. “What?” he demanded from George. “I got dirt on my nose or something?”

George shook himself, as if from a dream. “No … it’s just that … what you said makes sense.” He thought about it. “In fact, it makes a lot of sense …”

“I know I’m right,” said Fred. “So what’s bothering you?”

George looked Fred straight in the eye. “You just said it, brother. We’ll leave them to deal with it … no interference from us? (Fred nodded.) No teasing from us? (Again, Fred nodded.) Not … a … thing … from … us?” (Fred nodded again, puzzled.)

“Don’t you see it, Fred?” Fred looked frightened as George grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “We’re being responsible, mature people, Fred! Does this mean that we are growing up?”

Fred’s eyes widened in shock. Looking at George, he whispered, “Oh, God! I hope not!”

* * * * *

Harry and Hermione lay quietly on the ground watching white, fluffy clouds roll across the blue sky. They felt at peace, contented within their tiny bubble of space and time, sharing a sense of friendship and companionship that they had never felt during the years they were growing up.

Their ears pricked up, however, when they heard the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen of the Weasley house – and they knew that Molly would be up, preparing breakfast for her expanded brood. Reluctantly, they sat up and looked around them, as if trying to preserve the memory of this moment forever.

Harry stood up then, brushing the mud and grass from his pants and held out a hand to his friend. For a moment, she looked at him – brown eyes holding onto greens – before she smiled and grasped his hand. Silently, he pulled her up and started beating grass and mud from her robes.

She looked down at her borrowed robes in surprise, and apologized, “Oh, Harry! I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to get your robes all dirty …”

He smiled at her again. “It’s OK, Mione. Besides, it’s not as if you were the one who dirtied it up.”

“OK, but I’ll clean it up when we get to my room … it’ll be as good as new …”

Harry held up a hand, stopping her. “Why don’t you keep it, Mione? I’ve grown too tall for it. Fact is, I keep wondering why I’ve held on to it … well, yeah, there was no Quidditch last year, so no need for new robes. I’ll just order a new set from Madam Malkins when we go to Diagon Alley.”

He had started walking back to the house, and paused when he felt Hermione wasn’t walking beside him. He looked at her, standing still in his robes (they were just right for her, he noted. She looked like she could be a Gryffindor Seeker!), a bemused expression on her face.

“Mione?”

“But … but, Harry! They’re your first ever Quidditch robes! Surely they should have some sentimental value for you?”

Harry looked down at his shoes, slowly digging a hole in the grass. He couldn’t explain why he felt the need to give her something of personal, and yes, sentimental, value to him. It just … felt … right … to give it to her … knowing that she would treasure it as much as he did. But he didn’t know why it felt so important to him now … all that he knew was that it was something he wanted to do, but couldn’t explain the reasons for.

He looked at her worried brown eyes, and had a sudden inspiration. “Hell, Hermione … you have just as much right to those robes as I do … call it thanks for all those times you’ve saved me on the Quidditch field.”

“Huh?” Hermione looked at him, puzzled – and then her face cleared as the memories suddenly kicked in … setting fire to Professor Snape’s robes when she thought he was jinxing Harry’s broom in their first year – and Harry’s first game … performing the Impervius charm on Harry’s glasses to repel water during a rainy game in their second year … helping Professor Flitwick gather up the broken pieces of Harry’s faithful Nimbus 2000 from the Whomping Willow in third … cheering like mad at every game, and wondering how she could shout when her heart was in her throat every single time … and an incident in second year that even now caused her to blush …

Harry’s worried voice penetrated her fevered brain, “Mione? What’s wrong?”

She looked into his green eyes and blushed even redder. “Ohhh … I was just remembering third year … and the Firebolt … can you forgive me for that?”

“Oh.” Harry looked at her, his eyes clearing momentarily from the worry that was there. “C’mon, Mione – that was two years ago! I’ve forgiven you.”

“Just wanted to make sure,” she said. She couldn’t tell him that what had caused her to blush was the memory of Ron and Neville fighting with Malfoy and his cronies under the benches of the Quidditch stands, while she was jumping up and down on top of the benches, cheering Harry on. She could never forget the look on Ron’s face when he emerged from the stands with a heavy nosebleed, happy and triumphant at having a piece of Malfoy – and his chagrin when he realized that she had been cheering Harry, not him! She hadn’t even noticed his nose bleeding until they were leaving the stands …

Looking back, she wondered (as she had a hundred or more times over the years) what was it about her friend that made her so ready to break the rules, just to keep him safe? For someone who held teachers in great respect, she had willingly set fire to Professor Snape’s robes – and that was in her first year. She had been just as prepared to use the Leg-Locker curse on Snape when he was refereeing the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game in that same year … to say nothing of actually hitting Snape (again!) with a Disarming Spell in their third year …

She looked at Harry and nodded, saying, “Thanks, Harry … I’ll treasure this, always.”

He grinned at her and, holding her by the elbow, started leading her towards the house, replying with a, “No … you’re welcome, Mione.”

He felt her stiffen, and turning to her, saw her eyes grow cold and furious. ‘Uh-oh!’ he thought, ‘I’ve gone too far …’

“Harry Potter! You know I hate that name!”

“Ah, well … since you didn’t seem to mind … I … uh …” All the while, he was slowly backing off from her.

“Mind? Oh, no … I don’t mind …” she said, advancing on him. “I don’t mind when you do it once or twice because I know you’re just doing it to tease me … but do you know how many times this morning you’ve been calling me that?”

“Three? Four?”

“Seven, Harry Potter. Seven times in the last five minutes …”

“Well, then, Mione … there’s just one thing for you to do.”

“And that is?” She asked with a deadly gleam in her eyes.

“Catch me if you can, Mione!” And with that, Harry scrambled for the door as fast as his legs could take him, Hermione in hot pursuit. He almost made it to the door, but was stumped to find it locked – without his wand, he couldn’t open it with the Alohomora charm … and that was where Hermione tackled him, pushing him against the door, hitting him mercilessly (if ineffectually) ...

And they both fell into the house as the door was wrenched open, and looked up into the bemused eyes of Ronald Weasley. Hermione scrambled up, her reddened face matched only by Harry’s blush … they opened their mouths to speak, to apologize, to say something …

“Mum’s been up for some time,” Ron said in a cold, flat voice to Hermione. His eyes focused on the Quidditch robes she wore before shifting to meet her eyes. For the briefest moment, she caught a glimpse of icy blue eyes that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, before Ron turned away with the accusatory comment, “You’d better hurry if you’re helping her fix breakfast.”

Hermione’s brown eyes flashed at his tone; dimly, she noticed Harry’s mouth drop and another surge of red flush over his face at Ron’s tone. Before either of them could make a comment, Ron turned away and walked out the open front door, tossing a “Tell Mum I’m going for a walk. See you later” over his shoulder.

Harry stared at his best friend’s back, confusion replacing the angry flush on his face at the tone he had taken with Hermione. If there was one thing guaranteed to rile his friend, it was to hint at irresponsibility or capriciousness, whether in word, tone or manner.

“What’s eating him?” he asked, only to see Hermione running up the stairs, a brief glimpse of slim legs seen as she removed the robe on her way up. “Hermione?”

She ignored his question, leaving him bewildered in the still-open doorway. He heard a soft, shuffling sound from the direction of the dining room and glanced there only to see Mrs. Weasley’s back as she retreated to the kitchen.

“What in hell is going on here?” Harry asked of the suddenly empty house.

Epiphanies - 02

Chapter 2. Brothers and Other Siblings

Ron strode briskly down the driveway of The Burrow, heading for the paddock where the brothers and Harry had played Quidditch many a time during the summers. He wanted to break out into a run so that the wind could cool his fevered face, but held himself in … no need to further embarrass himself, after that display.

His face burned, so much so that anyone looking at him would be quite unable to say where his hairline ended or began. ‘Of all the stupid …brainless … daft … things to say … if there’s one thing guaranteed to make Hermione barking mad … making her sound like … like she’s a maid or something …’

He shook his head, angry at himself and his hair-trigger temper …he had lost count of how many times his temperament had gotten him in hot water … not just in Hogwarts (especially when Malfoy was around) … but all during his growing up years … at times, it seemed that his life was nothing but a series of fights and near-fights, of insults given and insults taken … of his brothers and Ginny holding him back from trying to rub someone’s nose in the dirt … and, lately, of Harry and Hermione holding him back from making an ill-timed or ill-conceived move.

He smiled grimly – at least, he’d had a chance to bloody Malfoy’s nose in first year … although he hadn’t had that satisfaction again until the incident on the Hogwarts Express as they came home from fourth year. The last wasn’t as satisfying, however; he was only one of the five who had hexed Malfoy and his cronies (Fred and George had been with them), and he wasn’t sure if he had hit Malfoy … too much smoke from the combination of hexes they had simultaneously thrown.

He faltered in his walk … ‘yeah, that was fun,’ he thought savagely. ‘About time the stupid gits got something back for all those insults that Harry and Hermione stopped me from. Good thing I had a working wand …’

He shivered suddenly as his mind brought back the time he had tried hexing Malfoy with his Spell-o-taped wand, and he had ended up in Hagrid’s hut spewing up slugs. The mere thought of it made him want to throw up right there … he forced his mind to other things.

Like Hermione.

The brown hair that fell way past her shoulders and always seemed to fall like a curtain around her face … the brown eyes that sparked with laughter or anger (he had to admit, though, that it more often sparked anger at him) … the strong chin … the perfect teeth …

Teeth. Now why should he be thinking of that, of all things? He’d been there, but not with them, when Draco Malfoy and Harry had cast the hexes that ricocheted against each other – Harry’s Funnunculus Curse hitting Goyle, Malfoy’s Densaugeo hex hitting Hermione, causing her front teeth to grow at an alarming rate …

It wasn’t one of his fondest memories of the four years spent, so far, at Hogwarts. He and Harry had been so furious at Snape that they lost fifty points for Gryffindor (thank God there was no House Championship then because of the tournament!), and a detention pickling rat’s brains in Snape’s dungeon.

To top it all, that was the time when he wasn’t talking to Harry … teed off as he was with the Goblet of Fire’s designation of Harry as the second Hogwarts champion. Even now, he wished he could sink into the ground at the thought … better yet, he sometimes wished he could perform a Memory Charm on himself and Harry so that the recollection of those weeks would not come back to haunt him and taunt him, especially at times like this.

He forced his thoughts away from that, but they only shifted back to Hermione … Hermione going back and forth between the two of them, trying to convince them to start talking to each other again … his stubborn refusal to do so unless and until Harry admitted that he had lied to him about putting his name in the Goblet …

‘God, what an absolute prat I was!’, Ron thought. He knew, deep inside, that he was acting the complete fool, but he was just too stubborn to admit it. What made it worse was Rita Skeeter’s article on Harry, the Hogwarts’ Champion – she had quite forgotten that Cedric Diggory was also a Hogwarts’ Champion – and Harry’s supposedly “finding love” in the person of Hermione.

That had pissed him off, royally. It was as if he were a non-existent, unimportant smudge of dirt in the whole scheme of things … that his friendship with the great Harry Potter was of no consequence … the only reason Hermione even got a mention then was because she was a girl … on the other hand, maybe that was better. If Skeeter had focused on him … what would she have come up with?

He stopped, and burst out laughing. ‘Weird,’ he thought, “I was so mad at being left out of that dammed article that I didn’t even think of what it would have looked like if she did … what was that French word that Fred and George were sniggering about? Menage–a-trois? Now that would have sent Mum and Dad to the moon on their own power … On the other hand, if Skeeter had focused on me … bleargh!”

He looked back at his house … his home … the place he had shared with his best friends for the past three years. Was that the problem? he thought. He’d shared so much of what he could share with them … his home, his family, his knowledge of the wizarding world … his time … that he had felt left out … he couldn’t believe that Harry didn’t even tell him about putting his name into the Goblet …

He sighed, again, and sat on the dewy grass, holding his head in his hands. Yes, he thought, Hermione was a better friend than I was at that time … he couldn’t get past his anger at Harry, even with Hermione’s logical explanation at breakfast the day after Halloween. He could still remember her brown eyes flashing in anger at him as she said in a coldly furious voice, “Fine! Be a prat for all I care … why should Harry tell you anything when it’s obvious that he didn’t do anything?”

He’d watched her gather a stack of toast into a napkin, on her way, no doubt, to console Harry. He couldn’t stop himself hissing at her, “You care for him more than you do for me, Hermione! Why? Because he’s famous Harry Potter and I’m just an ordinary Weasley?”

For a single, wild moment, Ron fully understood what Draco Malfoy must have felt when Hermione, in a fit of righteous anger, slapped him in their third year. The fury in her eyes was something to behold … he’d consciously braced himself for the slap that he had so richly deserved … and sighed with relief when she stormed off with her stack of toast.

The whole table had fallen silent at that exchange. When he looked around at his companions, no one was looking at him. Even Fred, George and Ginny had avoided him when he looked at them … only Neville had the courage (or the sheer tactlessness) to make the statement that capped that morning for him, “That was stupid, Ron.”

He knew everyone at the table agreed.

He sighed. He’d made up for that stupid remark later, and was always extremely grateful that Hermione seemed to have forgotten about it by that afternoon. But, like a still unhealed wound, the memory kept pricking at him at unwanted times … reminding him, once again, of the flaws in his character … the flaws that made him, Ron Weasley, what he was now …

He shook the thought off, and stood up. He didn’t need that kind of thinking to muddle up his day, so early in the morning. He continued his brisk walk to the paddock, but the turmoil in his mind refused to leave.

What was he now, he wondered to himself. Ronald Weasley. Sixth child in a brood of seven. Family of pure-bloods, as far as he knew. Father, Arthur Weasley, head of an obscure and boring department in the Ministry of Magic. Mother, Molly Weasley, house-witch. Tall, red headed, with big feet and hands. Two brothers, former Head Boys of Hogwarts – one now working with Gringotts, the other with the Ministry of Magic. Another brother, star Quidditch player and Seeker, who could have played for England if he wanted to, but happier and thriving as he chased dragons in Rumania.

Two other brothers, Quidditch Beaters but better known for the pranks and misdeeds that matched or even outshone the pranks of the legendary Marauders. If ever Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes got off the ground, they’d be even more popular in the wizarding world, rather than in the limited circle of the Hogwarts’ student body and alumni.

One sister, who opened the Chamber of Secrets in her first year. He reflected that that was a reputation he could very well do without but wondered, briefly, how Ginny put up with it.

And he? What was his claim to fame?

He was the best friend of The Boy Who Lived.

Yeah, right … but even that was being threatened by Hermione Granger. After Skeeter’s articles in the Daily Prophet during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the fact of his friendship with Harry Potter was thrown into the shadows, eclipsed by the titillating matter of The Boy Who Lived’s love life. More so when her name was linked with that of Victor Krum, the star of the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team.

So, what was he? He did have that Award for Special Services to the school, after they had rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets … but who cared? Who would even remember about it, fifty years from now? He remembered his detention in the trophy room during that same year, polishing up all those plaques and awards … he had surprised Harry and Hermione when he told them who Tom Riddle was, but that was only because he had spent so much time polishing the dammed award – only to spew out slugs all over the shiny thing …

Was that how he was going to be remembered in the future? By some unfortunate student in detention, forced to shine plaques and awards without resort to magic, and thereby coerced into remembering his name because of the odious task? And if that unfortunate ever tried to find out what it was that earned him that award … he’d have learned that it had something to do with Harry Potter … and his moment of glory will fade away …

He mused again about the Mirror of Erised, and what it had reflected back to him when he stood before it the first time. He’d had an easier time of it than Harry … Harry had kept coming back again and again, evading detection from Filch and the professors so that he could sit in front of the mirror and contemplate his parents.

It had taken Dumbledore and the actual removal of the Mirror to break Harry’s enchantment with it. He, on the other hand, needed only that one look to convince him that the Mirror was lying, and was a bad influence. Why? Because he knew that what he saw in the Mirror, enchanting as it was, a reflection of his deepest desires that it was, was ultimately false. He would never be Head Boy … he would never be captain of Quidditch … he would never be receiving the Quidditch Cup or the House Cup from Dumbledore … he would never be anything than what he was now … a virtual non-entity in the wizarding world, except for his friendship with Harry.

From the depths of his mind’s graveyards where a thousand or a million unwanted thoughts were buried, came Draco Malfoy’s cutting words as they waited to be Sorted: “No need to ask who you are. Red hair, hand me down robes. You can only be a Weasley.”

That was his claim to fame then … and he remembered with immense gratification and surprise Harry’s reaction when Draco extended his hand to him: “I think I can decide who I want as my friends.”

Malfoy had never been able to live that snub down; he had taken every opportunity to taunt Ron and Hermione ever since. He had never taken those insults lightly: too many times had Harry and Hermione stopped him from trying to curse Malfoy. Hermione, on the other hand, allowed the insults to roll off her … except when she had slapped Malfoy for laughing at Hagrid, and on the Hogwarts Express when they were going home.

He had to admit, though, that he admired Hermione for her coolness in dealing with insults – even during their fourth year with all the insults and jeers, to say nothing of the hate mail when Skeeter claimed she was playing with the affections of Harry and Krum. She had never let it affect her … it had always been Ron who stood up for her …

No, he admitted to himself. Harry did, too … again, the “teething” incident came to mind. Harry hadn’t reacted when Draco and the Slytherins were flashing their “Support Cedric Diggory” buttons around – he’d pulled his wand when Draco insulted Hermione … which led to the unfortunate circumstances … or maybe not. At least she’d gotten her teeth fixed magically … the now-perfect teeth that …

Again, he pushed the thought away. He was beginning to feel like that Greek guy who was forever pushing a rock up a mountain, only to see it slide down and away every time he neared the top. Walks alone like this bothered him … too much time to think and reflect. He preferred walking with someone beside him, chattering … at least, he didn’t have to think about his life …

Which, to a large extent, was the reason why he often seemed to be bickering with Hermione. Harry, good friend that he was, too often fell prey to introspection and deep thinking, used as he was to silence when he was growing up. Ron, on the other hand, liked the noise … it kept him from thinking too much. Which was why he often picked on Hermione … even when they’d called a truce after the Yule Ball …

He’d reached the paddock and stopped. Taking a deep breath of the fresh, cool air, he looked around at the place where he had grown up. The paddock was high enough to afford a good view of the surrounding countryside … but he had never liked that view. It made him feel insignificant … as if he didn’t feel insignificant every day of his life.

‘This is a bad idea,’ he thought. ‘Best get back to the house …’ but he cringed at the thought. How was he going to take back that hurtful tone of voice he used to Hermione … and how did he explain things like that to his best friend? They were both guests of the family … as well as his two best friends in the world …

“Hey, Ron.”

Startled, he spun around to see a slight figure sitting on the ground, wearing a scarlet Quidditch robe … and saw brown eyes staring at him. His mouth dropped, his chest beating rapidly for a split second before his brain registered the ray of sunlight that brilliantly highlighted a head of hair as red as his own, as well as the fact that the Quidditch robes were old, worn and faded.

“Wh … what are you doing here, Ginny?” he croaked.

“Thinking,” his sister replied. Peering at his stricken expression, she asked, “Why? Were you expecting someone else? Like … ummm … Herm-own-ninny?”

“Shut up, Ginny,” he said as he leaned against a tree. He was looking away from her, and heard her giggling softly. His face flushed, but he resolutely forced the retort away from his lips. “So, what are you doing here, Gin?”

“As I said, thinking. I’ve been up for hours … sitting here … watching the world go by and the sun come up.”

His head whipped to her and he heard his voice speaking before he could clamp down on his lips, “Did you …”

“Uh-huh. It was so sweet …” Ginny said in a wistful voice. She was looking off into the distance, pictures, images and words passing through her mind’s eye. Ron turned away from her … he didn’t want to hear anything about that right now. Although he hadn’t really seen anything, the image of Harry and Hermione when they fell through the door, with Hermione in Harry’s mud- and grass-stained robes was something he would gladly do without. His head whipped back, however, as he heard Ginny say in a near-whisper, “It reminded me so much of Bill …”

“Bill?”

Ginny looked at him with an exasperated air. “Is there any other Bill that you know? Hellooo … of course, Bill … you know, your oldest brother?”

Ron gaped at her. She continued in a wistful voice, “He and I used to sit out there when I was seven or eight years old, just watching the sun rise. We never really talked … he just sat there with me … it was somehow … comforting to me … sometimes, he’ll just hug me and I would feel safe … as if everything that was happening was going to be all right.”

Ginny’s voice and breathing hitched, “He found me sitting on that terrace outside the hotel in Egypt … he just sat down beside me … gave me a hug, and we watched the sunrise together … I felt comfortable … at peace, finally after … after …”

He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, and stood there, frozen. He didn’t know what to do or how to react … wildly, his mind went back to third year when a crying Hermione suddenly hugged him when he promised to help her with Hagrid’s appeal for Buckbeak … and he knew what he must do now.

He walked over and sat down beside his sister, and gave her as tight a hug as he could, and felt her tears leaking through his shirt. “Shhh,” he whispered as he tried to comfort her, “Shhh, come on, it’s all right … it’s all right …”

He heard Ginny’s muffled voice coming from the region of his chest, “It was so sweet, Ron … I thought I heard Harry going out of the house, and I wanted to go with him … but then I heard Hermione getting up and going out … I couldn’t help myself … I went and got Charlie’s old robes … remember, he gave them to me when he graduated from Hogwarts … and went out here to watch … it was so beautiful …”

“They weren’t snogging the whole time, were they?” Ron said, trying for a light moment – and was surprised when Ginny suddenly shoved him away. He fell back on the wet grass, narrowly missing the thick roots of a tree. “Ow! What did you do that for?”

Ginny was standing over him, hands on hips, brown eyes blazing with fury. For a brief, frightening moment, he thought it was Hermione standing over him – except that this Hermione had blazing red hair … “You can be a daft, insensitive, dense, prat, Ron! And you’ve got a dirty mind, to boot!”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think?” he blazed back. “They spend hours out here, and come back to the house all muddied up, as if they’ve been mud-wrestling … looking happy and contented … leaving me, their “best” friend behind … they’re not even sharingwhat they’re talking about with me …”

“Wow!” Ginny said, in a highly sarcastic tone, “Jealous, are we?”

“Shut up, Ginny,” he said from his position on the ground. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Harry and Hermione had a quiet moment together … in much the same way that Bill and I had our quiet moments … and then, you come up here with your dirty mind and mess it up …”

“Well, he’s not her brother, is he?”

Ginny stared at him, momentarily stunned into silence. In a hoarse whisper, she said, “You dumb, stupid, pathetic git. Harry might as well be, they might as well be … he’s an only child … she’s an only child … where else do you think they’ll find that kind of comfort and affection? From you? That’s a laugh!”

Ron, who had stood up, was rocked back by that statement. Brother-sister affection? Harry, thinking of Hermione as nothing more than a sister that he’d never had? Hermione, seeing in Harry a brother that she never had? Some part of his fevered brain locked on to that thought and saw the logic behind it … but the stubbornly tactless part of his being responded, “Stop that oh, so holy act, Ginny! You’re just jealous of Hermione … you wanted to be in her place … you want to be the one hugging and kissing Harry … you wanted to be the one to get his Quidditch robes …”

Some primal instinct made him duck and step back, barely missing the open-handed slap that Ginny threw at him. As he stepped back, however, he stumbled once again on an exposed tree root, and laid there, looking up at a blazingly furious Ginny Weasley.

“So what if I wanted to? At least, he’ll be there for me … he’d be hugging me … he’d be comforting me … he’d have protected me! He’d be better as a brother than you, you stupid git … so tied up in yourself … so tied up with the Trio that you don’t have any time for your sister … at least Harry cares … you never did!” With that, Ginny turned and ran away from him, her robes flapping.

Ron froze, shocked. “Bloody hell,” he thought, “I’ve really done it this time!”

He jumped to his feet and looked around. Ginny was running away from the paddock, her tear-clouded eyes blurring the fact that she was not headed for The Burrow but was running blindly away. Ron started running after her, his long legs swiftly closing the distance, as he shouted, “Ginny! Wait! I’m sorry, Ginny … please!”

Ginny didn’t hear him, or wouldn’t listen to him. He doubled his speed, finally catching up with her and, using a tactic from their younger days, grabbed her in a crushing bear hug. Ginny, however, tried to fight back, hitting him with her fists, crying all the time, telling him, “Let go of me! Let go, I said …”

He only hugged her tighter, whispering, “I’m sorry, Gin … I’m so sorry … It’s just that … I don’t know … call it jealousy … call it what you will … I’m so sorry … You’re right … I should have been more of a brother … I’m just a stupid, insensitive git … you don’t deserve me …”

Finally, Ginny gave up hitting him, but she did not return his hug. She stood still, while he hugged her and, to her utter surprise, she felt tears falling on her hair. She heard him speaking in a hoarse whisper, “I’m sorry, Ginny … I should have been there for you … I didn’t know what to do … when I learned you’d been taken into the Chamber … I just … just collapsed … I couldn’t think straight … couldn’t do anything …”

Finally, Ginny hugged her brother. “But you were there, Ron … I was so surprised … getting out of the Chamber … seeing you there, trying to dig a way out of the tunnel …”

Ron interrupted her, “I wouldn’t have been there if Harry hadn’t gone after you … I would have been sitting around the common room with Fred, George and Percy … sitting around, waiting for word whether they’d found you … it’s a good thing that Harry decided to go to Lockhart …”

He trailed off. That was another memory he would prefer to have forgotten, or obliviated out of his mind. He didn’t want to go over it again with Ginny … she had been the cause of it, whether she liked it or not, even if she had been corrupted and enchanted by that infernal diary … he didn’t want to dredge up old, painful memories again.

He felt her shifting uncomfortably, and he let go. Ginny turned away from him, and said in a small voice, “I miss Bill.”

“So do I.” Ron took a deep breath. “He’d always known what to do … what exactly to say … I should have learned more from him.” He looked away from Ginny, and said in a low voice, “He’s almost like Harry in some ways … he’ll just do the right thing … say the right words … he won’t even need to think about it … he’ll just do it, and things turn out all right, one way or another.”

“He’s a great friend, Ron.”

“Who? Bill?”

“Harry.”

“Yeah.”

They’d sat down, facing each other, lost in their respective thoughts. The silence stretched … and then Ron said, “You’re right. He’d make a great brother … especially to an immature, insecure git like me.”

“Yeah.”

“But … I think he’d make a better brother-in-law, don’t you?”

Ginny’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed – prepared for an angry retort. She was surprised to see Ron smiling at her, an eyebrow raised in that mocking look she knew too well … and realized that he was serious. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t being sarcastic … he was simply stating a fact to her.

“Yeah, he would.” A smile flickered across her face. “For you or for me?”

“Oi,” he shouted, throwing some grass at her, which she ducked. “What do you think of me? A fairy?”

“Well …” she said with a smirk. This time, Ron grabbed her in a headlock and started tickling her, saying “Take that back, you … you … witch.”

“OK, OK,” she said, laughing. “I take it back … I take it back …”

Ron let go of her, and they looked at each other. Ginny giggled … Ron snickered … soon enough, the siblings were rolling on the ground, laughing. The paddock rang with their laughter … manic, hysterical, but somehow cleansing, for both of them … they hadn’t laughed together like this for ages … he’d always been laughing at her, or she would be laughing at him … they’d forgotten the joy that shared merriment gave, especially to siblings that seemed to have grown apart …

Soon enough, the laughter stopped as they felt a stitch in their sides. They looked at each other, and smiled.

“Thanks, Ginny. I needed that,” Ron said.

“No, thank you, brother o’ mine.” Ron smiled, Ginny hadn’t called him that, except in a sarcastic manner, since he had gone to Hogwarts four years ago. Somehow, it seemed right that she called him that now, a reaffirmation of the affection that they’d had for each other somewhere in what had seemed to be a lost childhood for both.

“So, what now, Gin-ninny?” Ginny glanced at him with a smile – that was his nickname for her when she was much, much younger. She’d always found it endearing … until the day she learned what a “ninny” meant … it had taken Ron a week before the bruises she gave him faded.

“Want a fat lip, brother o’ mine?” Ron held up both hands in a defensive gesture, and shook his head. Ginny looked up at the sky, as if hoping that an answer could be found there. She suddenly stood up, excitedly pointing something out to Ron, “Look, Ron! School owls!”

He shaded his eyes and looked where she was pointing. Sure enough, several owls were flying towards The Burrow. He also stood up, and brushed off the seat of his pants. “Let’s head back, Ginny … Mum’ll be worried.”

“OK.”

They started walking back to the house; for once, Ron felt comfortable with the silence from his sister. After a minute, however, he spoke up, “Ginny?”

She stopped and looked at him, eyebrow raised in a question. “Ummm …” he said, uncomfortably. “Promise me … next time I start acting like a prat … don’t wait for Hermione to hit me … do it yourself.”

She looked at him, surprised – and saw that he was serious. Slowly, she nodded, “OK. I promise.”

Ron nodded at her, and started walking again. She stood still for a moment, a smile slowly forming on her face. In a lilting voice, she called out, “Ronnnie!”

Ron stopped and looked at her. Suddenly, she slapped him – a move which he just barely ducked. “What was that for?”

She smiled. “You asked for it … that was for what you did earlier.”

“Hey, I said staring now … I haven’t done anything yet!”

“You will,” she smirked at him. “You will …”

“Why, you …” he made a move to grab her, but she eluded him. Sticking her tongue out at him in a gesture again reminiscent of their childhood, she suddenly bolted for the house, laughing.

Ron shook his head, smiled, and started running after her, calling out threats the whole time.

Epiphanies - 03

Chapter 3. School Owls and Announcements

Molly Weasley looked out of her kitchen window and saw Ron and Ginny tearing down the paddock, laughing. “That’s nice,” she thought. “I haven’t seen those two having fun like that in years.”

She didn’t realize that she had spoken aloud until Harry, who was in the kitchen getting out plates and cutlery, said in a wistful voice, “It must be nice having a sister.”

She looked at him standing beside her, looking out the window. “Yes it is …” She thought she saw a slightly bitter smile cross his face, and realized that he must be thinking of his mother and her sister, the infamous Aunt Petunia. Before she could speak further, however, he turned to her with a genuine smile.

“Depends on the sister, I suppose,” he said, still smiling. Before she could react to that, he continued, “Ginny’s nice … a bit like Hermione, but without the bossiness.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled back at him, and said, “I heard. Ron’s always complaining about it … but I think Hermione’s been good for both of you.”

“Oh, yes!” Harry replied. “I honestly don’t know how Ron and I would have gotten through the school work – especially Potions – without her.”

Mrs. Weasley kept quiet, as he continued, “She’s been wonderful last year … I honestly don’t think I could have gotten through the tournament without her. She helped me with the Summoning Charm … found all those hexes and the Shield Charm ...” He fell silent, his brilliant green eyes dulling and turning blank, his mind turning again unbidden to the Tri-Wizard tournament. Before Molly could speak, he shook himself and smiled at her.

“I’m all right, Mrs. Weasley. No need to be worried about me.”

Molly bit her lip, knowing that Harry would feel uncomfortable if she voiced her concerns. Casting about desperately for something to say, she started to ask, “Is that why …”

Whatever she was about to ask was interrupted as they heard the front door slam shut – almost immediately followed by a loud BANG which seemed to shake the whole house. “Heavens!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “What was that?”

They rushed out of the kitchen to the front door where they saw a gasping Ginny kneeling on the floor, clutching a stitch at her side – and Hermione also kneeling by the door, doubled up with suppressed laughter … and Ron’s voice outside the door, yelling, “Open up in there! I’ll get you … whoever you are … that hurt, you know.”

Hermione had apparently opened the door in time for Ginny to fly in – and closed it on the hot-in-pursuit Ron. She finally pulled open the door, to reveal an angry Ron who was clutching his shoulder, apparently in pain. Hermione’s laughter disappeared and her face paled, “Oh, Ron! Did I hurt … I’m sorry … I thought you would be able to stop in time … I’m sorry …”

Ron walked into the house, an angry look on his face. As he passed an apologizing-by-the-mile Hermione, he suddenly grabbed her in a headlock and started tickling her ribs. “Gotcha!” he cried, “this’ll teach you to slam the door in my face!”

Hermione, laughing, tried to grab his hands as he tickled her. Ginny, finally getting her breath back, leapt in to help her, and the three were soon rolling around on the floor. Mrs. Weasley and Harry looked at each other, smiling, and then Harry spoke up in a surprisingly deep voice, “Children, children, behave! What will your Mum think?”

The three on the floor broke apart and stood up, embarrassed. Mrs. Weasley smiled, looking from one to the other, trying to gauge which one had the reddest face. It looked like Hermione was the clear winner, although Ron and Ginny were not far behind. Ron, typically, was the first to recover. With a broad grin, he said, “Oh, sod off, Harry!”

“Sod off, Harry?” Harry responded in a hurt voice. “I thought we agreed that that term was to be used only for Malfoy?”

Ron looked at him for a moment. “OK. Shut up, Harry.”

This time, the four of them burst out laughing while Mrs. Weasley looked from one to the other with a bemused expression. With a clatter, the Twins burst into the room, asking, “What? What happened? Did we miss anything?” at which Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny started laughing harder.

Fred and George looked at each other, and at their mother, with bewildered expressions on their faces. Molly, smiling, turned back towards the kitchen, saying, “Since you’re all up, anyway, we can have breakfast …”

Turning to Ginny and Ron, she asked, “Why were you running so hard coming back?”

Before either one could respond, the answer came as six owls flew into the house. Circling around, they spotted their targets and dropped letters (in Hermione’s case, the owl also had a small package which it dropped into her hands) before flying out the still-open door.

“Ah! School owls!” George said, unnecessarily. They started opening their envelopes with the Hogwarts’ seals, but they all stopped when they saw Hermione, frowning, shaking the small box which, surprisingly, also had the Hogwarts crest on its wrapping.

Ginny squealed in delight as she said, “I know what that is! I know what that is!”

Fred, George, and Ron groaned simultaneously – they knew what the box contained, having suffered a similar experience a few years before. Harry, however, looked lost, and urged Hermione to open it.

Excitedly, she opened the box to reveal a silver Hogwarts badge with the letter “P” on it. This time, she was squealing with delight, and jumping up and down … and to the surprise of everyone in the room, suddenly hugged Harry. “I made it! I made it!” she squealed. Although everyone expected that she would be made a prefect, she had only confided to Harry her fears that her adventures with him would have queered her chances.

Harry hugged her also (ignoring the looks from the others). “Congratulations, Mione! I knew you’d make it … Oww!” he said, as Hermione let go of him, and gave him a punch on the shoulder. “OK, OK … I guess I can’t call you that anymore … or you’ll start taking points off Gryffindor!”

“You’re darn right I will!” She suddenly seemed to be aware of the others in the room, and turned to Ron, a stricken look on her face. “Oh, Ron! I’m sorry … I hope you don’t mind … my being a Prefect and all …”

“Mind?” Ron said, with a broad smile, “Why should I mind? Just so long as you take points off Malfoy every time he looks crosswise at me!”

Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm, “I couldn’t do that! Everyone knows we hate him … Snape will try to take this away from me for doing that.”

“Ah, well, it was worth a thought,” Ron said, smiling. He held out his hand to her, “Congratulations, Hermione. It couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

She took his hand, and impulsively hugged him. “Thanks, Ron … you’re such a dear.” She didn’t notice the huge smiles on the faces of the others (including Harry’s). Then, Fred, George, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were crowding around her, offering their congratulations. Fred, in a loud voice, said, “Hey, let’s treat the new prefect to some ice cream at Florean Fortescue’s later! We’re going to Diagon Alley, right, Mom?”

Mrs. Weasley nodded, warily.

“Great! Our treat!” Fred cried.

“And where will you be getting the money for that?” Molly Weasley asked in a low, dangerous voice.

“Mum!” George protested. “Ludo Bagman sent us the money he owed us for last year’s Quidditch World Cup. A little late … but better late than, you know.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley responded. “Well … we better get to breakfast, then. We should be leaving for Diagon Alley before lunch.”

As the family moved towards the dining room, Fred quietly blocked Harry’s path, making sure that they were left behind. Harry looked at Fred, puzzled. In a low voice, Fred said, “I know it’s not for the joke shop, Harry, but I felt you wouldn’t mind if we treated everybody to ice cream for Hermione’s ummm … promotion.”

Harry smiled. He’d suspected as much and told Fred, “No problem … although I would have made the offer if you hadn’t stepped in. Tell you what, I’ll pay you back for the treat later, just so your … investment remains intact.”

“Don’t worry about that, Harry,” George said, after making sure that the rest of the family was safely in the dining room. “We’re bringing a bunch of merchandise to Zonko’s later. If they buy the lot, we’ll have it covered … including new robes for ickle Ronniekins.”

“OK,” Harry said, dubiously. “But if you need any help …”

“Let’s go in before they miss us,” Fred said, overriding his objections. Harry looked at the two and nodded.

* * * * *

“That’s strange,” they heard Hermione say as they took their seats at the table (Harry sitting to one side of Hermione, while Ron was sitting on the other). She looked up at Harry and then at Ron, “I’m the only one named as the Gryffindor Prefect. My counterpart is listed as “To Be Announced.”

George frowned at that. “That is strange. They usually name the prefects for the different houses at the same time …”

“Well, no use worrying about it,” Molly Weasley said, briskly. “I’m sure the school has its reasons … now eat up, children, or we’ll be late.”

Harry, who was reading his letter from Hogwarts, suddenly looked at Ginny with a twinkle in his eye. “Hey, Ginny, I didn’t know you were getting top marks in Arithmancy … it seems you’re even better at it than Hermione.”

Ginny dropped her fork on her plate, blushing furiously at the same time, as the others (especially Hermione) looked at her in surprise. “Well … yeah, I am. How did you know that?”

“Long story, Ginny,” Harry said, turning away from her.

Ginny suddenly slammed her small fist on the table, and in an exasperated voice, said, “Harry!”

Harry simply grinned at her.

Ginny could feel herself blushing as Harry’s green eyes met hers. Normally, she would have turned away from his brilliant greens, but she had long resolved to change the way she acted around him … this time, she tried giving him a glare that she had seen Hermione do several times over the years (“Hermione’s death-glare,” Ron had called it) … and her mouth dropped in shock as she watched Harry lose his grin, and swallowed uncomfortably …

“OK, OK … no need to look at me like that,” Harry said. Ginny’s mouth dropped (‘It actually works?’ she thought wildly) and closed her mouth as Harry continued, “Well, I owled Professor McGonagall early this summer, asking if I could drop Divination and take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy in its place …”

“What?” Ron asked in surprise as he too, dropped his fork. “You’re dropping Divination?” Hermione, however, looked pleased and said, “Good for you, Harry!”

“Well … McGonagall said I can’t drop Divination … so I have a choice of either Ancient Runes or Arithmancy. But since I’m staring fifth year, I’ll have to catch up … here, read her letter,” he said, handing the parchment over to Ron. Hermione crowded him as she looked over his shoulder, which he started reading aloud:

“Dear Mr. Potter:

Professor Dumbledore and myself are pleased with your request to take on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes in place of Divination for the coming year. We, and other teachers, believe that this is a sign of your growing maturity and sense of responsibility.

Unfortunately, while we applaud your intentions, we cannot allow you to drop Divination after having taken it for two years, and getting top marks in said subject. (Hermione choked at this point, and Harry had to rub her back to get her over the choking fit.) It would only set a dangerous precedent which would only damage the school and its curricula.

(“Ha!” Hermione interjected. “She means damaging Trelawney’s reputation!” “Shhh, Hermione, I want to hear this,” Ginny said.)

Accordingly, we are allowing you to take either Ancient Runes or Arithmancy in addition to Divination. We feel confident that you will be able to take on the additional load without any trouble, or adverse effect, to your other responsibilities.

(“What other responsibilities?” Ron demanded. Harry shrugged. “Probably the Quidditch team. I’m still the Seeker, remember?” “Oh, right,” said Ron).

However, since you will be starting either subject as a first year, you will have a lot of catching up to do in order to finish on time. Your teacher, whichever subject you finally choose, will therefore, be giving you extra assignments in order for you to catch up with your year-level.

I would also suggest that you seek assistance from students who can mentor you in your chosen subject. May I suggest you speak with either Miss Hermione Granger in your year, or Miss Virginia Weasley, a fourth year, regarding the matter. Miss Granger, as you know, has been getting top marks in Ancient Runes, while Miss Weasley has been garnering top marks in Arithmancy – even better than Miss Granger when she was taking up the subject in third and fourth year.

(Ron looked up at Ginny, who was blushing furiously and looking down at her plate. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking at Ginny with open-mouthed surprise, as if she couldn’t believe that anyone could beat her grades!)

I’m sure they will also be able to help you decide which subject would be best suited for you.

Please owl me before the 31st of August with your decision. In the meantime, please find attached the course books for both subjects, so that you can purchase the necessary materials once you have arrived at a decision.

Thank you, and my congratulations for your improved sense of maturity and responsibility.

Sincerely,

MINERVA McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

The silence following the reading of the letter was broken by a loud snicker from George, who said, “Well, Ginny. Looks like you’re going to follow in the illustrious footsteps of Bill and Percy … what’s it gonna be? Prefect next year, and then Head Girl in seventh year?”

Ginny blushed even deeper and was about to retort when George held up his hands, “Just joking, Ginny! That’s great … I think we’ll be the only family with three Head People from Hogwarts. Kind of hits you right here (hitting his chest), doesn’t it?”

“Four, if we count Hermione in … Owww!” Fred said, as George kicked him under the table.

Hermione, blushing, laughed at the two. “Much as I love you guys, I’m still a Granger at heart, not a Weasley … I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley!”

“No problem, dear. I understand …” Molly Weasley smiled at her, while looking daggers at Fred, who had mumbled, “More’s the pity!” under his breath. Fortunately, no one else at the table heard this.

“So, Harry,” Ron said bracingly. “Which subject will you be taking?”

“Huh? Oh … ummm, I haven’t decided yet.” Harry said, looking down at his plate, and playing with the food on it. He looked up at Ron with a smile, “I’ll probably toss a coin and see what comes up on August 30th.”

“Oi!” Ron laughed, tossing a roll at him. “After two years of Divination, that’s the best you can come up with? No tea leaves, crystal balls or something?”

While this exchange was going on, Fred and George had been surreptitiously kicking each other under the table as they watched the almost similar reactions of their sister, and Hermione. Both girls had slightly reddened cheeks … Ginny was pushing food around her plate, while Hermione seemed to be engrossed with memorizing the letter naming her as a prefect.

Ron continued, “It shouldn’t be that difficult a choice. What do you think, Ginny? Hermione? Which one should Harry take?”

Both girls looked up in surprise, and glanced at each other, only to look away at once. Surprisingly, both girls seemed to be at a loss for words, gesturing for the other to make the first suggestion. Ron looked at the two, brow furrowed in surprise. Harry, however, was looking at the ceiling as if the answer could be found there.

The silent tableau was suddenly broken when the twins suddenly stood up and bolted out of the room, apologizing profusely as they left. Molly, frowning at their departing backs, said, “I don’t think you need to make a decision right now, Harry dear. Why don’t you put it off for the moment … Arthur and Percy should be home tonight, you can ask their advice.”

Harry, Hermione and Ginny all smiled at her, as Harry said, “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I think I’ll do just that.”

“What about your books, Harry?” Hermione asked.

He smiled at her, “I can always borrow the basic references from you and Ginny … or I can get both later when we get to Diagon Alley. It’s not a problem.”

“I don’t believe it!” They all looked in surprise at Ron, who had spoken. “You’re gonna turn into a bookworm like these two, mate! I expect I won’t be seeing you around as much since you’ll soon be buried in the library …”

“Ron!” Both girls exclaimed loudly, and slapped him on the arm. Their impending tirades were stopped when Fred and George, furtively wiping their eyes, came back and sat down to their unfinished breakfasts. Mrs. Weasley glared at them and they focused on their plates, hastily finishing up their eggs and bangers.

“Goodness, look at the time!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “Children, you’d better hurry up if we’re still going to Diagon Alley.” Obediently, they all bent to their plates, and resumed eating.

* * * * *

Ginny tackled her food with renewed energy. She’d been nonchalant about her grades, simply telling her parents that she was doing quite well … knowing the teasing she will be getting from Ron and the Twins if they thought she was trying to emulate Percy. In truth, it was Bill’s footsteps that she was following in …

And she would finally get a chance to work closely with Harry! She knew that the others thought she still had a major crush on The Boy Who Lived … the reality was that that had been gone since her second year at Hogwarts … she wanted this chance to work with him, however … it was the opportunity to pay him back for rescuing her from the Chamber of Secrets …

Her mind wandered back to that eventful year and, as the memories grew darker, she focused her mind on the single incident that served as her talisman against the darkness that surrounded her: the moment of waking up in the Chamber, and seeing Harry Potter, in bloodstained robes hurrying towards her … showing her the destroyed diary … helping her to her feet and guiding her out … and all the time, holding … holding her …

That was the single brightest spot in her memories of her first year at Hogwarts – not the moments that embarrassed her … not the fact of waking up, alive, after the torturous and traitorous thoughts that filled her mind for days … not seeing Mum and Dad in McGonagall’s office, and being wrapped in her Mum’s warm arms … but of Harry holding her …

She glanced up then, and caught Harry looking at her, his green eyes sparkling with an inner mischief. She smiled at him, and he winked back at her … and Ginny felt a warm flush rising in her face. ‘Darn it,’ she thought. ‘Will I ever get over that blushing and flushing whenever Harry paid her any sort of attention? Everyone thinks that it’s because I still have a crush on him …’

And she sighed to herself. Simply because she had never told anyone – even Harry – about it. But what the hell do you tell them? ‘Sorry, I don’t have a crush on you anymore … I still blush, however, because you saved my life, you know …’ Hearing that statement in her head, she knew how everyone would react … they’d simply laugh at her …

Well, maybe not, she thought, as she contemplated her now-emptied plate. Harry wouldn’t laugh at her … he’d probably be embarrassed by it … try to talk her out of it … well, she sighed again, at least she’ll have a chance to discuss it with him …

Or maybe not. She’d looked up in time to see Harry glance at Hermione – and caught Hermione’s warm smile at Harry, which he returned. ‘Hmph’, she thought, ‘I sometimes wonder about those two.’ In spite of her brave words to Ron … she still wondered about them.

She’d known Hermione for about as long as she’d known Harry, of course … they’d shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express in her first year, when Ron and Harry were left behind … and arrived at Hogwarts in her father’s flying Ford Anglia. She’d felt like a lost lamb on the train … Percy had gone off with the Prefects (and probably to snog with Penelope) … the Twins had run off with Lee Jordan … luckily, Hermione had introduced herself … and they spent the trip alternately laughing and worrying about her missing brother and his friend.

It was great fun for the young Ginny … it was an opportunity to get to know Harry better without him knowing … everything Hermione told her about their first year had, of course, gone into that infernal diary (Ginny blocked her mind again about what happened to those memories) … and she’d formed her first impressions about the girl who had featured so prominently in Ron and Harry’s stories.

She could see the bossiness and take-charge manner that the boys had so often laughed about … but she could also see the intelligence and thirst for knowledge that, surprisingly, Harry had talked about during his summer stay with the Weasleys. She’d felt some sympathy for Hermione’s insecurities about fitting in with the wizarding world … although Ginny was a pure-blood, she didn’t have the snobbish pride for it that others, like that odious Malfoy had.

She’d tried reassuring Hermione about this, pointing out that there were many Muggle-born witches around (she recalled her Mum saying that Harry’s Mum was also a Muggle-born) … They’d left the train as friends that day -- but had drifted apart over the course of the year. She had her own friends, of course (including Colin Creevey and his ever-present camera trying to document every moment of Harry’s life at Hogwarts) … and Hermione had Harry and Ron, of course.

Plus she had the diary to confide her thoughts and fears to … she shivered again, involuntarily and quickly focused on her mental talisman of Harry holding her as he led her out of the Chamber to drive back the darkness …

“Ginny … Ginny … hey, Ginny, wake up!” For a second, her mind was confused … she was looking into Harry’s eyes … hearing Harry’s voice … felt Harry holding her … and snapped her head when she realized that she was sitting in The Burrow …

“Excuse me?” she asked, looking around in confusion – seeing Harry and Hermione’s worried faces, her brothers’ broad grins (doubtless, they were thinking that she was lost in a dream world with Harry), and her Mom’s look of concern.

“Are you all right, Ginny?” She turned to Harry’s worried face. “Hermione and I were talking about Arithmancy, and we wanted to get your opinion … you seemed to be spaced out there for a while.”

“Oh … I was just … thinking of something. Sorry, what was it you wanted my opinion on?” She forced a laugh, although it sounded hollow to her ears, “But, really, Harry … Hermione knows more about that subject that I do!”

“Well, I should, Virginia Weasley!” Ginny looked at Hermione in surprise (‘is she jealous?’ she wondered in panic), but caught Hermione’s warm and amused smile at the same time, “I’ve been taking the subject for a year longer than you …”

“And you’re at the top of your class …” Ginny responded.

“Well, your grades are apparently better than mine …”

“But I’ve got to thank you for steering me there rather than Divination.”

“I thought you could handle it … you know, the hard work, rather than the soft option some people have opted for …”

“I wonder,” Ginny said, “does it mean that those people are really soft in the head?”

“I think so,” Hermione responded, to the pained “Oooohs” of the Weasley twins. Before she could say anything else, Ron jumped in with the comment, “Will you two shut it? You’re beginning to sound like a convention of Ravenclaw witches!”

The two girls turned and gave him the same sort of glare, and were imminently satisfied to see him actually flush and push back his chair in a defensive gesture. “Will you quit it, you two?” Ron said in a plaintive voice. “I get enough of that from her (pointing to Hermione), without getting more of the same from you (turning to Ginny)!”

They broke off their glares and smiled at each other. “I think it needs a little more work, Ginny,” Hermione said, “but for a first time effort … I think I’ll give you an ‘A’.”

“Oh, so you’re grading each other’s performance now, are you?” Ron butted in, knowing, as the words escaped his mouth, that he was really asking for it. The two girls didn’t disappoint him, turning the full force of their combined glares at him.

He pushed his chair back further, and was rescued only when Harry gave a slight snicker from behind the napkin he was using to ostentatiously wipe his mouth – a prelude to suppressed laughter. This was, however, easily cut off as both girls turned to face him … Harry hastily threw his napkin on the table and stood up. “I … I’d better change my shirt if we’re going to Diagon Alley. Excuse me!”

As Harry beat a hasty retreat, Ron called after him, “Coward!”

As the two girls turned to him, he also stood up and made his excuses. He could feel the stares of the two girls boring into his back and rushed up to his room. He vaguely heard Ginny say, casually, “Anyone else?” to be followed by the clatter of chairs as the twins also beat a retreat …

Back at the table, the two girls smiled and erupted into laughter, giving each other high fives at the same time. “I can see you’ll have no problem controlling the boys,” Mrs. Weasley said to them, at which both girls blushed deeply.

They started gathering plates and the breakfast dishes as Mrs. Weasley went to the kitchen. Hermione stopped Ginny before she could leave the room, asking, “Everything OK, Ginny? You got Harry worried there for a moment “

Ginny shook her head, not looking at Hermione and wondering whether Hermione could really pick up on what Harry was thinking … ‘probably comes from all that time spent together,’ she thought. She wondered whether she should talk about it with Hermione … but decided not to … not until she can clarify what their relationship was.

“Ginny!” She looked at Hermione’s concerned face. “Talk to Harry, will you? No matter what anybody thinks, you’re also his friend … You’re not his best friend’s sister … you’re also his friend! Harry will understand.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” she smiled at her. “I’ll … I’ll finish up here … you better get ready to go to Diagon Alley.”

As Ginny left the room with the dishes, Hermione looked at her, wondering what she could do to help. She shook her head and thought, “I’d better discuss that with Harry … “ as she turned and went to her room.

Epiphanies – 04

Chapter 04 – A Wizard and Two Witches

Hermione Granger was breathing heavily atop a breathless and sprawled Harry Potter, her chocolate-brown eyes locked on the green eyes looking at her through his trademark glasses. She could feel his arms holding her waist, where they had placed themselves in an automatic gesture of protection.

As Hermione tried to scramble up and out of the way, she was slammed back into Harry, foreheads touching, lips suddenly meeting for a single, electrifying instant before an embarrassed Ginny Weasley could climb off Hermione’s back.

‘Next time, I’ll try the Knight Bus!’ Hermione swore to herself. Floo powder, no matter how convenient, was definitely not her cup of tea. The others had tried to warn her about this form of wizard travel but, as with all things, experience was the best teacher … she’d had no problems with leaving the Burrow … she’d enunciated properly to make sure that she came out of the Leaky Cauldron’s fireplace … she’d braced herself when she felt the slowing down the others talked about as she neared her destination …

And had been unable to control her feet as she burst out of the fireplace.

She’d tripped – and fell right into the waiting arms of Harry Potter. The momentum of her entrance caused him to sprawl backwards, and she had fallen on top of him, his strong arms closing around her in that instinctive protectiveness that was so much a part of his personality … only to fall back down as Ginny had tripped over the bag that Ron had dropped near the fireplace portal.

Hermione had been about to scramble out of the way the second time when Harry suddenly rolled her over, and placed his warm body above hers – mere seconds before Molly Weasley stepped out of the fireplace – and walked all over the place they had been lying down on.

Before either of them could move, Ron’s plaintive voice rose above the suddenly –silenced Leaky Cauldron: “Are you two going to make that a habit?”

And that, Hermione thought, had been the perfect dramatic entrance for this day of shopping at Diagon Alley. She’d tried to hide her embarrassment as she dusted herself off, avoiding the stares and looks of the Leaky Cauldron’s patrons … while at the same time, trying to avoid the eyes of her companions.

As such, she had only given herself a cursory look in the Leaky Cauldron’s mirror, insisting that she was all right and didn’t need anything … and now, she had to endure the stares and avid looks of various witches of all ages … all of them, no doubt, wondering where she had gotten the bruised lips from.

She wondered what they would say if she told them that it came from snogging Harry Potter on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron.

She shook her head impatiently. Now why should she be thinking about snogging her best friend? ‘In fact,’she thought, ‘why should I be thinking about snogging at all? I’m too youngfor that … I’m only fourteen, for crying out loud … well, fifteen in a few months, anyway …but I’m too young for that!’

Or was she?

She stopped so abruptly as the thought seized her that Harry, who was walking beside her, also stopped and looked at her, a question in his eyes. She smiled at him, shook her head slightly, and proceeded to walk on. Harry raised an eyebrow at her, and continued talking with Ginny as if nothing had happened.

Young? Of course, in both the wizarding and Muggle world, fifteen was still young (she smiled as she started humming to herself, “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman …”). She glanced at her friend, and caught his smiling profile as he listened to something Ginny was saying and was struck with a sudden thought.

‘My best friend has never been young … at least, not since he stepped into Hogwarts and the wizarding world.’

Or at least, not ‘young’ in the same way that other teenage wizards or Muggles were ... young. She knew his story well enough: living alone, abused and without any knowledge of magic for most of his childhood, “escaping” into Hogwarts at eleven only to confront the Dark Lord who had killed his parents when he was a baby … confronting a basilisk at twelve … fighting Dementors at thirteen … and again, confronting his deadliest enemy, an enemy who had vowed to kill him at fourteen …

It’s a wonder, she thought, that Harry doesn’t have any grey hairs … going through all that in the space of four years would be enough to make one’s hairs turn white … maybe that’s why the Goblet of Fire didn’t reject Harry last year … the Goblet must have thought that Harry was older because of what he’d been through …

But what does that make of me, she thought. She’d been nearly killed by a troll at eleven … been Petrified by a Basilisk at twelve … helped Harry in the escape of a dangerous convict at thirteen … had worried, fussed, and fretted over Harry through all those years, especially last year when he was the Hogwarts champion … or one of them, she corrected herself, remembering what had happened to Cedric Diggory.

She suppressed a shiver at the thought … remembering the moment when they learned that Harry and Cedric had disappeared from the maze … that was worse than Harry fighting the Horntail! At least she could see him as he flew the Firebolt … she didn’t know what had happened to him in the maze … and she remembered the way he looked when Professor Dumbledore brought him into the Hospital Wing that night.

She forced her mind from that night, and reflected on the other events of that eventful year … and wondered if the maturity forced on her by her years of friendship with Harry Potter was what drew Viktor to her. She frowned at that thought … Viktor Krum had been her first real date, and the first person who had seen her as more than a bushy-haired, know-it-all, witch!

She’d been flattered by his attention, no doubt about that. But now … she recalled the shock on his face when she told him that she was only fourteen (somehow, it had never come up before the Yule Ball) … he had gallantly told her that she didn’t look it (‘how flattering!’ she’d thought at the time) … but now, now, she wondered about it …

And forced her mind from thoughts of Viktor and the summer just past. She glanced at Harry, who was listening to something that Ginny was saying, and heaved a sigh of relief. Harry’s a real friend, she reflected. Thank God that Harry had never asked about her summer in Bulgaria! He’d taken the attitude, when she showed up at The Burrow a week ago, that it was her story to tell … if she chose not to share anything with her best friend (and he had winked at her), he’d understand.

She smiled at the thought. He’d been as good as his word … and Ginny told her that he’d threatened Ron with emasculation if he even opened his trap about Viktor and her Bulgarian summer … she was thankful for that. Not that her summer vacation was something to remember … it was, as far as she was concerned, a summer best forgotten.

Hermione tensed, her thoughts distracted, as she saw a small, very pretty witch with long black hair coming towards them.

* * * *

Harry Potter had been enjoying the trip to Diagon Alley so far (aside from being flattened by his best friend twice in less than a minute!), especially as it gave him a chance to enjoy the bustle of the crowded wizard’s marketplace. He still felt uncomfortable about it all – knowing that he was a wizard, after eleven years of “There is no such thing as magic!” being drummed into his head, in spite of the fact that he can – and did – do magical things … there were times when he was sure that he’d been living in a dream world … that he’d fallen into a coma for the past four years, and will soon wake up and find himself trapped in the real non-magical world.

He’d been enjoying Ginny’s chatter about her Arithmancy classes, while leaving Hermione alone (he didn’t think teasing her about her awkward arrival at the Leaky Cauldron earlier was a good move!) when he felt her tense up – and immediately scanned the area around them.

And saw Cho Chang approaching.

A flurry of confused memories boiled up within his mind at the sight of her diminutive form: seeing her for the first time at the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in third year; the lurch in his stomach when he saw her again during the Quidditch World Cup last summer; apologizing to her for being rude soon after he’d been named as a Hogwarts champion last year … screwing up the courage to ask her to go with him to the Yule Ball – and learning that Cedric Diggory had already asked her …

And, the most painful memory of all: seeing Cho with tears pouring silently down her face as Dumbledore honored the memory of Cedric Diggory during the Leaving Feast last school year.

He’d sent Hedwig with a long letter to Cho a week after his return to Privet Drive; Dumbledore’s words at the Leaving Feast had unlocked something within him – he’d been able to tell his friends everything that had happened during the Third Task on the way home on the Hogwarts Express. It had also enabled him to open up in that letter – to explain to Cho in a clear, precise manner what had happened to Cedric … and to express, as clearly as he could, the pain and guilt that still rode his shoulders and his mind.

And now, as he saw Cho approaching, the horror of that night – and all the attendant pain and guilt – came crashing through his mind – forming a pit of utter coldness in his stomach. He didn’t know whether to turn away and run, but the courage that marked the heart of a Gryffindor made him pause, prepared to confront this development.

As he braced himself for the encounter, he felt a warm, soft hand grab his own – without looking down, he knew that Hermione was holding him … and he felt a calmness that was absent only seconds before flow over him, washing away the coldness that he felt.

“Hello, Harry,” Cho Chang said. She’d glanced at Hermione and Ginny briefly (raising an eyebrow at Hermione’s bruised lips), but her eyes, drifting down, caught sight of their held hands – and she looked at Harry with a wistful smile.

“Cho … I … I …” Harry stammered.

“I wanted to thank you for your owl, Harry,” Cho said, stopping him. “You’ve answered a lot of questions about what happened …”

“Are you all right now?” he asked, finally getting the words out of his suddenly tight throat.

Cho smiled. “Yes, I am. Thank you for asking … It was quite hard for a while, because no one could tell me what had happened,” she paused as she held up a hand to Harry, “I understand, Harry … it must have been difficult for you to talk about, so soon after what happened. Cedric’s parents told me some of it, but they were still in shock … when your letter arrived during the summer, it helped settle some of the questions I had.”

She took a deep breath. “I … uhm … thank you for bringing his body back, Harry. It meant a lot to his parents … it meant a lot to me … I was at least able to say ‘good-bye’ to him.”

Hermione turned away, not willing to let the other girl see tears sparkling in her eyes. She saw Ginny turning away at the same time, and felt Harry giving her hand a reflexive squeeze. She squeezed back, trying to communicate her support for her friend, as a silence fell – all of them, no doubt haunted once again by the memories of that night, a bare four months in their past.

Cho Chang broke the silence, extending her hand to Harry. He held it for a moment, and Cho suddenly stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, saying, “Thank you, again, Harry Potter. For everything.”

She glanced at Hermione and, with a wistful smile and a meaningful look, said, “Take care of him, Hermione. Oh! And, congratulations for being named a Prefect.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open at that, and Harry asked the question she was unable to ask, “Uhm … how did you learn of that, Cho? Mion … I mean, Hermione, learned of the appointment only this morning.”

Cho looked puzzled for a moment, brows coming together in thought. “I … someone mentioned it … I don’t remember who …” She shook her head again, “But still … congratulations, again. I’ll probably see you at the Hogwarts Express.”

With a final wave good-bye, she said, “And next time – the Snitch is mine, you hear me, Harry Potter?”

Harry smiled and waved good-bye. They watched the smaller girl fade into the crowd, and they stood silently for a few seconds, both deep in thought, neither aware that they were still holding hands. Suddenly, Harry took a deep breath and said, as he exhaled slowly, “I’m glad that that’s over.”

“So am I,” Hermione said. She had noticed that Harry hadn’t blushed this time – she’d felt the tension drain from him as she held his hand. They were smiling at each other in mutual understanding when Ginny, with a small cough, brought them both back to the bustling sounds of Diagon Alley. They looked at her, and said the same thought that was in their minds, “I wonder how she learned …”

A barely suppressed giggle came from Ginny, who told them, “I think the answer’s approaching … you’d better …” But whatever it was that she was going to say was drowned out as Hermione’s dorm-mates, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil descended on the three, chattering away like maddened budgies.

“My dear! We were so thrilled … we knew you’d make it … when the letter came … what happened to your lips?” the two girls said, while giving Hermione cheek-kisses and looking meaningfully at the still-held hands of the two friends.

“Letter?” Hermione asked, confused, but was interrupted by Lavender’s “Oh, how sweet! But after what I heard happen at the Leaky Cauldron …”

Confused, Hermione glanced at Harry – and caught the meaningful glance that Parvati and Lavender threw at their hands – still clasped together, even though Cho had long gone, and the need for any emotional or physical support had passed. They freed their hands from each other, with a quietly whispered, “Tut-tut! I tried to warn you …” coming from Ginny. Hermione tried to center the discussion on her other concerns: “What letter, Parvati?”

Parvati waved her hand airily, “Oh, really now, Hermione! Didn’t you read that letter … Padma’s the Ravenclaw prefect along with Terry … so, of course, when I saw your name there … I was so thrilled … I just had to tell someone … when I got to the Leaky Cauldron, Lavender was already there so I just had to share the news …”

Lavender was nodding her head eagerly, “Yes, yes … and what a wonderful entrance you made, Hermione! Falling into Harry’s arms like that … it was sooo romantic! I must try that technique some time …”

“Yes!”, Parvati squealed. “D’you think I can get Terry to do that for me, Hermione? Although he’s not as good-looking as Harry … (she batted her eyes at him) will you try to catch me if I fall out of the fireplace, Harry?”

“I’d rather try catching Hagrid,” Harry muttered under his breath, which led to a sudden coughing attack on the part of Ginny. The others, however, did not seem to notice, especially as the two other girls found a new topic to discuss with their dorm-mate. “What I don’t understand,” Lavender butted in, “is why no one was named as your counterpart, Hermione … although we were all expecting Harry to be the one, right Parvati?”

“What?” Hermione cried, surprised. She and Ginny glanced at Harry, who looked stupefied at the news.

“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Parvati twittered, “don’t tell me you were not hoping that Harry wouldn’t be your counterpart for Gryffindor!”

“Uhmm, no … not really … no,” Hermione mumbled.

“Really now, Mione,” Lavender intoned. Harry gave her a sharp look, surprised that Hermione hadn’t reacted to that hated nickname … but then, they were her dorm-mates, weren’t they? He was shocked, however, with Lavender’s next comment, “Harry’s grades are the best among the Gryffindor boys … he’s gotten top marks in DADA, Charms, and Transfiguration … well, among the boys that is … no one can beat you, Mione … even those snooty Ravenclaws … and Divination, of course …”

“I’m not so hot at Potions, Lavender,” Harry protested, butting in on the twittering witches, only to be met by an airy, “Oh, who cares about Professor Snape, Harry? Besides, since you were the Hogwarts champion, mean ol’ Snape had to pass you … all things considered, you should be Hermione’s counterpart!”

“Oh.” Harry said. “But I didn’t get it, did I?”

Lavender and Parvati twittered at that, eager to share their gossip. “Well … the school governors have to agree to the appointment, don’t they? We heard that Lucius Malfoy has been doing everything he can to block that appointment … Draco didn’t make it, did he?” Hermione shook her head, no. “So I heard that Mr. Malfoy was blocking you, Harry … if Draco can’t get it, neither should you.”

Parvati’s voice dropped to a whisper, “My father said that Mr. Malfoy tried to block your appointment too, Hermione. Something about lowering the standards of the school by making you a Prefect … although everyone laughed him off … you were too obviously the only choice.”

“Oh,” was the only response the two could say. Parvati saw someone behind Hermione and, waving furiously, called out, “Terry! Terry!” Turning to them, she said, “I’ve got to go … I have to congratulate Terry … coming, Lavender? Congratulations again, Hermione … and Harry, we’ll be waiting for the announcement!”

The two left, leaving the three standing there, gaping at each other. They looked around for Mrs. Weasley, who was in conversation with another witch some distance away, obviously not hearing what the school mates had discussed. As they started walking her way, a snide, all too familiar voice in a faux-falsetto voice said, “Oh, how romantic!… Harry Potter’s girlfriend is a Prefect, is she? But the real question is … why isn’t she in Bulgaria with Veek-tor?”

The three spun around to see Draco Malfoy, with Rita Skeeter beside him and his cronies Crabbe and Goyle to one side. Harry tensed; he suspected that Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were looking for a return bout after being hexed on the return trip from Hogwarts the previous school year. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Hermione had paled and was shaking with fury.

Rita Skeeter spoke up, “Care to give me a quote, Miss Granger? A little bird told me that the reason you had been sent home to England early because …” and she gave Hermione a vicious smile, “and I quote, ‘Victor Krum’s parents do not like their little prince consorting with a Muggle­.’ How do you react to that, Miss Granger?”

She had raised her voice as she spoke, making sure that people within hearing distance heard her. Hermione flushed, red spots on her cheeks burning, as she said through gritted teeth, “No comment.”

“Is that all you can say, Miss Granger? How about you, Mr. Potter? Is she really your girlfriend (Rita Skeeter added an inflection to her voice that made the word sound like an insult) … or is she using you as a substitute because she’s been rejected by her Bulgarian boyfriend’s family?”

Through gritted teeth, Harry said, “Lay off her,Rita! As for my comment, you can have it in three words: take a hike!”

Harry heard the noise in Diagon Alley dropping … glancing around, he could see that people were whispering to each other … many pointing to him and Hermione as they stood frozen in their tracks. He grabbed Hermione’s arm and started to walk away, Ginny beside him. He was stopped by Malfoy’s sneering voice, raising itself above the whispering crowd: “Oh, poor, unfortunate Harry Potter … coming second to a really famous Quidditch player!”

Harry tried to turn around, but Hermione and Ginny held tightly to him, keeping him walking away, when Draco called out, “What’s the matter, Potter? Hiding behind your Mudblood girlfriend?”

That did it. Harry whirled around, hand reaching for his wand … and his eyes widened as he saw that Malfoy had his wand out and pointed at him … in that split-second, he realized that Malfoy had engineered the situation in order to hex him …

As Draco shouted “Stupefy!”, Harry pitched his body backwards, dragging Hermione and Ginny (who were still holding on to him) down with him. The curse shot above them, missing the three by a good two feet … Harry grabbed for his wand and pointed it at Draco, who was standing still, shocked that his spell had missed …

Harry’s first instinct was to shout “Stupefy!” but changed his mind and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” Draco was blasted backwards as his wand shot up into the air. As if it was a well-rehearsed move, Hermione scrambled up and grabbed the wand, at the same time pointing her wand at Crabbe and Goyle, shouting in a shrill voice, ““Go ahead! MAKE MY DAY!”

Hermione’s wand was pointed at the two when she heard, “Stupefy!” behind her. Acting on pure instinct, she dropped to the ground just as the beam of red light flew over her and squarely hit Goyle in the chest, blasting him back. Twisting around, she saw Millicent Bullstrode and Pansy Parkinson, wands out and aiming at her … without thought, she twisted and pointed her wand at them, shouting “Expelliarmus!” – hearing Harry shouting the same spell … watching the two Slytherins being thrown back, wands flying, to be caught by Ginny, who now had her wand out … and then, Harry whirled and pointed his wand at Crabbe and another Slytherin …

The latter two froze, unwilling to test the mettle behind those blazing green eyes. A palpable sheen of magical energy seemed to pulsate around Harry Potter; many of those within a ten-foot radius of the conflict stepped back at the raw power emanating from him … Hermione slowly got to her feet, eyes sweeping around for any threats … she felt Ginny standing beside her, and the two girls slowly stepped backward to stand back-to-back with Harry … as they approached him, it seemed that the radius of energy had doubled …

The silence that descended over Diagon Alley felt like a physical force , weighing down the mood of the always-festive street. The fight that erupted had been so sudden … so unexpected … that none could react … Hermione could vaguely see three red-heads fighting their way through the crowd … Molly Weasley standing at some distance, gaping …

She felt her back touch Harry … the physical contact with her seemed to communicate an aura of protection and safety to Harry … eyes and bodies still alert, the three (including Ginny this time) slowly lowered their wands – and the oppressive silence that weighed down the street seemed to lift.

People began breathing, slowly … movement started as people shook off their momentary trances … Hermione’s mind vaguely registered various Gryffindors in different places (including Neville, Seamus and Dean Thomas) also lowering their wands, and was distantly thankful that they hadn’t tried to intervene … she knew that they would have been in bigger trouble if their friends had tried something …

The silence was finally broken as a tall, elegantly-dressed witch with blonde hair started screaming, “Arrest them … arrest them! They attacked my husband and son! Get them!”

Surprised, Hermione spun around to look at whoever was screaming for Harry to be arrested, and saw Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s mother, on her knees beside her stunned husband. Hermione, Harry and Ginny heard distant ‘pops’ as wizards from the Ministry’s Law Enforcement Squad started apparating in, while Mrs. Malfoy continued to sob.

An older witch with a most regal bearing, wearing a tall hat with a stuffed vulture on top stepped forward, saying in a voice straight out of the Arctic Circle, “I don’t think so, Narcissa … too many witnesses saw what happened … if there’s anyone to be arrested here, it should be your son. Mr. Potter and his friends were clearly acting in self-defense.”

Mrs. Malfoy stared at the elder witch in disbelief, and the latter (Hermione recognized her as Neville Longbottom’s grandmother) stared her down. A Ministry wizard kneeled down beside her, examining her husband. After a brief look, the wizard pulled out his wand, pointed it at Mr. Malfoy and said, “Ennervate!”

The elder Malfoy woke up and tried to stand up, grabbing for his wand at the same time. The Ministry wizard, however, immediately grabbed his arm and held him down. The elder Longbottom, her eyes glinting like diamonds, said in the same steely, icy voice: “There will be no more of that, Mr. Malfoy! Your son tried hexing another wizard while his back was turned … something I expected from someone like you.”

She looked around, spotting the now-revived Slytherins. Turning to Lucius Malfoy, she continued, “Apparently, they have forgotten the Hogwarts motto – ‘never tickle a sleeping dragon’! Now, I suggest you get your poor excuse for a wizard and his friends and get out of here! They can do their shopping tomorrow, when these children (and she pointed to the three) are not around.”

Mr. Malfoy glared at her, but did not respond. With a shrug of the shoulders, and a short, courtly bow, he turned away after shooting a venomous look at Harry and Hermione that would have Petrified a basilisk, and stalked out through a path that the crowd cleared for him.

Draco looked at Harry with an equally vicious look and turned to Hermione: “Give me back my wand, Mudblood.” Before Harry or Hermione could react to this, Mrs. Longbottom’s wand was out and, with a muttered spell, shot out yards of tape which wrapped themselves tightly around Draco Malfoy’s head. “That will keep your evil tongue in your mouth until you learn to keep it civil! Now, go!”

Draco slunk away through the crowd, with Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson on either side of him, and Crabbe and Goyle behind him -- people parting to let them pass. The elegantly dressed Narcissa Malfoy shot all of them a venomous look, and also turned away to leave.

“Harry! Harry!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice came through the crowd which still surrounded them. Harry looked in that direction and started walking towards her, ushering his two companions in front of him, when a sarcastic voice was heard above the murmuring crowd: “Well, well, well … if I were you, Miss Granger, I would keep my eyes constantly on my boyfriend. Apparently, someone is marking some territory of her own.”

Surprised, Hermione looked at Harry – and saw Ginny Weasley suddenly letting go of his arm, blushing deeply at the same time. Ginny gave Rita Skeeter a look filled with scorn and hatred, when Hermione placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Miss Skeeter,” Hermione said in a soft, sweet voice, “maybe you should keep your eyes on your job rather than on my friends …” Surprised, Rita Skeeter looked at Hermione, and looked around to see reporters rushing for the Daily Prophet’s offices … apparently, they were headed in to file a scoop before she could.

She started shoving her way through the crowd but was stopped by Hermione’s voice, “Why? Can’t fly to your desk, Miss Skeeter?” She glared at Hermione, and turned to go.

Hermione turned to Harry and Ginny. “Shall we?”

Harry, however, was thanking Mrs. Longbottom, who accepted his gratitude with a haughty, but warm, nod of her head. With a small bow, he turned away with his two friends and started walking away. Mrs. Longbottom’s voice was heard, still steely-cold but oddly with a tinge of warmth underneath it: “Mr. Potter!”

Harry and his two friends stopped to look at her.

“Mr. Potter, it is obvious why my grandson admires you – and why you are a Hogwarts Champion. You would do well as a Prefect for your House … the younger students will be needing someone to look up to and emulate.” She looked into his green eyes, and continued, “You are a true Gryffindor.”

Turning to Ginny and Hermione, she said, “As are you two ladies. Miss Granger and Miss Weasley, am I right?” The two girls nodded. “I am very pleased to meet you three at last … my grandson has often spoken highly of you … Thank you.”

The three looked around uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. In a burst of inspiration, Harry placed his arms around his two companions and, as he bowed his head to the grand lady, his two companions curtsied to her.

As they walked away, someone (was it Seamus? Neville? Cho?) started clapping … within seconds, there was an roar as the crowd applauded the young wizard and his two witches.

Epiphanies – 05

Chapter 5. Reactions and Recriminations

Time slowed.

She could feel him trembling through the arm that was around her waist … and felt fear coursing through her. Why should he be afraid? she wondered. He was Harry Potter, for heaven’s sake! He was the only wizard to have defeated You-Know-Who three times … he’d fought a basilisk and that infernal Tom Riddle when he was twelve … fought back Dementors at thirteen (she could still remember herself shaking when one Dementor entered their compartment at the start of her second year) … won the Tri-Wizard Tournament when he was fourteen …

But she could feel him shaking … and she didn’t know what to do.

So she kept walking, placing one foot carefully in front of the other … looking down at her feet – and quietly berating herself for her actions, or rather, inaction during the fight that erupted around her. She’d frozen the moment she turned around and saw Malfoy with his wand out … stared in shock from where Harry had pulled her down, and couldn’t move as she watched Hermione scramble and grab Malfoy’s wand … she couldn’t even shout a warning as she saw the two Slytherins hexing Hermione …

She finally engaged her brain and moved when Harry Disarmed the two … scrambling for their wands, and pulling out her own (knowing at the same time that there was nothing she could do but wave it around …) and finally, standing side-by-side with Hermione, trusting that the older girl would know what to do … and following her movements until they were back-to-back with Harry …

And here she was … pale as a ghost, forcing her legs to move and doing her best to force her fear and shaking down … and felt herself shivering again as the events of only minutes ago played and replayed in her fevered brain … and then a tiny, taunting voice in her mind broke through: “Do something, Virginia Weasley! Don’t act like a ninny! Do something!”

Instinctively, her arm went up to wrap itself around Harry’s waist. Dimly, she thought she had to help him walk … to hold him up … knowing that he would have to show the world a brave face …

And froze as her hand encountered another arm already around Harry’s waist … and her mind registered the fact that Harry was no longer shaking … heard him taking in a deep, calming breath that he let out in a whoosh … realized that his arm was no longer around her … and her pace faltered, falling behind unnoticed, as that mocking voice resounded in her head, “Too late, Virginia Weasley, too late. As always, too late.”

* * * *

He was hurting … it was so difficult to walk normally when his knees were knocking, his whole body was trembling, and his hands shook so much that he could barely hold his wand. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to fall on his knees and allow his body to relax … to shake, tremble and quiver all it wished … to simply let go for a moment, until the adrenaline surge wore off and he could face the world again.

But he could not.

He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and he would not show any weakness to the world.

And so he walked … goose-stepping like a soldier in those old films so that he could keep his legs straight, even as they shook … arms around his companions, stiffened as he tried to keep them from quivering … chest hurting as he controlled his breathing, trying to force a calmness that he didn’t feel … while his brain yammered in an unconscious echo of Neville Longbottom’s oft-repeated lament:

“Why does it always have to be me?”

He’d never wanted to be anything except a normal boy with a loving family, but Voldemort had taken that away and he landed with the Dursleys … his treatment at their hands was anything but normal, such that anything was better than his life with the Dursleys -- which was why he never gave a second thought when Hagrid fetched him from the Hut-on-the-Rock four years ago …

And even then, all that he ever wanted was to be just an ordinary, “normal” wizard – or as normal as one can be in the magical community. He had never bargained for this … he had never even asked for or wanted the fame that he found when he entered the wizarding world …

Would he have climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express four years ago if he had known that, before that year ended, he’d be sticking his wand up a troll’s nose … that he’d be almost thrown off a hexed broomstick, or he’d be wandering the Enchanted Forest … that he’d be leading his two best friends into danger … that he would have to face Voldemort alone deep within the bowels of the castle?

Would he have willingly climbed aboard the Weasley’s Ford Anglia three years ago if he had known that Hermione would end up Petrified for a month … or that Ginny would end up unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets while he battled a basilisk with only Fawkes and the Sorting Hat as his companions?

And the thought struck … would he have been that excited to leave the Dursleys had he known all that he knew now … all that he had gone through for the past four years – but especially, what happened only this year? Was leaving the Dursleys worth the price he’d paid almost every night since he’d parted company with Hermione on Platform 9 and ¾ -- seeing Cedric Diggory lying spread-eagled beside him in the graveyard, gray eyes blank and devoid of all expression, mouth half-opened as if surprised … the horrific ritual he had been forced to witness and unwillingly participate in … that unholy sacrament that had ended with the revival of Voldemort …

Would he have thought life with the Dursleys to be so totally loathsome if he had known that he would cause the death of Cedric … that his blood would resurrect Voldemort to full flesh and blood life … and that his high and mighty nobility would allow Peter Pettigrew to escape – and eventually, become an instrument in both the death of Cedric and the revival of Voldemort?

He’d escaped a cursed life with the Dursleys … but at what price? What price?

As the doubts, recriminations, and memories breached the barriers that he had spent so much time building over the summer months, he again felt the pain, like a physical force, coursing through his body -- and he closed his eyes to ward off the howl of despair that was building in his lungs …

* * * *

Her mind was spinning, confusing thoughts of what had just happened running rampant, her fear and trembling battling with her logical mind … and through it all, a single thought kept taunting her: “Of all the stupid, inane, mindless, ridiculous things to say … why did I have to say that? Why? Why, oh why did I have to sound off like a second-rate actor in a B movie … It’s lucky no one heard me … I’ll be a laughingstock! They’ll be laughing at me, Hermione Granger, till the day I die …”

She berated herself again as her mind replayed the scene … grabbing Malfoy’s wand … pointing her wand at Crabbe and Goyle … those stupid, stupid, stupid words coming out of her mouth … and through the chaos of thoughts in her raging mind, felt her friend’s arm around her waist … and she felt the shivers coursing through his body as reaction set in … and somehow sensed the pain he was going through …

Without a thought, without a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped an arm around her friend and held him, tight. There was no need to look at him to see the anguish in his eyes brought about by his doubts, uncertainties and insecurities – and the memory of the horrific events of the past months … she held him tighter, and felt him calming down …

She’d felt this with him once before … riding on Buckbeak as they flew to rescue Sirius … she could remember her fear as she sat behind Harry, grabbing him tightly around the waist … leaning her head against his back, eyes tightly closed, her voice, muttering, “Oh no … I don’t like this oh I really don’t like this” … feeling his body trembling also … and then, that indefinable moment when she felt a calmness descending over him. In the next moment, she could feel that calmness and – yes, a sense of security -- washing over her … soothing her own fears … enabling her to do what she had to do to help him free Sirius from the tower …

A wave of affection for her friend ran through her … mentally she shook her head at the innate innocence of the boy. She knew he would blame himself for what had happened … ignoring or overlooking the fact that Malfoy started the fight, doubtless wanting a return match after the hexing he and his cronies got on the train at the end of the school year … or that Skeeter wanted to get back at her for imprisoning her Animagus form for a month – and then exposing her to the Ministry!

But that was the way he was.

The magical community saw him as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, perhaps their best hope to defeat the horror that will soon be upon them.

But for Hermione Granger, he was just Harry Potter – classmate, housemate, close friend and companion for the past four years. She’d been with him through good times and bad – beaming with pride as Harry was carried by the Gryffindors when they won the Quidditch Cup in third year … the panic on his face as he asked her to help him perfect the Summoning Charm, and his shock when he did succeed at one o’clock in the morning …

To the majority of the wizarding world, he was Harry Potter, Hero – with everything that that implied.

To Hermione Granger, he was Harry Potter, friend. She’d seen him masked and unmasked: from gloriously happy to low and sad, from utterly focused and confident to shaken and unsure … and, all too often, she’d tried to console him whenever he felt that he was to blame for some misfortune or other that befell the community he had grown to love.

She felt his arms wrapping around her, holding her tight … she leaned her head against his chest … felt his chin resting on her head … and she held him tight … a sense of comfort and security in their closeness flowing from one to the other … heard a familiar voice breaking through her rampaging thoughts, sounding as if it were coming from a distance, calling out, “Harry! Harry!” … felt him trying to break away from her, gently pushing her away … and for a single, convulsive moment, she held him tighter before letting go …not noticing that tears had spilled from her eyes and had wet the front of his shirt … and she looked up into his eyes …

And she whispered with fierce intensity, as she slowly hit him on the chest, “It isn’t always about you, Harry … do you hear me? It … is … not … always … about … you!”

* * * *

He knew that it was Hermione … and he engulfed her in a tight embrace … felt his body sagging for a moment while she held him … resting his chin on top of her head (and thinking, irrelevantly, that her height was just right for him to do that) … and felt the tension and despair draining away from him as he held her close.

He took a deep breath to compose himself, and let it out in a whoosh … feeling the tension and fear finally leaving him, although his mind still gyrated with his jumbled, pained thoughts … and he thanked whatever Divinity there existed in his world for giving him a friend like Hermione.

It was then that he heard Molly Weasley’s voice breaking through his fogged mind, calling him … with a deep breath and a final sigh, he tried to disengage himself from Hermione’s embrace … only to feel her hugging him tightly for a brief moment more before letting go – but in the next second, he could feel her hitting him as she said, “It isn’t always about you, Harry … do you hear me? It … is … not … always … about … you!”

He looked into her eyes and saw the concern and worry for him there … he was about to ask, to clarify that statement, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see the worried face of Ron … saw Ginny leaping into the arms of Bill Weasley (‘where had he come from?’ he thought vaguely) … noticed that Arthur was standing beside Molly, talking to a vaguely familiar wizard … and the Twins to one side …

* * * *

Ron was cursing himself for having agreed to the Twins’ mad scheme to have him front Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to Zonko’s. He had to admit, however, that the logic was sound – the owners of Zonko’s knew the Weasley Twins as customers and inveterate jokers … it would have taken a major leap of faith for them to think of Gred and Forge as suppliers and manufacturers in their own right.

Admittedly, however, the prospect of a commission from the Twins on the sale (if consummated) was the final icing on the cake. For once, he’d have his own money to spend, rather than trying to make do with whatever allowance his parents can provide (after spending on their school supplies and clothes) … he could go to Hogsmeade and buy out Honeydukes … buy drinks for his friends without thinking of what he would have to forego … and, like Harry, never have to worry about money … maybe work up the courage to ask Hermione out on a date, just him and her …

‘Concentrate!’ his brain said (in a voice strangely like Ginny’s), and he mentally thwapped himself up the head. The presentation of the Twin’s products had gone surprisingly well … the fake wands and Ton-Tongue Toffee had gone over like a beer and a shot with the owners … he had just started on a presentation of the Canary Creams (complete with photographs from Colin Creevey of Neville’s “test”) when they heard the commotion in the Alley …

They’d rushed outside the store with the owners in time to see Ginny grabbing the Slytherins’ wands and walking with Hermione to stand back-to-back with Harry … but even from that distance, they could feel the raw energy emanating from the three …

Ron took off, forgetting the deal he was about to close … ignoring the shouts of the Twins as he fought through the crowd … thinking only that, again, he was being left out of things through no fault of his own. He wasn’t with Harry and Hermione when the freed Norbert in first year … had to sacrifice himself in that gigantic chess game … wsa stillunconscious when they rescued Sirius from the North Tower … wasn’t with them when they practiced Summoning Charms for the first task … and, irrelevantly, his mind locked on something he’d heard Seamus Finnegan say one time: “The Dynamic Duo.”

But the crowd wasn’t cooperating … although the filling meals of Hogswart had added inches to his height, it hadn’t built up his bulk – and he could feel people shoving back as he tried to move forward. There was a temptation – quickly suppressed – to draw his wand to blast a way through … he found the crowd starting to disperse as Harry, Ginny and Hermione were walking away and he moved faster to catch up …

Only to feel himself grabbed by the arm – he fought to free himself, only to hear a low, quiet voice hissing, “Leave them, Ron! They need a moment to themselves!” He turned, face contorting with a snarl – only to come face to face with his eldest brother … he realized that it was Bill who had grabbed him, and was holding tight to him.

His mouth dropped but before he could say anything, Bill repeated his words, forcefully: “Give them a moment, Ron. They need it … Harry needs it.”

He looked from Bill to the others – realized that Ginny had fallen back from the other two … saw that Harry was embracing Hermione tightly with his chin on her head … Hermione’s face hidden in Harry’s chest … Ron swallowed a lump in his throat, and looked at his eldest brother for a moment, as if he were about to break free from his hold, wishing to break away … but Bill’s eyes held him rooted to his spot.

He turned back to his friends … feeling abandoned, alone … left out of events.

Again.

* * * *

Harry turned to Ron and felt a brief flicker of some unknown emotion in his chest when he saw that, while Ron was asking about him, his focus was on Hermione … and then he realized he was still holding Hermione’s hand. He tried to let go (hoping that Ron hadn’t noticed) -- and felt a last, encouraging squeeze before Hermione finally released him … and he moved aside to allow Ron to take his accustomed place between them.

He vaguely heard Bill explaining to Ginny, “There’s an emergency meeting of the Gringott’s curse breakers. I’d just apparated in when Hermione was making like Clint Eastwood (‘Clint who?’ Harry thought) … you were magnificent, Gin.”

Harry gave a guilty start – he’d forgotten all about Ginny! He took a step towards her, and placed a hand on her shoulder, asking, “Are you OK, Ginny?”

There was a flicker of … sadness? regret? anger? in her brown eyes as she replied, “I’m fine, Harry … thanks,” before she turned away. He looked at her curiously … there was something different about her … something he knew should have been obvious but was not … but he was distracted by Bill suddenly grabbing his hand, saying, “That was brilliant, Harry. I’ve never seen anything like it since the Dueling Club at Hogwarts …”

As Bill talked on, Harry kept looking at Ginny uncertainly. She said she was fine … but she was acting strangely, as if a mere “Boo!” would make her jump right out of her fair skin … but he didn’t know what to do. He looked around for help and saw Hermione and Ron …

* * * *

“Are you all right, Hermione?”

He was looking at her intently, as if it was the first time he had seen her … and not as if she hadn’t been a constant companion for the past four years.

She didn’t respond at once … she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes, apparently defocused, seemingly glazed, were looking elsewhere – and he knew, without asking, that she was looking towards where Harry was.

And the memories started falling into place …

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” With those words, Hermione Granger had stepped into his life … or rather, had walked into their lives …

Or perhaps, more correctly, into Harry’s life.

It had been that way from the very beginning, he knew. He’d caught Harry’s eyes following her when she’d been Sorted into Gryffindor … it was Harry that she’d run to, screaming “You solved it, you solved it!” in second year … Harry that she’d been trying to protect when she turned in his Firebolt to McGonagall in third year … Harry that she’d stuck with in the months immediately after he was named Hogwarts Champion last year.

They’d had their moments too, he knew … after all, he’d cast the charm which knocked out the troll on Halloween … he’d hidden out with Hermione in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom while they brewed the Polyjuice Potion … he was with Hermione for her first excursion to Honeydukes in third year, returning pink-faced from the cold and looking as if they’d had the time of their lives …

But the truth was, no matter the moments they’d shared … they could never really compare to the “quality time” she’d spent with Harry: saving his life during his first-ever Quidditch match, while he stood frozen in the stands, urging her on … finishing each other’s thoughts as they pondered Tom Riddle’s diary while he belittled their efforts … rescuing Sirius in third year while he lay unconscious in the hospital wing … perfecting the Summoning Charm last year while he sulked like a rat, wishing to join but too proud (and admittedly, ashamed) to do so …

. How could his moments with her compare … he’d resented her at the start, culminating in that spiteful statement to Harry, “It’s no wonder no one can stand her … she’s a nightmare, honestly“ – which triggered the whole troll incident … constantly bickering with her in second year, first over their homework and then about Lockhart …. their awful fight in third year, first over Harry’s Firebolt and then with the traitorous Scabbers … and (he sighed to himself), finally, the one that we’ve all been waiting for: the Yule Brawl.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts (while continuing to stare at her) that he almost jumped out of his skin when she near-shouted in his face, “Ron! Have I got dirt on my nose or something?”

“Huh – urk,” he shook his head, caught his senses, and repeated his question, “Are you all right, Hermione?”

Her eyes softened as she recognized the care and concern in his voice and eyes … and he thought again how adorable she looked, biting her lower lip with her now perfect teeth (which, he remembered sourly, was a result of a ricocheting curse from Harry) … and felt a surge of warmth as she gave him a swift hug, saying, “I’m all right. Thanks, Ron.”

He finally smiled – and felt another wave of warmth enfold him as she continued in a low, confiding voice, “I hope Ginny’s all right, however.”

“Ginny?” he responded, surprised and a bit ashamed that he’d thought of her first rather than his sister. “She’s all right, she’s with Bill …”

And he felt a chill chase away the warmth in his chest when he realized that, although Hermione was asking about Ginny, her eyes were on Harry.

He was about to comment … to say something, anything to draw her attention back to him … when he saw Harry glance at her … saw her shrug her shoulders at him … saw Harry nodding in acceptance before turning back to Bill and Ginny … and he knew that a conversation had taken place.

A conversation that he could not, for the life of him, have listened in on.

A silent conversation that was happening more frequently between the two – and something that many others, including himself, had noticed.

A conversation that, again, he was not part of.

He wanted to ask what they’d discussed … just so he could be part of it all again, but saw his parents approaching them with another wizard in tow.

* * * *

Hermione watched as the older wizards approached Harry. She knew that he was worried about Ginny, but the latter was in good hands already … which was why she’d shrugged at his silent question to her. She knew he understood – his nod showed that much – and she found herself hoping that this day would end … that they could be back in the Burrow before a warming fire, reading their school books for the coming year.

She was as surprised as Ron, however, when Harry apparently recognized the older wizard wearing a top hat who had joined the Weasleys, “Mr. Diggle! I remember you!,” Harry said as Arthur and Molly approached him with the other wizard. “You were at the Leaky Cauldron the first time I went there with Hagrid …”

Mr. Diggle shook his hand enthusiastically, but they all noticed tears shining in his eyes. “Bless the boy, he remembers! I am impressed … most impressed! All the stories about the Tri-Wizard Tournament … I could see why you won! Most wizards wouldn’t even have thought of ducking a curse … but you did …“

Harry flushed at his onslaught of admiration. He didn’t think that that had been any great achievement … it was survival at that moment. He glanced at Hermione and shrugged, knowing that she was smirking at his discomfort at the admiration from the older wizard. He vaguely heard Mr. Diggle prattle on while still shaking his hand, “And your young lady! That was most admirable … the way she caught Mr. Malfoy’s wand, and pointing her wand at them! They’d have tried something, I daresay, if she hadn’t stopped them!”

“Oh!” Harry pulled his hand away from Mr. Diggle’s and turned to introduce them. “Hermione Granger, this is Mr. Dedalus Diggle … we met at the Leaky Cauldron years ago. Mr. Diggle, Miss Hermione Granger … she’s been my best friend, along with Ron, ever since I started at Hogwarts …”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger,” said Mr. Diggle, but now looking at Hermione with keen interest. “Granger? Uhmm … aren’t you … ummm …”

Hermione flushed, unsure of how to respond to this but Mr. Diggle, noting this, continued, “Ah, well … one must not believe all that one reads, of course. Especially if it comes from the poisonous pen of Rita Skeeter! She’s got nothing good to say about anyone …”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Diggle. It’s nice meeting you.”

“Might I ask something, young lady?” Hermione frowned. “What you said to those two buffoons … was that a curse or something?”

“I … I did?” she said, apparently confused but internally appalled that someone had picked up on that. “I … I don’t remember saying anything …”

“Of course you did, Hermione,” Ginny broke in. “You were saying something like, ‘Make my day!’ Crabbe and Goyle simply froze …”

“Ah … errr …” Hermione flushed again, her face now an interesting shade of red which would have done justice to the Weasley family’s hair, while stealing nervous glances at Harry’s clueless face. No one noticed Bill Weasley’s wide, wide grin as he watched her expression. She was saved from replying, however, when Mr. Diggle finally took his leave.

“Well!” Mr. Weasley said. “At least that’s over … although I would have given up a lot to see Lucius Malfoy’s face! He’ll take a long time to live that down!”

“Arthur!” Molly said warningly. “We haven’t even started our errands and …”

“Quite right, quite right!” he said, embarrassed. “We can discuss this later at lunch. So, where are you all headed now?”

The twins said that they had to get back to Zonko’s with Ron. Ron looked hesitant about leaving Hermione, but she nudged him away, saying that she still had to have her Muggle money changed. Harry, Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny still had to go to the bank to get some money – and Bill, of course, still had his meeting with the goblins and other curse-breakers.

They decided to split up again, with the Weasley’s pere et fil joining Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, with Harry and Hermione, while Ron was to join the twins back at Zonko’s. They agreed to meet at Florean’s ice cream parlor in thirty minutes or so, and then would lunch at the Leaky Cauldron before proceeding with their shopping.

As they were about to split up, however, Harry turned to Hermione, “What did you shout at Crabbe and Goyle, Mione?”

To everyone’s surprise (except Bill, who stifled a snicker), Hermione blushed again, and started stammering, “Nothing … nothing … it’s just a slip of the tongue …”

A full-bodied belly laugh suddenly erupted from Bill Weasley, who replied, “I’ll say … it is sooo appropriate, Hermione!” The others looked at him in shock, unsure of why ... except for Hermione who looked as if she were wishing she could just disappear into the ground …

“Did you really say, ‘Go Ahead! Make My Day?” Bill asked. “I saw that movie in Cairo … they were doing a Clint Eastwood festival …”

The others, including Harry, were puzzled – Clint WHO? Hermione, however, turned away, not wanting to look at Harry or the others. She turned back, however, when Bill addressed her directly, “Hermione? Care to tell them what that movie was?”

“The movie was …” Hermione’s voice dropped, and shook her head.

“Dirty Harry.” Bill completed, to be followed by another laugh.

“Dirty Harry?” Ron said, incredulously. He took in Hermione’s blushing, Bill’s laughter, Harry’s open-mouthed cluelessness about the title and gave his opinion: “That’s bloody … brilliant!”

Silence descended. And then … Ginny giggled, followed by snickers from the Twins … and then Arthur Weasley let loose with a belly laugh … and they were soon laughing their heads off, except for Hermione and Harry, who were looking at each other with bemused expressions.

Epiphanies

Chapter 6. Expectations and Realizations

It was … cute.

It was … endearing.

It was … charming.

It brought back memories of other times, other people … and one special witch in particular, which brought a slicing ache to his heart.

The sight brought a wistful smile to the tanned face of Bill Weasley as he watched his youngest brother’s best friends walking in front of him, weighed down with the results of the day’s shopping at Diagon Alley.

Or rather … Harry was the one carrying the burden of the day’s shopping: slightly hunched, both arms drooping from bags full of books (Hermione’s purchases probably making up the bulk of these), while Hermione walked beside him carrying a bag emblazoned with the name of Madam Malkin’s shop. He was telling Hermione something, his face alight with an inner mirth while she was giving him her full attention, although her face was glowing with its own mischief.

It must have been some joke, Bill thought with amusement, as he watched Hermione shift the bag she was carrying to her other hand, and proceeded to swat at Harry’s head. The latter, however, neatly evaded her hand and, moving a few steps away, stuck out his tongue at his friend.

A smile and a shake of her head were Hermione’s only response; in the next moment, she had stepped closer to Harry, linked her arm around his elbow, and leaned her head with its bushy crop of hair on his arm. Harry, on the other hand, had moved his arm around her waist – a move which she copied so effortlessly, so naturally, that a dispassionate observer would have thought they’d done this a hundred or a thousand times before … and the two continued walking down the road without missing a beat.

“Do you believe in platonic love?”

The question was so startling, so unexpected, that Bill almost missed a step; turning sharply, he cast an upraised eyebrow at his youngest brother, who’d been walking quietly beside him all the time.

Ron stared back, unblinking, although a slight blush was making its way up his face … and Bill gaped at him in surprise. He was not expecting this … there was nothing that he could see in the times he’d seen the infamous Trio together to even indicate that Ron was interested in that way towards the female member of the group. He knew about Ginny and her crush on The Boy-Who-Lived … he’d read Rita Skeeter’s story about Hermione being Harry’s girlfriend when the Triwizard champions were announced … and his mother had almost blistered his ear off with her anger and disgust at the girl for playing with the affections of Harry and Viktor Krum in the hours before they went to Hogwarts to watch the Third Task.

He’d been full of admiration for the way Harry had handled his mother in the Great Hall when Hermione approached them … at the straightforward manner with which he’d confronted the uneasy situation (although he did wonder why Hermione blushed when Harry refuted the Skeeter’s reports) … and he could still remember Hermione’s barely-in-control panic when they’d gone to the Hospital Wing after the Third Task to ask about Harry -- and learned that he wasn’t there …

The memories of that night flooded back … seeing a bedraggled and befuddled Harry walking in with Dumbledore and a large black dog … his mother giving a muffled cry and nearly bowling over a shocked and shaken Hermione, who’d stood there frozen at the sight of her friend looking like he’d been through seven levels of hell …

And a snapshot from that night flashed into his mind … a picture buried in the avalanche of shocking revelations that the night had brought. He’d caught Harry and Hermione exchanging a glance … a single look that made him avert his eyes, feeling that he’d walked into a room without knocking, make a mental note to himself that it was not polite to listen in on a private conversation … and mentally thwapping himself in the same second as he realized that there had been no conversation between the two friends.

But, he reflected, watching the two ahead of him, they may as well have been talking …

He shook his head at the memory; and was startled when Ron commented in a slightly bitter voice, “I didn’t think so.”

With that, Ron turned away and walked into the crowds that thronged Diagon Alley.

* * * *

This was … nice, Harry thought, an arm loaded with books around Hermione, her head resting on his shoulder and her arm around him, as they walked in step down the familiar path towards Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor. The tension and fear that enveloped him after the confrontation with Malfoy and his gang had dissipated … he felt at peace with the world, at peace with himself … warm and contented in the comforting embrace of his best friend.

She was like the sister he never had and wanted … no, that he needed, prayed for through all the painful years of growing up, alone and unwanted, with the Dursleys. Someone who understood him … someone who really, truly, cared for him … who would stand beside him in any conflict … who was always looking out for him. Someone that he could share his fears and nightmares with, knowing that she would never laugh at him, never sneer at him … would always understand that, beneath the unruly hair and the famous scar, was a scared, oftentimes frightened little boy who never felt he was good enough … who often felt that he was to blame for everything bad that happened to him and to his friends …

“It isn’t always about you, Harry … do you hear me? It … is … not … always … about … you!”

The words echoed and re-echoed in his mind … the words she muttered as she kept hitting him on the chest earlier that day … and, at some point between the time they’d separated from the others and before he reached his Gringotts’ vault, the realization came: his best friend was right.

As always.

He wasn’t to blame for the fight that morning … Malfoy started it, using his well-honed talent for getting under his skin to provoke him. There were those, he knew, who would think that he was to blame … that Malfoy and his cronies were only trying to get back at him after the humiliation they’d suffered on the train back from Hogwarts, but the fact remained: Malfoy started it, insulting Ron and Hermione and then insulting Cedric for good measure …

And for a brief, horrifying moment, Harry was back in the graveyard, Cedric on his back, mouth open, grey eyes staring up at the empty sky … and he felt his neck stiffen as he stopped himself from physically shaking the memory off …

“It … is … not … always … about … you!”

He may have been the ultimate target of Voldemort … he may have provided the ‘blood of the enemy, forcibly taken’ that Voldemort needed to complete the spell … but if he hadn’t touched the Triwizard Cup, Cedric would still be dead – Disarmed and then Avada Kedavra’d by Voldemort without a thought or even the offer of a duel. There was no other way to look at it … Cedric had been the clear winner at the end of the Third Task, but it was the Hufflepuff’s sense of honor and his innate decency and kindness which made him tell Harry to claim the cup and the victory … in the face of such civility and graciousness, what was he to do?

Smile and grab the Cup? Keep on arguing with Cedric about who should take the Cup and claim victory, exchange notes on who did the most for whom from the time Harry told him about the dragons, to Cedric’s advice about the Golden Egg (and the generous offer to make use of the Prefect’s Bathroom), to who saved who when they were lost in the maze …

He was a Gryffindor, Harry thought. In the face of such decency, he couldn’t do anything but return the favor … and opted for the only compromise that made sense to him. All because of Cedric’s innate decency and sense of honor … a presentation which he had to return in full measure.

If he’d grabbed the Cup for himself … chances were that he could have escaped, as he did escape that night.

Or maybe not.

If he hadn’t escaped the trap … if he had died that night, then it would be Cedric mourning his death right now … blaming himself for pushing Harry into the trap – such were the conventions of the virtuous and honorable.

And there’d be no one to console Hermione.

His heart wrenched at the thought … and he could see in his mind’s eye that horrific and painful memory of the Leaving Feast … raising his goblet to the memory of Cedric … and seeing Cho’s tears as she silently cried … and imagining, for a brief instant, Hermione sitting there and crying … perhaps with Viktor Krum beside her, trying to console her …

And probably getting hexed by a maddened, angry Hermione in the bargain.

What was it with Krum, Harry wondered yet again. Why should he even think of Harry as a potential rival for Hermione, when it should have been obvious to even the most blind of bats that Hermione was nothing more than his friend!

His mind suddenly jumped on the revelations made by Rita Skeeter, and he forced himself to hold back his rage at what had happened to his friend … he felt her suddenly tensing beside him, and he held her a bit tighter in reassurance … and felt her relax, imperceptibly, although he knew she would be scanning their surroundings, prepared to hex anyone or anything that presented a threat …

To be fair, he thought … Skeeter was clear on one thing: it wasn’t Viktor who’d had problems with Hermione … it was his family that apparently questioned his best friend’s acceptability. He smiled grimly at that … their loss, he thought. They didn’t know her the same way he knew her … his sister … his friend …

Yeah, right, his friend. Some friend … the one who’d bullied and pushed him into completing his assignments and studying his lessons … who’d wheedled and cajoled him into eating something before his first Quidditch match … the straight arrow who’d broken at least fifty school rules in concocting the Polyjuice potion – including stealing boomslang skin from Snape’s room… who’d gone with him into the tunnel and the Shrieking Shack, without even thinking of running back for a teacher … who’d brought him a stack of toast so that he could have breakfast in peace, the day after the Goblet of Fire announced him as a champion …

Who’d talked about nothing but him whenever she was with Viktor Krum.

Some sister.

He almost tripped as the thought blasted through his body …

Some friend.

What a girl!

And he suddenly wondered if, for some obscure reason, Voldemort had made a fatal mistake … that it wasn’t him, that it wasn’t Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, who was the real threat to his mad schemes of domination, but the girl who was walking beside him … the one, the only, Hermione Granger.

The thought brought a smile to his lips … a smile that soon made its way to his eyes, and the shadow of gloom lifted a bit more from his shoulders. Wouldn’t it be ironic, he thought … wouldn’t it be supremely hilarious if, after all the effort, all the suffering and pain that he had caused in the past four years in his insane efforts to kill The Boy-Who-Defeated-Him, Voldemort’s real enemy was the slim, petite girl with bushy brown hair walking beside him?

From out of nowhere, an errant memory struck … something in one of the pocketbooks that Dudley never read, thrown into the room he occupied in the summers but which had been Dudley’s storeroom … given as a gift by some unknowing and unknown benefactor … something about the deepest, darkest secret in the universe … what was it? Oh yes … that was it …

“It is something even the Masters don’t reveal about the inner nature of the secret heart of the universe … The deepest darkest secret of all that the Force lets you see …

“The universe has a sense of humor.”

A smile broke out that would have melted the polar ice caps – or melted the heart of Severus Snape, if he ever swung that way. For a tiny instant, a laugh boiled up within him and he felt … liberated. It felt so good to laugh … to find even a tiny shred of humor in the darkness that he could feel gathering around them … and for a wild moment, felt a sudden, insane urge to plant a kiss on the bushy head of hair resting on his shoulder …

Did he just think about kissing her?

Why?

Why should the very thought of kissing her make him feel torn … no, it wasn’t that … it was as if his mind had split in two … one side saying that doing so was the most natural thing to do, while the other was screaming at him that it was not natural, that it was incestuous … that one does not think that way about one’s sister …

But she’s not.

My sister, that is.

She’s my friend … she’s my girl friend.

Oh.

He resisted that mad, mad itch for a moment – and gave in to the impulse.

He leaned forward, lips puckered to plant the kiss … at exactly the same moment that she decided to look up at him … and they froze – noses a hair’s breath from each other … lips a thin ribbon’s width away, so close that they could feel each other’s breathing as they inhaled and exhaled in a rapid, sharp tempo, eyes locked in a question that neither recognized or understood … or were prepared to acknowledge.

And they quickly reverted to their original stance … Harry looking ahead, an arm carrying a bag of books around his best friend, the other arm similarly weighed down with another bag of books at his side … Hermione with her head resting on his shoulder, an arm around her best friend, neither of them missing a beat as they walked side-by-side down the length of Diagon Alley …

Neither one saw an extremely annoyed, not to say chagrined, wizard swearing softly at what had almost happened. A moment later, with a resigned sigh, he tossed a golden Galleon at his smirking twin.

* * * *

This was … comfortable. No, reassuring was a better word … but not quite … not quite …

Hermione Granger, who was precise in everything she did … who had memorized and could recite without a stutter a thousand and one arcane facts, from the twelve uses of dragon’s blood to the names of the first Board of Directors of Gringotts … found that she could not describe exactly what she was feeling at this moment as she walked the streets with her best friend.

Except to say that it was … nice.

It was … wonderful.

It was … natural.

It felt as if her whole life had been a journey, with a few detours here and there, towards this … to be walking the streets of magical London, surrounded by her friends and family (well, the Weasleys may not have been her biological family, but they’d adopted her into their fold so easily, except for that little awkwardness over the stupid Skeeter’s article), an arm around her best friend … his arm around her … and walking along so naturally, not even talking about which direction their steps would go, almost stepping into the gutter as they avoided a large stack of boxes being levitated by some wizard, but avoiding it just the same, without breaking stride …

Just walking along comfortably, quietly, naturally.

Unconsciously, she rubbed her head against his shoulder, and felt the tension of the muscles there as his arm carried a bag of her books. She’d offered to relieve him of the load but he had answered, in a voice with a slight echo of her own bossy, know-it-all manner from her first year, that he didn’t think she could manage it … that the weight of her books may well stunt whatever little growth she’d had over the summer …

She’d swatted at him then, but he’d easily avoided it. She knew that her body language must have communicated her intentions to him (as his body often told her his feelings and emotions without words being said), and he’d stepped away and stuck his tongue out at her.

She could only smile at him, and toss her hair … in the next moment, she’d stepped closer to him and tucked her arm in his so naturally, leaned against his shoulder and whispered, “Behave!” and he did … placing an arm around her without thinking … and she had placed her arm around him so naturally …

As naturally as hugging a brother.

If she had one.

Which she definitely did not.

But then … why did she feel so comfortable, so at ease … so at home with Harry Potter?

She didn’t know.

It just felt so natural (there was that word again) … even when she did not know him from Adam, that first day on the Hogwarts Express when she’d stumbled into the compartment he shared with Ron and saw him for the first time – all hair and glasses, almost swimming in the castoff clothes of an enormous Dudley … and for some reason, started chattering away to them, even before she could give her name.

Or even ask who they were.

She nearly cringed as she remembered her first days at Hogwarts and (this time, she did cringe) the seemingly desperate attempts to get the boy beside her to take notice -- and making a total fool of herself -- talking about the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall … chattering away with Percy about Transfiguration … raising her hand during their first Potions lesson, not because she wanted to show off (as many of them undoubtedly thought) but because she wanted to draw attention away from him.

Only for that miserable Professor Snape to take points away from Gryffindor.

She sighed to herself, and snuggled closer to her best friend, and continued pondering that question: Why did she feel so at home with him?

She was no Princess Leia, that was for sure. She’d been a Star Wars aficionado for years … rather, her parents were (which was a rather startling idea for dentists) but Star Wars had been her parents date-movie when they were at Uni … and she’d grown up with the full collection of toys, including an action-figure Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker.

And then they’d brought home the VHS movies to celebrate their new large-screen TV.

She’d been so entranced, especially with Obi-Wan’s explanation of The Force (“It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.”); enthralled by Yoda’s training and admonitions to Luke; watched, goggle-eyed, as the diminutive figure lifted Luke’s X-Wing fighter out of the Dagobah swamp … and his final, cutting statement to Luke’s “I don’t believe it”: “That is why you fail.”

It made her determined to be a Jedi Knight.

She focused her mind on the popcorn bowl as her parents continued watching the movie … and kept repeating Yoda’s “Do. Or do not. There is no try” to herself … and watched the bowl give a sudden jerk and float into the air.

Only to crash as her mother’s shriek of surprise broke her concentration. But it proved to her that the Force did exist, no matter that her parents kept insisting for months after that it was only a movie, that there was no such thing as the Force, and tried to explain away the many strange (to her, wonderful) things that kept happening around her.

They refused to believe, until the letter from Hogwarts arrived – and they were forced to admit the fact that, while their daughter may not be a Jedi Knight, she did have something like the Force within her.

Only, it was called magic.

However … if there was one thing she didn’t like about Star Wars, however, it was the way they handled the story of Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker. It was a plain and simple cop-out, she thought irately, making Luke and Leia siblings separated at birth because big, bad Darth Vader was their father, so they could develop the Han-Leia angle … she’d been rooting for Luke and Leia from the beginning, but knew, by the second movie, that her wishes would not be granted … all those icky glances and verbal clashes between Han and Leia … like the constant bickering between her and Ron …

She almost missed a step.

Was that what it was?

Was she living in a Star Wars movie, where Luke was Harry, she was Princess Leia, and Ron was Han Solo?

No.

Of that she was sure.

She felt a quiver of tension from her best friend, and she quickly glanced around for the threat, but he’d hugged her tightly for a moment, and she relaxed …and her mind brought back the question that started it all … and for which she could find no real answer.

It was just … it just is.

She just felt more comfortable, more at ease, more at home with Harry than with anyone else … and no, it was not because he was her long-lost brother or something. She’d made sure of that, when her mother asked her (eyebrows raised) why she was spending so much on Harry, the summer before their third year, when she’d bought him the Broomstick Servicing Kit … and she told her Mum that it was for her best friend.

They’d talked about Harry that night … his adventures and his life, his miserable life with the Dursleys and his parents … and her mother had commented, “Sounds like Luke Skywalker, doesn’t he?”

She’d laughed at that, and told her Mum that no, Harry was no Luke … although he did have the messy hair, Harry’s eyes were green … and while he did pick up magic in much the same way that Luke handled the Force (instinctively), he didn’t even have a light-saber to duel with … although, she said reflectively, he did have Godric Gryffindor’s sword.

And she, Hermione Ann Granger, was certainly no Princess Leia, flying all over the Galaxy fighting the bad guys … but (and she kept the thought to herself, knowing the shock and dismay her mother would feel) what had she been doing since first year? She’d been with Harry until almost the end in the chambers leading to the Sorcerer’s Stone … OK, she was Petrified when he and Ron went after the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, but she had helped even then … she was with him when they rescued Sirius … in any case, she’d said awkwardly to her mother, she was no princess …

“Well, to your father and myself, you always were a princess,” her mother had replied. She’d smiled and hugged her Mum, and broke into a laugh as she continued, “and one thing for sure … you are most definitely my little girl. I carried you with me for nine months, talking to you, singing to you, reading to you …”

She’d hugged her Mum again at that.

She felt a sudden mirth in her best friend, and wondered what he found so funny … and heard Harry murmuring something under his breath, and caught the last part as she listened closely from her position with her head on his shoulder: “…The deepest darkest secret of all that the Force lets you see … The universe has a sense of humor.”

“Children of the Jedi,” she thought. She’d seen the book when she went shopping with her Mum for her summer clothes, and bought it on impulse … and she recognized the line even as she wondered why Harry would be thinking of Star Wars … and what had brought that particular line to his mind … which brought her mind back to Ron Weasley-as-Han Solo …

No, Ron was no Han Solo … he didn’t have that smuggler’s style … she couldn’t imagine Ron piloting the Millennium Falcon telling the others, “Never tell me the odds!” And if the way they bickered was any indicator … he was definitely no Han … and she was no Princess Leia!

If anything, their bickering sounded more like … like … oh, no, she thought in dismay. They often sounded like C3PO and R2D2, with her taking on the protocol droid’s spinsterish, old-maid tone and manner, while Ron’s responses followed the sharp, cutting tones of the astromech droid …

And she stifled her own laugh.

Now that would be the heart of irony and hilarity! If the wizarding world knew of Star Wars, they may fall into the same trap of thinking of the three of them in the same way the world saw the Trio of Luke, Leia and Han … when it may very well be the other Trio of Luke, C3PO and R2D2, with Harry as the heroic Luke Skywalker … and his two sidekicks constantly bickering and sniping at each other, although the roles were often reversed: she could see Ron as C3PO moaning, “we’re doomed, we’re doomed!” while she was R2D2, running in to find a solution on the ship’s computers … slotted behind Harry’s X-Wing fighter trying to hold that bucket of bolts together …

At least their heights matched with the two druids … except when she was in her Hermione-as-C3PO mode, acting like a spinsterish old maid, cautioning them about the rules … bullying them to do their homework … hounding them to help her with S.P.E.W. … holding Harry back from making a fool of himself over the veela …

Her moment of hilarity dimmed as she wondered whether they really did look at her that way … she felt a hint of tears beginning to form, and sneaked a peek at her best friend, wondering what he really thought of her … and catching a smile so unaffected, so artless and spontaneous that she felt herself feeling enveloped by warmth … the kind of warmth he radiated when they were together like this … quietly, sharing a moment of companionship together …

And she realized that that was what seemed to bind her so closely to Harry Potter … It wasn’t the things he did for the wizarding world that made him whatever it was that he was to her … it was everything that he’d done for her from the moment she’d barged into their compartment in a search of a toad. He had never laughed at her … didn’t join in with everyone else who’d thought of her as a bossy, know-it-all witch who wanted to be Head Girl before she was twelve … who’d realized she did not know about the Troll in the castle even though she hadn’t spoken to him in weeks … and who’d waded bravely, if stupidly, into the girl’s bathroom to try and pull her out …

She remembered the moment in the room with the Potions challenge beneath the castle … the moment she’d given in to impulse and hugged him tightly before letting him go to face the final challenge alone.

“Me!” said Hermione. “Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harry -- be careful!”

She’d been about to say “love” but had stopped herself in time … what did she know of love at the tender age of eleven? But it was what she’d wanted to say … it was what she felt at that singular moment in time …

She felt a sudden impulse to stand up on her toes and kiss him on the cheek … it was the same compulsion that made her kiss him on the cheek at Platform 9 and 3/4 : that combination of concern, affection, caring, love for someone who was a brother to her …

If she had a brother.

Which she did not.

She had a friend.

She had a boy friend.

Oh.

She resisted the mad urge to kiss him for a moment … and gave in, because it expressed for her, everything she felt towards him now …

She turned and tilted her head to kiss his cheek … and froze as she felt his nose almost brushing her own … his lips, warm and full, less than an inch away from hers … and felt his breath mingling with her own … and her eyes locked with his in a question that she was not prepared to acknowledge.

She quickly reverted to her original stance as he did … looking ahead, arms around the others’ best friend … her head resting on his shoulder, his head resting on her hair, neither of them missing a beat as they walked side-by-side down the length of Diagon Alley …

Neither one noticed Molly Weasley, who was walking ahead of them with her husband but constantly glancing back at them, heave a long sigh of frustration … an act which made Arthur look questioningly at his wife. Molly simply reached up and gave him a kiss on the lips …

Epiphanies 07

Author’s Notes: The usual disclaimers: this is based on stories created by JK Rowling, copyright owned by whoever, and there is no profit being made from doing it except the reviews (and the appreciation) of the people who read it.

I would like to thank all those who reviewed on portkey.org and astronomytower.org, but especially DragonKain3, CJH, fopalup, Nicole, and all the others … but especially, thanks for my lovely PQ Queen, sugarjet erin. J

Chapter 7. Awakenings and Confrontations

“Where’s Ron?” Hermione asked, as they entered the courtyard of Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied absently. He glanced around him, feeling as if he’d suddenly walked out of a fogbank into the brilliant sunlight, blinking at his surroundings and wondering, irrelevantly, if this was what "Unfogging the Future" meant. “He was right behind us a minute ago …”

A sudden dread swept through him … Ron was just behind them when he’d placed his arm around Hermione … did he see what I almost did? And even if he didn’t … the way they were walking along, arms around each other …

He looked at his best friend … and saw the same look of dismay in her eyes as they met his. It had been so natural, so spontaneous an act for both of them that they’d never even thought of their other best friend … hadn’t thought that he’d feel left out, boxed out … thrown out of their tight circle of friendship because …

Because of what?

Because … Harry pushed that train of thought away. He didn’t want to focus on it, did not want to think about it now ...

He quickly put down the bags he was carrying on an empty chair and turned to Ginny, who had walked up behind them, “I’ll go look for Ron ... he must have wanted to look at the new brooms ...”

“I’ll go with you,” Hermione said, as she laid down the bag she was carrying. He was about to protest, but he knew that it was useless. She’d feel just as responsible for what happened as he did ... and would be doing whatever was needed to help heal this rift ... if it were a rift ...

He merely nodded and walked out, Hermione beside him ... neither one noticing Ginny's wistful expression as she watched them leave, or the Twins' bemused looks from where they stood at the door of the ice cream parlor ...

* * * *

“And the Dynamic Duo rides again,” Ginny thought to herself as she watched them melt into the crowds, feeling a brief twinge of envy towards Hermione ... and realizing that, while she may be envious of the older girl’s closeness to Harry, she herself was still a long way from establishing the kind of trust, friendship and ... and teamwork that they (including her brother Ron) had built over the years ...

And there, she thought, lay the crux of her problem. The three formed a cohesive whole ... each of them contributing something to the group. But if one were missing ... and she realized, with a stab of surprise, that if Ron were missing, Harry and Hermione would still prevail over whatever was thrown their way. The two would be able to continue ... be able to function ... maybe not as efficiently, maybe not as effectively, but they would easily regain their balance and spirit and carry on ... able to continue because they had each other ...

She shivered at the thought ... and wondered if her brother understood the implications ... and if that was the real reason why he seemed so obsessed with Hermione: not because of any feelings of love, hormonal urgings, or romance, but because he knew, or could sense, that his place in the Trio was slipping away ...

In a way, she reflected, she was luckier than Ron. Much as she wanted to be part of the group (or rather, she admitted to herself, much as she wanted to be part of Harry), the fact that she was on the fringe -- and never part of the Trio -- meant that she could go her own way ... never suffer any heartache, never go through any feelings of hurt or loss ... except for the constant thought of what might have been ...

All such thoughts and worries disappeared, however, as she felt two strong arms suddenly grabbing her about the shoulders ...

* * * *

“No interference, brother?”

“No interference,” Fred (or was it George?) affirmed. He sighed, “Ronnie better grow up ... he’s got no chance with little Miss Granger, not after what we just saw.”

“You think he'll grow up?”

“I hope so ... remember what Mum always says about girls as friends? You either grow up ... or move on.”

“How come she never told me that?”

“She was talking to Charlie, you dumb prat! You think she'll ever be telling me that?”

“Well, she hasn't seen you with Angelina ... Oww!”

“Neither has she seen you with Katie, you git! Or are you still wanking off on McGonagall?”

“Hey! No talking about my love life ...”

“Yeah,” Fred (or George) replied. He sighed again, “I better not make any more bets on those two ... I could have sworn that he was going to kiss her ... “

“Leave it, George,” his twin replied. “Besides, what I got from you goes back into the Fund. And ... Uh-oh ...”

“What?” George glanced at his brother, followed his gaze, and muttered darkly, “I’ll put a stop to that!”

A stocky wizard with blonde hair and a camera slung around his neck had grabbed their sister, and they could hear his formerly thin and whiny, now deep and husky voice saying, “Ginny! Are you all right?”

“That’s not ...”

“It is ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“It is ...”

“He’s not ...”

“He might ...”

The Twins watched in mingled amusement, sibling pride and brotherly protectiveness as Ginny came eyeball-to-eyeball with Colin Creevey, somehow taller and more filled out than either remembered from last year, dark blue eyes flashing with concern, the ever-present camera slung around his neck totally forgotten -- his seeming obsession with cataloguing the Life and Times of Harry Potter completely set aside as he scanned her face and body anxiously for any injury or bruise.

Or so they hoped.

“People were talking when we got here ... did you really have a wizard’s duel with Malfoy and the Slytherins? Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you? C’mon, let’s have an ice cream... I’d like to hear about what happened,” Colin continued talking as he pulled Ginny towards a group of younger witches and wizards from her year and below ...

“He’s taller ...”

“Quite good-looking, too.”

“Think he’ll make a good Beater?”

“Beater?” A sly grin broke out on the other’s face. “Oh, you mean as a target for Bludgers?”

“Yeah ...”

“Too bad Lockhart’s no longer around ...”

An evil grin broke out on the other’s face. “Right ... he could make all his bones disappear ...”

“I would rather that he disappear ...”

Before they could make a move, a heavy arm clapped Fred’s and George’s shoulder -- and they turned into the smiling eyes of their big brother, who’d grabbed them by their upper arms, and started pulling them towards the shop. “Leave her, boys ... it’s what she needs right now.”

“Bill ...”

“Yeah, Bill ...”

Their eldest brother gave them a look which had shut them up without a squeak in their younger years, and they fell silent, accepting but not committed to the idea.

Bill smiled: “If he goes too far, you have my permission to shove his camera all the way where the sun doesn’t shine.”

The Twins looked at each other and nodded, evil schemes popping into their minds ... both agreeing that they’d found their next laboratory animal (test pilot? George thought with a wicked gleam in his eye), and allowed themselves to be pulled into the ice cream parlor ...

* * * *

Head bowed ... hands in pockets ... letting the crowds that thronged the marketplace push him this way and that. Eyes blank, vision blurred but not from unshed tears ... for there were no tears to shed, as his mind played and replayed scenes from that day: the two of them falling into The Burrow, muddy and laughing that morning ... discussing the relative merits of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes at breakfast ... Hermione on top of Harry as she arrived at the Leaky Cauldron ... Harry and Hermione standing back to back, Disarmed and stunned enemies around them ...

Why did he torture himself? He should have known ... they’d been friends for years ... how come he’d never really seen it before?

It had always been Harry and Hermione ... Hermione and Harry, ever since their first year ... Hermione looking as if she wanted to climb into Harry’s bed and hug him in the Hospital Wing after the incident with the Sorcerer’s Stone ... Hermione running towards Harry screaming, “You’ve solved it! You’ve solved it!” in their second year (and slamming into Harry for a fierce and joyful hug in front of Dumbledore and the whole school) ... Hermione telling Harry to cheer up as he watched Hogwarts disappear behind the mountains on the way home after their third year ... Hermione kissing Harry at Platform 9 and ¾ last year ... and the sight that he was witness to earlier after their confrontation with Malfoy and his cronies ...

And the score now stood ... in the Hugs Department, Harry Potter, 4; Ron Weasley, 3. In the Kisses Department, Harry Potter, two; Ron Weasley, none.

Harry Potter leaves the Weasley behind.

It was enough to drive a boy to drink.

Unbidden, a gloomy confession made in the comfort of a compartment shared by two frightened, insecure boys came to mind: “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to ... Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first ...”

It seemed that even in the department ruled over by Cupid with his stupid arrows full of love potion, someone else was going to come in first ...

It was enough to drive a man to drink.

The question was ... what ever made him think that he even stood a chance with Hermione?

And the thought struck him with all the force of a rogue Bludger ... whatever made him think that he could think of Hermione in that way?

Comfort.

Assurance.

Security.

With Hermione, he wasn’t just another Weasley, as that stupid git Malfoy had sneered at, so many moons ago. He was Ron: friend, classmate, sometime companion ... someone she could boss around to do his homework, pester about his assignments ... embarrass every once in a while, as she had done with the first ever Charm they’d learned, the never to be forgotten Wingardium Leviosa -- with the ‘gar’ nice and long.

And ... with a profound shock, he realized that that was the same way Harry felt about her: comfort, assurance … contentment.

With Hermione Granger, Harry was just Harry Potter -- not the famous Boy-Who-Lived, not the youngest Seeker in a century, not the Triwizard Champion ...

Just plain Harry: wizard, fellow student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and more importantly ... friend. Most especially ... the person who’d saved her life in first year.

Or one of them, depending on how you looked at it.

But in a curious way ... he saw Harry the same way now. Oh sure, the first time, he was all agog about the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Everyone was, even Hermione ... and he smiled as he remembered the rambling introduction that had caused both of them to stare at her, stunned, stupefied, and ... shocked.

But, as the days passed, he’d come to think of Harry as just that ... plain Harry Potter, friend.

Or not.

He mentally cringed as he remembered last year when the Goblet of Fire announced Harry as the other champion ... and he pushed that thought out of his mind, mentally hitting it as if it were a Bludger out to kill him ... only for the memory of the Firebolt and Scabbers incidents of their third year to come crashing in ...

Again, he forced his mind to stop wincing, and focused on that most profound thought ...

Which, he realized, was where it all started.

He was comfortable with Hermione ... there was no need to put on any pretensions ... any airs ... any facades that he was anything more than what he truly was ... a nice guy to have around.

Or was he?

Cringing in embarrassment was getting to be a habit; he must have done more of it during this one day than he’d ever done in his whole life. But ... he sighed to himself, that’s what you get for facing up to reality ... the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Ginny’s cutting words to him that morning were sooo true ... he was a dense, insensitive, idiotic, immature prat.

Correction.

I am.

His mind brought back the image of minutes before ... his two friends walking together so easily ... Harry carrying her books, Hermione carrying his robes. They looked so cute together, arms around each other ... an aura of profound comfort emanating from them.

There was that word again. But honestly, what other word was there to describe it? He knew that if he walked up and joined them, there would be no awkwardness, no discomfort or unease between them ... not unless he brought it in to their tight little group.

Which, he admitted to himself, he had brought in ... too many times to count.

Was that why Hermione always seemed so comfortable with Harry ... and not with him? Harry was just natural whenever he was with Hermione ... unaffected, spontaneous, completely relaxed. He took her bossiness in stride ... accepted her intelligence without lifting an eyebrow ... and returned her affection in even measure. All it took was a smile and a question ... and all of Hermione’s objections dissolved, that time when Harry sneaked out to join them in Hogsmeade.

He wasn’t even trying to be charming, Ron realized ... he was just being Harry: secure in their friendship, confident in their protection, unquestioning in their understanding. It had been Harry’s confidence in her friendship and support that led Hermione to break the rules too many times to count ...

And she returned his confidence in full measure, and more.

Was that the key to their relationship? That they trusted each other to do what had to be done ... knowing the other enough to do the right thing without thought, without question?

But what about him?

Breathe.

Go with the flow.

Shrug your shoulders.

There.

He’d flinched again ... he was getting better at it. The way he was going, he’d have done enough cringing, flinching and wincing at his past actions to last him a lifetime. Although, as Ginny told him, he’d better get used to this ... he’d be doing it again in the future ... well into the future, unless he changed his ways.

That brought him back to the thought which started all this: what had made him think that he could think of Hermione in that way?

Back to comfort, assurance and security.

Especially the last.

At the end of it all ... Hermione was a known entity to him. It may have taken him a little longer to twig to the fact that she was a girl ... but she had shown them all, and how! Showing up at the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, looking so absolutely beautiful that she’d bowled them all over -- including Draco bloody Malfoy with the banshee he called a girl -- and practically all the girls in Hogwarts, including the snooty Fleur Delacour, feeling, for a moment, that they had all been had.

And that, he admitted to himself, was where his resentment came from. If Hermione had gone with him, he wouldn’t have been embarrassed to death with his stupid dress robes, which were more properly dress than robes. She’d have been able to come up with a hundred and one charms to make his robes more presentable ... she would have made him relaxed at his first-ever formal ball ... she would have been a comfortable companion during the dinner, the dancing, the walk back to Gryffindor Tower ...

He would have entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts on the arm of a beautiful girl who accepted him for what he was.

Instead, she’d gone with Vicky ... but then again, why shouldn’t she? He never asked her ... never even thought of asking her ... he’d been so engrossed with hooking up with the most beautiful girl he could think of that he’d totally ignored her ... and conveniently forgot the fact that she was a girl.

He’d turned to her only as a last resort ... and was rightly, shot down in flames.

And of course, he being himself, had acted the total and complete prat about it ... pestering her about who her date was ... boiling in resentment during the ball that he’d forgotten all about his date ... finally ending what should have been an enjoyable night for all of them with the biggest fight he’d ever had with her -- and in public at that!

And there lay the difference.

Harry simply accepted it ... he trusted Hermione enough to let her be ... to let her have her time with Viktor with no questions or recriminations ... to tell her that he had no issues with her dating Krum ... in fact, he’d told Ron later that Hermione could have shown up with the Mountain Troll that almost killed her in first year and he wouldn’t have any issues with it.

Because Harry trusted her.

As Hermione trusted Harry.

While he ...

Enough.

Flinch, cringe, wince, shrink ... what more did he need to do? He’d done it all in the space of a few minutes more than once ... it would be a mercy if the earth just opened up and swallowed him whole ...

Thump.

He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts that he wasn’t thinking about where he was going ... and looked up in surprise as he heard someone shouting, “Give it back!” followed by another small voice shouting, “Yes, give it back!”

He walked towards the alley where the voices were coming from, and saw a huge student he recognized as Derrick, a Slytherin Beater, holding up a wand as a small, thin-framed girl with long, straight black hair kept trying to grab it from him, but looking more like a poodle trying to jump for a stick held out of reach. They were surrounded by other students ... beside the huge Beater was his partner Bole, easily holding off another small girl, with long, slightly wavy black hair but with a somewhat stockier build than the other.

She was trying to get to Derrick, crying, “Give it back, or I ... I’ll ...”

“You’ll what? Tell your Muggle mother?” Bole sneered. It was then that Ron noticed an older woman dressed in muggle clothes standing by a wall near the two girls, shocked and uncertain about what to do. “Filthy mudbloods! We don’t need your kind at Hogwarts ...”

Ron’s protective instincts, never far below the surface, boiled out. “Give it back, Derrick! Or can you only handle little girls who haven’t been Sorted yet?”

The Slytherins turned to him, surprised ... but another huge player that Ron recognized was their Chaser, Montague, sneered, “It’s only the Weasel, Potty’s lapdog. He can’t do anything ...”

That did it ... all his frustration, and perhaps all the cringing that he’d been doing throughout the day, finally let go. In a blur, he pulled his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” ... and watched in gleeful satisfaction as the wand in Derrick’s hand flew into the air while the huge Beater was thrown backward to crash into the alley’s wall ... with a graceful move that belied his assumed awkwardness, he grabbed the little girl’s wand as it flew towards him, and spun around to face the other Beater -- only to see Bole doubled up on the ground, gasping for breath, and the stocky little girl walking backwards away from the fallen goon, a look of surprise on her face ...

A movement seen from the corner of his eye and he dropped to the ground, dodging the jinx thrown at him and casting the Full-Body Bind at the same time ... and watched the slow-motion, face forward, fallen-tree collapse of his opponent.

He stood and spun around, wand ready ... and realized his predicament: there were still six or seven thugs facing him, led by the massive Montague. He could possibly hold off one or two at a time ... but if they all rushed him, no amount of magic and cursing would prevent him from being beaten up ...

Apparently, the same thought had come to Montague; with a cry of, “No wands! Let’s beat him up!” the gang rushed and he prepared himself, thinking only of his regrets for all the prattishness that he’d shown his best friends ...

* * * * *

No words were exchanged ... they fell again, naturally, into their established routine: Harry leading, bulling his way through the crowds, and automatically dropping his hand behind him, and Hermione’s hand automatically finding its way to his ... for an instant, their hands flinched at the contact but entwined themselves together effortlessly as she followed behind him ...

“Was he going to kiss me?” she wondered as she followed him automatically through the crowd. “Why? What’s happening to us ... what’s happening to me? Is he my friend or my brother ... no, he isn’t, I know that ... but why was he going to kiss me ... but why was I going to kiss him ... stop it, Hermione! Focus ... where’s Ron ... if that silly prat uses this against Harry, I ... I’ll ... “

“You’ll what, Hermione?” She looked up guiltily at Harry’s concerned face and wondered how much she’d actually said ... and she could read the worry and concern in his eyes.

His friendship with Ron meant so much to him ... Ron had been his first real friend, aside from Hagrid ... not just in the wizarding world, but in the whole wide world, in fact. She felt a twinge of ... envy? jealousy? spite? as she remembered their reconciliation last year at the end of the First Task ... how she’d been crying and had hugged both of them ... feeling happy that their Trio was intact, but at the same time, feeling a wrenching loss, knowing that the time spent alone with Harry was over ...

But why should she feel that she had lost something, when their Trio was back together again? He was still her best friend … if anything, that incident had bound the three of them closer together but still …

She bumped into him and was surprised, realizing that he’d stopped at a deserted area of the marketplace and was facing her, both hands held in his, and she looked up to see his eyes on her face ... an unreadable expression in them. Which was a surprise, because she’d always been able to read and understand what he was thinking ...

“He’s still our friend, Hermione,” she heard him say ... and she turned away, nodding. Yes he was, she thought, but wondering at the same time whether what she felt for Harry was going to interfere ... to work its insidious way between the three of them and force a break ... and worrying that, if it came down to a choice, she would be the one left out ...

And she barely caught his whispered words, “... and if he doesn’t like it ... ... he can go hang!”

“Harry,” she whispered, uncertain of what he’d said, and watched as he locked eyes with her. Before she could continue her question ... or he could respond, they both heard a muffled, “Petrificus Totalus!” from a nearby alley... and both ran towards the sound ...

* * * * *

“Impedimenta!”

Ron watched, shocked, as Montague hit an invisible barrier -- and bounced back into the rushing gang, bringing them down like pins in a bowling alley. He tensed as he felt a presence materialize beside him, and relaxed as he realized who it would be ...

“Took you long enough,” he said, without looking around, still focused on the hooligans.

“You were doing quite well on your own,” Harry said. “Four down ... think we can take the rest?”

Before Ron could respond, he felt a presence on his other side, and knew that Hermione was there, wand out and probably casting her death-glare at the fallen thugs. If that was not enough to make anyone back down ...

For a single, satisfying moment, the Trio felt their fellowship fall into its accustomed place: facing a gang of enemies together as they’d faced danger before, prepared to do what was right, assured of their mutual protection and concern for each other ... all other thoughts and issues set aside for the moment ...

The shocked gang stepped back ... facing two determined wizards and a witch who looked just as capable as the other two. They slowly moved back ... away from their fallen comrades: Bole still rolling around on the floor, clutching his groin; Derrick still winded by the wall and unable, or unwilling, to move; another Slytherin still in the Full-Body Bind; Montague shaking his bashed head from running into an invisible wall ... one of them suddenly turned and ran down the alley ... as if that were the cue, the rest turned and followed, leaving the Trio alone, with the two little girls and their mother standing there, still in shock at what had happened.

Ron slowly put down his wand, feeling his rapidly beating heart rumble along ... heard deep pants roaring into his lungs ... felt his knees weaken as if hit by the Jelly-Legs jinx … but forcing himself to stand straight and tall, thinking, “So this is what Harry has to go through ...” and knowing, in the same moment, that what he had just gone through was a mere fraction of what his best friend had gone through every single year since he started at Hogwarts.

He made his way over to the two girls and their mother. With a smile and a flourish that he couldn’t feel, he handed over the wand to the long-haired girl, saying, “I believe this is yours?”

The younger girl slowly reached for her wand, looking at Ron with teary eyes and whispering in a small voice, “Thank you ... thank you ...”

Before Ron could even say, “You’re welcome,” the girl had jumped into his arms and was hugging him tightly, saying “thank you” over and over, and crying into his shirt ... before he could say anything else, he was slammed back as the other girl leaped in to hug him also, saying the same thing to him ...

He awkwardly held them, patting their backs and thinking, “So this is what it feels like to be a hero ...”

* * * *

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, smiling as Ron gently disentangled himself from the sobbing girls. With a glance at his companions (and a quiet nod from them), he gently placed a hand around the younger girls’ shoulders and started pulling them towards their mother, who was standing still, shocked at what had happened …

“Ma’am?” She looked up at him (Ron stood a head taller than her) and silently nodded as he said, “I think we better go ...”

Ron gently pushed the sobbing girls towards their mother, and was surprised when the older lady wrapped her arms around the girl with the long, straight black hair ... after a moment, she enveloped the other girl in her embrace, and the three quietly began walking away towards the mouth of the alley.

“That was bloody brilliant, Ron,” he heard Harry say as his friends walked up to him. The three started following the others, Hermione walking on Harry’s other side, and he turned to her with gratitude.

“Thanks, Harry ... and thanks for finding that Shield Charm, Hermione,” She waved his thanks off, glancing at Harry; and Ron saw Harry blanch ... and remembered that Harry had tried the charm against a giant spider during the Third Task, and he shuddered at the thought.

“Good thing that the stupid git was a lot smaller than ...” and he stopped suddenly at Hermione’s glare, mentally kicking himself for his big mouth, knowing that it wouldn’t help to remind Harry of the nightmare in the maze. He was saved from burying himself deeper when they reached the others, who were now waiting for them at the outskirts of a more crowded section of Diagon Alley.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked as he came closer, noting that his two friends had slowed down, allowing him to take the lead.

“Thank you,” the older woman said in a heartfelt tone. “If you hadn’t arrived ... I don’t know what would have happened, Mister ... err ...”

Shaking his head in apology, he held out his hand, “I’m so sorry. I’m Ron ... Ron Weasley.”

“Pleased to meet you.” The woman paused as she shook his hand, and continued. “That sounds so ... inadequate, after what you’ve done for us. Oh! I’m Mrs. Wright … and this is my daughter, Carolyn (gesturing to the girl with long hair), and her friend, Cindy ...”

“You’re Ron Weasley?” The other girl was looking at him with something close to awe, and she was actually trembling as she extended her hand to Ron. “I’m Cindy … Cindy Galloway.”

Before Ron could ask why she was looking at him so strangely, she squealed in excitement: “… I’ve heard so much about you! You’re Harry Potter’s friend ... my cousin Clara’s a Ravenclaw and she’s told me all about you and Harry Potter! Is it true that Sirius Black went after you with a knife? She was in first year when that happened, and she said everyone was talking about it ... and you were also with Harry Potter during last year’s Triwizard tournament ... and ... and …”

The sudden chatter from what Ron had assumed was a quiet little girl (now almost bouncing with excitement and glee) was interrupted by a shy, almost ashamed and definitely bewildered voice asking, “Who’s Harry Potter?”

Ron turned in surprise to Carolyn, who looked as if she wanted to hide behind her mother’s skirt, so embarrassed was she at professing her ignorance. The awkward silence was broken, however, as Cindy took her friend’s hands in hers and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Carolyn! I keep forgetting that you’re not from our world ... I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I can get my books. Maybe you can stay with me for a few days ... we can go to Platform 9 and ¾ together and from there take the Hogwarts Express ... I’ll clue you in on what to do, what to expect ... I hope we get into the same House, I would love to be in Gryffindor ...”

Ron looked at Mrs. Wright with raised eyebrows; the latter, with an embarrassed smile, explained, “We met Cindy and her parents at the wand shop … Ollivander’s? She was nice enough to volunteer to show us around since we … uhm, were not familiar with the place … until those … those thugs decided to make fun of Carolyn. If you hadn’t arrived in time …”

“I see,” Ron said, nodding slowly and he smiled. “Well then, allow me to welcome both of you to the magical world. Please don’t think we welcome new members of the community in the same way that those, uh ... apes did. You will find that most of us know how to welcome guests ...”

A slight cough from behind interrupted his speech. Turning, he saw Hermione covering her mouth to stop from giggling ... Harry beside her, doing his level best to control his grinning face as she said, “You sound just like Percy, you know.”

Taken aback, Ron hissed back, “I suppose you can do better?”

Turning back to Mrs. Wright, he said, “Please, call me Ron. And may I introduce my classmates and fellow Gryffindors, Hermione Granger (Hermione extended her hand, which Mrs. Wright clasped briefly) and ...”

“Ohhhh,” said Cindy in a voice of mingled embarrassment, humiliation and despair. She looked as if she were suddenly younger than eleven, as her eyes focused on Harry, and he gave her a winning smile at which point she blushed deeply ... or so it seemed, for she had rosy cheeks that made it difficult to see if she were indeed blushing.

“Harry Potter, ma’am.” Harry extended his hand to the older lady, who warmly shook it. There was something in her look, he thought, as if she had already heard of him from somewhere ... He shook the feeling off as he extended his hand to Carolyn, who shook it hesitantly, and turned to Cindy, who looked almost scared to be touching him, chagrined as she was with her earlier rambling ... and looking as if she were about to meet the Pope or something ...

“Now who’s acting like the mayor?” he heard Hermione whisper beside him.

“Shut up, Mione - Owww!” he said, as she immediately swatted his head at his use of the hated name. A small giggle escaped Carolyn’s lips, and both saw her mother smiling at them.

“I take it all three of you are good friends?” she asked in a very amused voice, although her expression proclaimed clearly that she knew there was something more between two of the three. Hermione smiled back at her.

“Yes, ma’am ... we’ve been friends since our first year at Hogwarts ...”

“Seems like ages ago,” Ron said in a light voice, “when she (pointing a thumb at Hermione) barged into our compartment on the train and asked (in a perfect imitation of her voice), ‘Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one’.”

Hermione blushed, and gave him a glare as Harry laughed beside her. She was grateful, however, that Ron had said that was when they became friends, not wishing to be reminded, once again, of her unpopularity during her first months at Hogwarts ...

Ron turned back to Mrs. Wright: “Would you like to join us, Ma’am? My family should be at Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor (he glanced back at his friends, who nodded back) ... and they would love to meet with you.”

“Oh!” Cindy glanced at her watch, and said, “I almost forgot! I’m supposed to meet them there about now! Mum’ll be furious ...”

“Well then, why don’t we all go there together? Would you like to join us, Mrs. Wright? Carolyn?” Ron repeated his invitation. The mother and daughter looked hesitant, and he quickly assured them, “My Dad works for the Ministry of Magic and he would just love to meet up with Mug ... I mean, uh ...”

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley, but I don’t want to impose ...” Mrs. Wright looked in surprise at Hermione, who was trying to suppress what looked suspiciously like a laugh. “Is there something wrong?”

“Oh no, ma’am. It’s just ...” she bit hard on her lip, as she quivered from suppressed laughter, “I mean ...”

“She’s just not used to me being called Mister Weasley,” Ron replied with a hard look at his friends. “Please, call me Ron … every time someone calls me ‘Mr.’ Weasley, the next thing I expect to hear is …”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek,” Harry supplied, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Ron raised an eyebrow at him. “Speak for yourself, Mr. Potter … you lost ten points from Gryffindor within the first ten minutes of our Potions class.”

Harry raised an eyebrow in return: “Don’t look at me! She (pointing at Hermione) started it!”

“Oh, stop it you two!” Hermione said with a smile. “Let’s just keep in mind the fact that, if it were not for me, the two of you would still be pickling rat’s brains in Snape’s dungeon!”

Ron and Harry looked at each other over Hermione’s head … the same thought flashing through their minds: they’d spent an uncomfortable evening doing just that, when they were still not speaking to each other …

Ron broke the sudden silence: “She’s right, you know.”

“She’s always right,” Harry said, smiling down at her. “That’s my Hermione.”

It felt as if a cold draft wafted through the street, and an uncomfortable silence descended until Ron replied, “That’s our Hermione.”

Mrs. Wright, noting the sudden tension in the air, broke it by starting to walk towards the ice cream parlor, forcing the three teenagers to join her. She started asking questions about Hogwarts and the magical world from Hermione; soon enough, the two boys joined in the conversation, alternately listening and responding to her questions … and watching in amusement as a chattering, bouncing Cindy pointed out various shops and places in Diagon Alley to her amazed friend.

Harry, smiling at the way the two younger children were talking, suddenly turned to Ron, “Doesn’t she remind you of someone we both know?”

“Uh-huh,” Ron nodded, a broad grin now on his face. “Except for the hair, she sounds exactly like ...”

“Hermione!” The two friends started laughing, both of them remembering their first encounter with their bushy-haired, bossy, take-charge, know-it-all friend, who was now glaring at them with all the force of her considerable personality ... but this time, surprised that her death-glare was simply bouncing off the laughing pair.

“Stop it, you two!” She glared at them and, with a suddenly evil smirk, continued, “Besides, I’m not the one with the fan’s club …”

The two boys quickly glanced at the direction she was looking at, and caught the look the younger girls were giving them … actually, giving Ron – the two younger girls blushing simultaneously and looking away at the same time. Smirking, Hermione started chanting in a low voice, “Ronnie’s got a fans’ club … Ronnie’s got a fans’ club …”

Ron, beet-red, said, “Shut up, Hermione!” as Mrs. Wright gave in to a laugh.

Trying to divert attention from the gibe, Ron suddenly called the younger girls over, “Cindy? I wanted to ask … seeing as you’re a witch and everything … how’d you get that big git Bole down? You must have hexed him with a hell of a jinx …”

Cindy’s face, now returned to its normal, rosy-cheeked state, was suddenly blushing so badly that it looked as if she’d spent far too much time in the sun (if that were possible), and seemed to be unsure of how to answer.

Carolyn, however, gave a sudden giggle – and the three friends looked at her in surprise. In a soft voice, she explained, “After you hit the one holding my wand, that big lunk was about to curse you or something, but Cindy suddenly kicked him ...”

“My foot’s still aching,” Cindy said plaintively, as she looked daggers at Carolyn, “It felt like kicking a wall, to tell you honestly ...”

Ron looked at Cindy in admiration, wondering at the same time why she looked as if she wanted to dig a hole in the ground and pull it over her, “You kicked him?”

As the girl nodded slowly, he said in an admiring tone of voice, “That must have been some kick!”

Carolyn, however, couldn’t stop from giggling. “It wasn’t the kick,” she said in her soft voice as she giggled, “... it was where it hit that did the trick.”

The three turned in surprise at a sudden hoot of laughter from Mrs. Wright. Trying to control herself at the puzzled look on their faces, she made a gesture at the region of her waist, waggling her hand at the area between her legs. Ron’s eyes widened ... and he gaped at the still-blushing Cindy, asking, “You mean ...”

Mrs. Wright nodded ... and finally, couldn’t stop herself. She lapsed into a shout of laughter so loud that it startled them all ... and then Ron, Harry, and Hermione also dissolved into laughter as Cindy, in a sudden fit of inspiration, mimed the look on Bole’s face when he was hit by a physical, not magical, force …

The stopped laughing, however, as a familiar voice called out, “There you are! I thought you three had gotten in trouble again …”

“Bill!” Ron called out, “I’d like you to meet …”

He stopped as he saw his brother’s face … gone so pale that his tan looked as if it had been painted on, face stricken as if he had taken a Bludger to the stomach and it was still grinding in, staring at Mrs. Wright – who was looking at him with an expression of profound puzzlement on her face.

Bill whispered, “Erin?”

Epiphanies 08

Authors Notes: The usual disclaimers: the story is based on characters and situations created by JK Rowling, copyright owned by JKR, Bloomsbury, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., etc. Cindy and Carolyn, otherwise known as “The Terrible Two” in some of my other fics, are my creations, as well as some of the other characters in this story.

Dedicated, as usual, to all those who reviewed but especially to erin, Nicole, and Amelia, whose thoughtful reviews and insights contributed immensely to this on-going story. A special dedication to fopalup, whose review set loose a plot bunny which led to this one.

Hugs and kisses to you, guys!

Hope you enjoy this one.

Chapter 8. “Love Is Never Lost …”

Memory is such a tricky thing, especially with the passage of time. Things or events that were painful at the time they occurred have a tendency to be seen as being more wonderful with the passage of time. Or ... they can become worse.

Either way, things never remain the same.

And yet ... and yet ... there are some things that never seem to change. Or, at the least, there are some things that one can still remember clearly -- and these have no tinge of good or bad about them.

All that is there is the fact that, at one time, there was some thing.

Or ... some one.

Every once in a while, someone intrudes into my memory. She would be in her twenties by now: tall, but not as tall as I am; fair complexion; dark brown eyes set wide apart in an appealing face; thick, black hair to her shoulders ... a generous mouth that always seemed to be smiling.

She was very fond of dresses, but always seemed to be wearing loose shirts and pants. There was a quality about her voice and laughter that I could never place, but would always recognize.

And there were her eyes, which always seemed to tell me more than she ever would.

She was my friend.

“Was” because she left soon after our graduation ... I have not seen her for some time. Memories -- and a few things -- are all that is left for me now.

* * * *

He didn’t know how long he stood there like a bull who’d taken a sledge hammer between the eyes, his brain cataloging those well-remembered features, and comparing them with the person in front of him, consciously noting the details that were so much like – and yet so unlike – his memories.

Her voice broke through his befuddled mind: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you must be mistaken.”

He shook his head as gave what he hoped was a winning, reassuring smile. “My apologies … it’s just that you looked almost exactly like someone I knew years ago,” he responded, and extended his hand. “I’m Bill Weasley … I take it you’ve already met my brother and his friends?”

Mrs. Wright smiled and shook his hand, saying, “Quite all right. I’m Mrs. Wright … Nicole Amelia Wright. And this is my daughter, Carolyn, and her friend, Cindy Galloway.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He turned and shook hands with the two young girls, noting in passing that Nicole’s daughter had inherited the best features of her mother: the long, straight black hair that shone in the sunlight … the lips that were full and pale without lipstick … the straight nose … and the strong chin that …

Nicole tilted her head in a gesture so reminiscent of someone that he almost thought, for a moment, that it was Erin talking to him: “She must have been someone special.”

He smiled, at the same time hoping that he’d successfully kept the bitterness from his voice, “She is, ma’am. She is.”

Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and he blinked, staggered at the depth of sympathy he saw there, as well as the sparkling tears that seemed to have sprung out of nowhere … and he heard her soft, almost whispered voice, “I know.”

Bill stared at her as silence enveloped them, but before he could make sense of his jumbled thoughts, Ginny’s voice broke in, “There you are! Mum’s getting worried … the whole lot of you going off like that!”

She stopped as she realized the look of keen interest that Mrs. Wright, Carolyn and Cindy were giving her … and that three pairs of eyes were jumping from her to Bill to Ron and back to her. Before she could ask what everyone was looking at, Nicole stepped forward and extended her hand, “Hello. I’m Nicole Wright … and would I be correct that you’re related to Ron and … uh, Bill?”

A surprised Ginny shook hands with the older woman. “Yes I am, ma’am. How’d you know?” Before the other could answer, she shook her head and gave a small laugh, “Of course, the hair … I’m Ginny. Virginia Weasley.”

“Virginia?” Ginny looked at her in some surprise, “Not Guenevere?”

“Ma’am?”

“My mistake,” Mrs. Wright replied, shaking her head. “I was just remembering a favorite movie of my late husband … It’s nothing. My apologies.”

Her statement about her husband cast a sudden pall over the group, and Carolyn held on to her mother even more tightly. Before the moment could get awkward, however, Bill spoke up, “I take it you were joining us at Florean Fortescue’s?” (A nod from Mrs. Wright confirmed his assumption.) “Well then, why don’t we all go together … and get there before the other Weasleys consume every last scoop of ice cream!”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “and we still have to celebrate Hermione’s promotion!”

“Promotion?” Bill and Nicole said simultaneously.

“Yes … meet the newest Gryffindor prefect!” Ron adopted an unctuous tone, smiling at the two younger girls. “Which means that you will have to follow her orders … bow your heads whenever she passes by … kneel when she says kneel … memorize ‘Hogwarts: A History’ …”

“Is that your favorite book? Goody! Is it true …” Ron and Harry stared at Cindy, neither one bothering to hide their looks of horror … Hermione gave them a superior, haughty look and stuck out her tongue before turning back to the bouncing Cindy.

“We’re in trouble, mate,” Ron said in a stage whisper to Harry. “Can Hogwarts stand another Hermione Granger?”

“Well … Hogwarts has survived a thousand years, Ron,” Harry said. “Another two Miones shouldn’t bother it too much …”

“Two?” Ron glanced at where Harry was looking and groaned. Carolyn was engrossed with the exchange between Hermione and Cindy … a light of interest and scholarship sparkling in her brown eyes.

“You’re gonna have your hands full, Ron,” Harry said, laughing.

If looks could kill, Hermione and Ginny would have been weeping over Harry’s body … before Ron could say anything, however, they were in front of Florean Fortescue’s … and they were engulfed in the warm embrace of the Weasley clan and their friends.

* * * *

What was it we shared?

A lot of things that friends share: companionship, shared interests, mutual friends. But it was never simply that. There was an aspect about those days that made the time spent with Erin all the more unique.

There are times when I would be saying something, and a feeling would creep up on me: “I've said – or written -- this before.” And it will all come back ... I first shared the idea with Erin.

A writer once said, “Learning is finding out about the things you already know.” And this was what made the time with Erin so unique ... a lot of things that I now am, were first shown to her.

I guess that was what made the times spent so exceptional. It wasn't just because she was with me ... we were both learning something from each other.

I never knew how much I learned until the sharing was gone ...

* * * *

He blinked.

Carefully, he brushed away a tear that had fallen on the page he was reading and, with a quick look around the crowded and smoky tavern, drew his wand – and paused, wondering why he had even enlarged the normally pocket-sized journal to the size he was reading.

There was no need to read it – he had seared the words he’d written so long ago into his memory, in a vain effort to vent his self-recrimination in a blast of blind rage during the first lonely weeks in Cairo. He’d thought at the time that this was the easiest way to let go, to erase from his mind the memories of that special person … and the pain that she had brought to him.

No, he admitted.

That he had brought on himself.

He glanced at the mirror behind the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, checking the locations of his extended family … hands fiddling with a large mug of ale … conscious of an ache in his chest and an imagined, phantom pain on his left wrist.

Arthur and Molly were in a corner, chatting with Nicole and Cindy’s parents. The Twins were nearby with their friend Lee Jordan, apparently counting the money earned from the very first sales of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes … or hatching some diabolical scheme to show Colin Creevey that he was courting an early grave if he continued with his attentions towards Ginny.

The latter was off to one side, chatting amiably with Colin and her classmates … directly across from her was Ron Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, waving his long arms like a windmill, undoubtedly telling them about his encounter with a gang of toughs. Close by were Cindy and Carolyn, both of them giggling and whispering to each other … and making faces towards the center of the tavern.

He shifted, trying to spot what the two young girls were giggling about …

Of course, he thought. What else could it be?

Hermione Granger was apparently engrossed in a rather thick volume that she had propped up on a table, absently curling a strand of her hair around a finger as she read. Harry Potter was beside her, leaning back in his chair, another thick book opened in front of him.

Only, he wasn’t reading. He had tilted his head to one side, apparently engrossed in studying his best friend. She looked up and saw him staring at her … and a warm smile broke out on Harry’s face.

Hermione smiled back, and turned back to her book … neither one showing the slightest hint of discomfort at what should have been an embarrassing moment for two people who thought of each other as just the best of friends. It was as if getting caught staring at the other was … natural for both of them.

It was an endearing sight, Bill thought, remembering other times and someone else … and one, he reflected to himself, far too easy to misinterpret. Unless there was no misunderstanding or misinterpreting what his own eyes could see …

He shook his head and sighed.

He knew the feeling too well … and he knew what his youngest siblings were going through, as he caught Ron and Ginny casting glances at the pair who were lost in their own world.

Been there.

Done that.

Made mistakes along the way.

And the memories would have made any Dementor ecstatic at the mere mention of meeting up with him.

* * * * *

"Is it, or isn't it?"

"What? Is it, or isn't it ... what?"

"Love."

Erin ... Erin ... do you think that you need my opinion on this matter? Granted, I am older than you are (if a few months can qualify me as ‘older’). I am more experienced in this matter than you are. But still -- why ask me?

There are many ways to look at "love." The matter has been discussed a million ways, in the thousands of years of human existence. Ask any person, and he will give his or her opinion ... and another would differ ... and another ... and still another.

Who really tells you if this is "it" or not?

Certainly not them.

Positively, not me.

Then -- who?

You.

Follow your heart. That's all I can really say.

* * * *

A clatter at his elbow brought him back to the present, and he turned to look into the blue eyes of his youngest brother, who smiled and said, “You look like a man who needs a drink, Bill. Have one on me.”

“No, thanks, Ron. I already have …” His answer was cut short as he looked down at the mug he was lifting, surprised that it was empty. He stared at it blankly for a moment and then felt Ron nudging him. With a grateful smile, he picked up the mug that Ron offered, lifted it to his lips … and stopped. “On second thought, Ronald … why don’t you drink this?”

“That’s yours, Bill.”

“Fred or George didn’t happen to give you this, did they?”

“Bill!” Ron exclaimed in a reproachful voice. “Would I do something like that to my oldest brother?”

“Yes.”

The two locked eyes briefly; with a resigned air, Ron called over Tom the bartender and asked for two mugs of ale. Bill raised an eyebrow at this but merely smiled and said, “I may not be a Cindy Galloway, brother … but I did watch the lot of you growing up.”

Ron snickered at that, remembering the incident in the ice cream parlor when Fred, in a gesture of “friendship,” offered Carolyn a Canary Cream. The little girl had been so grateful (apparently, all the walking and excitement of the day had worked up quite an appetite), but Cindy grabbed the pastry from her just before she could bite on it.

The sudden move surprised them all, especially Fred who stood, mouth agape – which gave Cindy the chance to shove the Canary Cream into his open mouth … and he promptly turned into a six-foot canary with a red-feathered crown.

The shrieks of surprise from Carolyn and her mother were met by a roar of laughter from the others; within seconds, Fred had popped back to his normal self, only this time with a face as red as his hair, sputtering at the surprise attack.

“My cousin told me all about you,” was the smug reply from a laughing Cindy. “She told me never to accept anything from you or your brothers … not unless I’m prepared to feed it to Mrs. Norris first.”

Fred had taken it well, even treating the two girls to Florean’s special four-scoop ice cream cones (each scoop changing colors and flavors with each lick), and promising not to use either one as a test subject in the future.

“You’re gonna have a problem with those two, Ron,” Bill said with a snicker.

Ron sputtered. “Why,” he asked in an aggrieved tone, “does everyone think that I’ll have anything to do with them when they get to Hogwarts? For all I know, they may end up in Slytherin or Ravenclaw …”

He stopped at the look of amusement in Bill’s eyes, realizing that he was being too defensive, was protesting too much … he broke away from Bill’s gaze (and an eyebrow that was almost to Bill’s hairline), and glanced at the mirror behind the bar.

And suddenly blurted out, “Do you believe in platonic love?”

* * * *

Erin ... Erin … don't try to treat love as an examination you can prepare for. Whatever preparation one makes cannot take into account everything that may happen. And never try to reduce love to an intellectual exercise. In the end, feeling -- an intangible something -- actually defines it for us.

Treat love as an adventure, as a cliché would go. Nobody wants to be hurt ... no one walks in with eyes closed ... everyone wants to be sure of oneself. But how can we ever be sure, unless one has tried?

Love is one of those intangible, undeniable things that happen -- unavoidable, except by choice.

But then ... who does not make the choice to try?

* * * *

“Are you talking about Harry or about yourself?”

Ron’s head snapped up to stare at him through the mirror’s reflection, his face confused. Bill considered apologizing for a moment, to say that he’d probably misunderstood or was thinking about something else … but no, he thought. Best to have this out … best for him to do his older brother act now when an opportunity presented itself, rather than ignore it and let someone else (like Percy!) try to do it for him …

He stared back at Ron in the mirror, blue eyes locking with blues, and said, “You were asking about platonic love, weren’t you?”

Bill watched in amusement as Ron’s face turned white, and then red … Ron broke away from his steady gaze to glance in the mirror at his best friends … before looking back and locking stares with his older brother.

For a long moment, they locked eyes as they played a game from their younger days … daring the other to break away and admit defeat. But the game was interrupted by Tom’s clatter as he set down their order of ale and a plate of nibbles in front of them. “Sorry, Bill,” he puffed, “couldn’t give you a room or table yet … the place is just too crowded right now.”

“No problem, Tom,” Bill said with a smile at the old man. “We can hold off for a while longer.”

With a nod, the bartender left them and Bill lifted his drink in a toast.

“Here’s to love in all its forms,” he said, and took a deep gulp of his drink. He watched as Ron pondered the toast and, reluctantly, lifted his own drink in a responding toast, and drank … eyes again focused on the mirror and his friends.

“Speaking from experience, are we?” Ron asked in a mocking voice. He was about to comment further when he stopped, surprised at the blazing eyes Bill directed at him. He tried to work his suddenly dry throat, apologize for the tactless remark (one never joked with a Gringotts’ curse-breaker) … and started breathing again only when Bill shook his head and smiled back (a forced, bitter smile).

“Yes I am, Ron,” Bill replied. “Speaking from experience, that is.”

“Anyone I know?” Ron asked in a bantering tone. “Like … umm, who was it that Nicole reminded you of?”

Bill ignored the question as he raised his ale in a silent toast to the two people he could see in the mirror, engrossed in their own world and each other, before looking back at his youngest brother.

“So, who were you talking about, Ron? Are you asking about yourself … or are you asking about Harry?”

Ron flushed as he replied, “I don’t know, Bill. Honestly … I don’t know.”

Ron turned away from Bill but kept his eyes away from the mirror and the sight that he knew would be there. “I don’t know, Bill,” he repeated in a quiet, meandering voice. “There are times like this morning … when I think of her as a girlfriend … and then I see how she looks at Harry and wonder whether it’s love or envy that I feel … other times, I think that it’s just a crush on her … you know, something that will get blown away when I go back to school and see Lavender or Parvati or Padma … or maybe it’s just because I’m so used to having her around, you know … teasing her, fighting with her … maybe it’s just because I’m comfortable with her … or maybe I’m just scared to try it with other girls so I may as well fall in love with her …”

“Or maybe you’re just in love with love.”

Ron glared at his brother, fully expecting to see the mocking tone and manner that he’d come to expect from the Twins whenever the subject came up … and was again startled by the look of utter seriousness on his eldest brother’s face.

He sighed. “Maybe … but how do you know? How do you know if what you feel for your best friend is the real thing or not?”

“I assume that the ‘best friend’ we’re talking about is Hermione?”

Ron had been about to gulp down his drink when Bill’s insinuation made its way through his bemused brain – and he suddenly sprayed ale over the bar top as the liquid went the wrong way down his throat. He gasped, trying to say something in response, but was stopped as he nearly choked … and Bill, laughing, was pounding his back as he coughed and sputtered …

He looked around and caught sight of everyone looking at him, and he flushed. ‘Great, Ron!’ he thought to himself, ‘Make a prat of yourself in front of a live audience … better straighten Bill out, else I won’t be hearing the end of this!’

“Who else, Bill? What do you think of me … a … a …”

“Just checking,” Bill said, a wide, wide grin splitting his tanned, handsome face with the dragon’s fang dangling from one ear. “So, it is Hermione, I presume?”

“Keep it down, will you!” Ron hissed, looking around nervously. “If Fred and George hear about this … they’re liable to do something that will embarrass me ‘til the day I die!”

“You really think you can keep that away from them?” Bill replied with deep amusement. “Knowing those two, they’re probably cooking up some scheme or another to bring you and Hermione together … although, given the success those two have with their jokes, they’re far more liable to bring you and Harry together.”

An image of Harry, messy hair, round glasses and knobby knees, walking into the sunset with a tall, red-haired, freckled, long-nosed wizard, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other came into his mind … and Ron shuddered so badly that his drink spilled out of his shaking hand.

“Now that’s something that could make a guy sick,” he said, as he tried to push the appalling thought away – and nearly choked at Bill’s reply:

“Oh, I don’t know … depends on the wizard, I think.”

Ron’ eyes widened in shock, staring at his brother as the latter batted his lashes with a simpering smile, and the thought popped into his mind, “Is Bill … ?”

“Sorry, Ron, I don’t swing that way,” Bill said with a laugh. Ron heaved a sigh of relief … he didn’t know how he would deal with such a revelation … and felt momentary gratitude to his older brother for taking his mind off his troubles. It was at that moment that he happened to glance at the mirror again … and felt his relief slowly ebb away again.

His friends were leaning back in their chairs, smiling at each other in a way that he could only envy … and again, he felt a tinge of resentment that they seemed to be sharing something which he was not a part of. Mentally, he started counting off all the incidents which he should have been part of but had missed out on … starting with Harry’s first Quidditch game and the time when he’d stood frozen in the stands, silently urging Hermione on in her rescue mission … realizing only after it was all over that he’d been standing there like a dodo, rather than doing something to help …

“Hi, Bill … Ron.” The brothers turned as Ginny stood beside Bill, and felt their lower jaws drop to the floor as she grabbed a mug and proceeded to take a huge gulp of the ale – after which she nearly fell down, coughing as the liquor burned down her throat. A horrified Ron checked the mug she’d grabbed, and sighed with relief when he saw that she had grabbed, out of pure serendipity, Bill’s mug – not the one that the Twins had given him to offer Bill.

His relief swiftly turned to anger, however, and he glared at his sister: “What was that all about? You’re not allowed to drink liquor …”

“Oh, blow it out, brother-o-mine!” Ginny responded through her coughing fit. She looked up, face red and eyes tearing up, “And I suppose you’re drinking sarsaparilla or something?”

“Uh …”

“Thought so,” Ginny replied triumphantly. She was about to grab Bill’s mug for another swig when Bill stopped her.

“I think you’d do better with some butterbeer, Ginny,” Bill said. The eldest and youngest Weasley locked eyes for a moment, and Bill waved to old Tom. “On the other hand, a small gillywater won’t hurt … a medicinal dose, I think.”

Ron was about to ask why when he glanced in the mirror … and dropped all protest.

Hermione was leaning back, for all the world like someone exhausted from reading and was now resting her eyes – but instead of closing them, however, her eyes were resting on the napping Harry Potter. A small smile was playing on her face, and Ron felt, again, a small thrill in his spine as he realized just how much his friend had changed from their first encounter …

But her smile … affectionate, caring, loving … it was a smile directed at Harry, not at him, and he again felt an ache in the region of his chest. As if she had felt his eyes on her, she suddenly looked up and met his eyes … and turned away, embarrassed at being caught staring at Harry.

He swallowed … and almost gagged as he felt warm ale flowing down his throat. He didn’t realize that he’d lifted his mug as he stared in the mirror at his friends, and understood that what he saw was the impetus which drove Ginny to take a nip from Bill’s mug …

His eyes shifted away from his friends, and saw Bill’s sympathetic eyes on his … knew that Bill saw the same thing he saw and realized, in that instant, what Bill went through with the mysterious person he had mistaken Nicole Amelia Wright for …

* * * *

I knew what I was to Erin -- sometime father, sometime brother, at all times, a friend. Someone she could lean on, someone she could cry on, a friend to whom she could talk to about any subject under the sun, the moon or the stars ... and be assured of a serious face.

Until one of us started laughing.

Someone who was there.

Just ... there.

But, not someone who would court her.

Not someone who would fall in love with her.

But I did. I had been, for some time. Yet, I could never bring myself to tell that to her. Or even to hint that much.

I guess ... although Erin sometimes teased me for being "inhuman"... I knew I had my own faults. Especially those of fear ... and indecision.

I wouldn't even admit it to myself for some time.

I had tried to rationalize it away ... I told myself that she was a very lovable person -- anyone could fall in love with her.

Yes, I know -- just look at me.

It was only because I was close to her ... I was her sounding board for problems ... she trusted me more than anybody else ...

I kept telling myself, "I love Erin, yes ... but I am not in love with her!"

Which was a lot of bull.

Something within me always refused to agree.

I finally had to accept it.

I had been a blind fool ... to have let my rationalizations as well as my fear of losing Erin -- to overshadow my true feelings. Be what it may ... there was no way I could go back to the past with her. It was over ... finished. She was with someone else ...

* * * *

Bill was a good listener, Ron and Ginny reflected much later. It was as if the sight of a comfortable Harry and Hermione together, sharing a moment in which it seemed there was no one else in the world but themselves, opened the floodgates of their roiling emotions and thoughts.

Bill listened as they’d poured out everything that had gone through their minds that day … starting with the moment Ron opened the door only for Harry and Hermione to fall into the house … their talk among the trees as the sun was climbing into the sky … Ginny finally opening up about her gratitude and debt to Harry after what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets (with Ron quietly cursing under his breath at the missed opportunity for Ginny to open up) … to the spectacle of Hermione on top of Harry as they Floo’ed in earlier that day (for which Bill had given a resounding and appreciative laugh) … Ginny’s frustration and regrets at having frozen during the fight – and the moments after … Ron’s feelings and emotions when Bill had stopped him from going to Hermione … and finally, Ron’s thoughts, revelations and realizations in the minutes before his encounter with the thugs and the two young girls …

The only distraction, Ron thought, was that Bill kept twisting that dammed copper bracelet on his wrist. At first glance, it was nothing out of the ordinary … a dark metallic bracelet of no remarkable design, and looking much like the copper bracelet that Seamus Finnegan had shown them once, claiming that his Muggle Dad wore one for his health(of all things!), and which he had sent to Seamus in the dark days before Harry destroyed the basilisk and Tom Riddle.

The only thing different about the bracelet that Bill was wearing were the words etched on it … Ron could make out the letters, “Cor …” something, followed by some numbers, which he quickly assumed was the mysterious Erin’s full name. He’d been so engrossed in his story, and trying to make out the name on the bracelet that he didn’t realize that his story had ended … and that Bill was asking him a question.

“So what do you want to do about it, Ron?”

“Huh?” He’d looked at Bill in surprise … Bill, with a sigh, repeated his question -- and Ron had to face the question that he’d been asking himself since early that morning: ‘What the hell do I want to do about it?’

“Why not just tell her?”

Ron looked at his brother in horror, “Tell her what, Bill? Tell her that I think I like you and I would like to rock your socks? Tell her that, hey, I just realized you’re a girl, after four years of thinking of you as just another one of the guys? Tell her I’ve had this crush on you since our first year, only you were too bossy and such a know-it-all that you were a nightmare to be with …”

“Why not tell her the truth? That you like her a lot, and that you want to be more than ‘just friends’ with her?”

“And if she laughs in my face? If she tells me that she likes me as a brother and as a friend … but she cannot think of me as being anything more than a friend? What if she turns me down, Bill?”

“Then at least everything is clear … no expectations, no recriminations, no regrets. Better to know what the score is, rather than brood and imagine things that may or may not be ... and ruin a friendship with your best friend.”

“Which best friend are you talking about, Bill? Harry or Hermione?”

“Both.”

Blue eyes clashed with blues, but Ron couldn’t sustain the game; in truth, his heart wasn’t in it because he recognized the truth in his brother’s statement. But a stubborn streak in him refused to accept, and he cast about for something else to say …

“I don’t envy you, Ron.” He snapped around to stare at Ginny, who’d been so quiet the last few minutes that he’d totally forgotten about her. She sat on her bar stool beside Bill, absently swirling her glass of gillywater with a finger, and staring down into its depths. She looked into his eyes and continued, “At least I have nothing to lose with Harry … he will always think of me as your sister, he will always think of me as that silly little girl who’s had a crush on him since first year …”

“And the person he saved from the Chamber of Secrets,” Ron reminded.

Ginny smiled, wistfully. “Yes, there is that. But don’t you see, Ron? I owe him a debt … he doesn’t owe me anything. And … knowing Harry, he wouldn’t know what to do with a wizard’s debt if it bites him on the … ah … elbow!

“I’ll have an easier time than you, Ron … I can go on with my life, make myself stop asking ‘What if,’ learn to stop blushing when Harry speaks to me, and give him all the friendship and support he needs, if ever he realizes that I’m there.”

Ron looked at his sister in surprise, realizing that she was maturing fast, and learning to accept things that could never be. While he felt relief that his sister was learning to accept reality, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret that Harry and Ginny would never really hit it off.

It would have been the perfect solution, he thought. Harry and Ginny, him and Hermione … One Big Happy Weasley Family, with their homes adjoining each other, their children playing together as close friends first and cousins second, Ginny and Hermione exchanging recipes and household tips …

And that, he realized, again, was another aspect he’d overlooked. He could easily imagine his best friends and himself as a member of one big happy family – but he could not imagine Hermione playing the “traditional” role of a housewife and mother that his own Mum had filled. She was simply too headstrong, too independent-minded (and too bossy by nature) to fill a traditional role in a traditional household …

She made a perfect complement to Harry, he realized … something that had been proven too many times in their shared past. But the stubborn part of his nature held on … in constant conflict with his essentially giving and sacrificial nature. He’d given up too many things when he was growing up to let something wonderful slip away without a struggle – no matter what his eyes, and the eyes of everyone else told them ... no matter what today and so many other incidents in their time together showed him …

“Who’s Corinne?” he asked, absently. Bill raised an eyebrow at this, knowing full well that he was trying to divert the discussion, but wondering where that question came from. Ron gestured at his bracelet; glancing at it, Bill gave a bitter smile and twisted it around to let them read the inscription written there: “1 Corinthians 13: 4-8.”

Ron looked at him, confused … he’d thought that it was a gift from Erin (which he’d assumed was a nickname for Corinne) but the words held no meaning for him. He repeated them aloud, and was startled to hear an unfamiliar voice speak up behind him:

“It’s from the Bible, first letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians, Chapter 13, verses four to eight.” The siblings turned around, surprised, to see their new friend Amelia Wright standing there behind them.

“I’m sorry,” she said in apology. “I couldn’t help but overhear … my sister and brother practically dinned that verse into my ears when I was growing up, and I was surprised that it was also familiar in your world.”

Bill looked at her curiously, for there was something in the timbre of her voice that he caught, but couldn’t place – and he felt something breaking off within him, like an iceberg calving off a glacier as a sudden thought struck him. His brother and sister, however, were pressing Amelia to explain what the verse meant, and she answered, her eyes were locked with Bill’s:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

Nicole paused for a moment, and said, softly, “My brother and sister always changed that last line to, “Love is never lost.”

Silence descended on the four: Ron and Ginny looking within themselves as they pondered the words written by a wise man centuries before the foundation of Hogwarts, speaking about a universal truth that few seemed to understand, two millennia or more since he’d first penned them, while Bill and Nicole locked eyes, something unspoken moving between them ...

The moment was broken, however, by sounds much like the popping of corks from champagne bottles – three loud pops which made heads turn all over the tavern to locate the source of the noise.

In the middle of the room, three teenaged wizards slowly put down their mugs and stared at each other. They looked like refugees from the early seventies – all three in robes of psychedelic colors that would have shamed Joseph’s Coat of Many Colors into a closet, wearing peace symbols on chains around their necks, all wearing round sunglasses made popular by a wizard turned muggle entertainer named John Lennon – two with enormous Afro hairdos that made them look like cherry-flavored lollipops, the other a thin black boy in the same enormous Afro hairdo but with black hair and tiny ribbons here and there.

The latter spoke first, in a voice surprisingly like that of Lee Jordan: “Now what the hell did you two morons think you were doing?”

One of the cherry lollipops responded in the voice of George Weasley: “What do you mean we, pale-face?”

The other lollipop piped up, “Yeah, what do you mean we?”

The Lee Jordan-turned-seventies-hippie snarled, “Who else can it be but you two?”

The second lollipop snarled back, “Don’t look at us, mate! We haven’t even thought of something like this!”

“Don’t give me that! You’re the only ones around who would do something like this!” Lee-the-hippie screamed back. “Do something before I hex you into next week!”

The bickering trio suddenly stopped as they heard giggles coming from different parts of the tavern … the giggles soon turning into a roar of laughter as people realized that the tables had been turned on the greatest jokesters in Hogwarts since the days of the legendary Marauders. The three hippies looked around them and at each other … and soon, all three were clutching their stomachs as laughter overtook them … Colin Creevey’s camera flashed, and the three refugees from another era obligingly struck poses with various wizards and witches, with Colin’s camera flashing again and again to record the event for posterity …

Bill was wiping the tears from his eyes when he suddenly turned to Nicole: “Why do I have the feeling that you know something about this?”

Ron and Ginny stared in surprise; Nicole, however, tried to keep a straight face as she responded, “Don’t look at me! Cindy and Carolyn asked me to order three butterbeers to be sent over to them … I don’t know what they did with it!”

Bill, Ron and Ginny turned around in time to see the two young girls giving each other high fives when the Twins’ backs were turned, broad grins on their faces and both with tears falling down their cheeks from their laughter.

Ginny turned to Ron with a smile, “You’re gonna have a lot of trouble with those two, Ronnie!”

Before Ron could snarl back a response, Tom the bartender bustled up, tears also streaming from his eyes, and told them that a room was available and lunch would be served there for them. Turning to Ginny, he said, “Ask your friend with the camera to send me a full set of pictures, Virginia … this will be the talk of the tavern for months to come!”

As the four stood up, Bill turned to Ron and Ginny: “You two go on ahead. I think Nicole and I have to talk.”

The two looked from him to Nicole Wright, who nodded and asked them to bring Carolyn in with them. As they walked away, she turned to Bill Weasley and said: “Yes. I’m Erin’s sister.”

* * * *

What could I do about it?

I resolved to break off her enchantment for me ... to fight off that feeling I had for her. I hoped that the passage of time would disprove me ... that my feelings for Erin were only an illusion ... only an obsession ... just another infatuation.

And yet ... something within me always refused to let her know. I knew there would be no satisfactory explanation I could give her for saying "good bye" ... to turn my back on the friendship we had before. She knew me too well to accept anything I would tell her. I didn't want her to know ... or even suspect ... what I truly felt for her.

And ... yes ... I was a coward to myself. Seeing her would only open up too many things I wanted to avoid. More, I was so afraid that doing so would only hurt both of us ... in truth, I knew I would hurt myself more than it would hurt her ... and I didn't want that.

I just wanted to go ...

And I did.

* * * *

“But you’re a … a …”

“Squib,” Nicole completed. “Don’t be bothered by it … I’ve had years to live with the fact.”

“I was going to say ‘Muggle,’ but all right.” Bill paused, unsure of where to go with this.

“Remus and Erin tried their best to make me feel no different from them, but …” and she sighed. “It was difficult growing up … seeing them do things that I couldn’t do, having your parents and relatives trying everything they can to scare the magic out of me. They finally gave up when there was no Hogwarts letter the summer of my eleventh birthday.”

Bill didn’t reply; what can one say? He’d met his share of Muggles … sometimes pitied them but always understood them, realizing that their not knowing about the magical world was best … but what about those who knew about magic – and didn’t have one iota of magic in their blood?

Nicole continued, “Which was why they kept on drumming that verse into my mind – they kept telling me that it didn’t matter that I was non-magical, that I was still their youngest and they still loved me …”

“It must have been … difficult,” Bill said, awkwardly.

Nicole smiled at him and shook her head. “She remembers you with fondness, you know. She told me that you were her best friend in the world … that you were the brother and friend that she felt she … lost …”

“Lost?” Bill’s brain was in a jumble; too much information to absorb, and he was having a difficult time doing his best to stop himself from blurting out the question he truly wanted to ask. “I thought you said …”

He suddenly stared at Nicole, and whispered, “Is Remus Lupin your brother? Is that why …”

He fell silent. He had always known that Erin was related to Remus, one-fourth of the legendary Marauders that had included James Potter and the escaped murderer Sirius Black. And last year … he’d been shocked to learn that Remus Lupin, who had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in Ron’s third year, was actually a werewolf … but his mind hadn’t connected the fact that Erin and Remus were brother and sister … and he wondered at the pain and torture that Nicole had gone through: brother a werewolf, she herself a Squib, and a sister who …

“She’s doing quite well,” Nicole said, almost as if reading his mind. “She went to North Carolina in the United States with Richard. She and Remus were very excited when I told her that Carolyn was accepted at Hogwarts …”

Bill turned away, not knowing how to react to the news. Much as he was glad to learn something of an old flame, he could once more feel the shame, embarrassment and painful regrets of those days. He looked at the journal he still held, recalling Erin’s last letter to him …

* * * *

Dear Bill ...

You told me once, back when we first became friends, that:

"Sometimes, the love you hold for a person can never be realized in the usual ways. At the moment of realization, it begins to change ... away from selfishness to one of truly caring without the need for any actual 'return.'

"Love is never lost."

I remember laughing at you... teasing you for being an incurable romantic, in a time when romance -- like chivalry -- was dead and gone with the dodoes.

I now know it can be. I have come to realize that the love shared in that kind of friendship can be as precious as other relationships. It can also have as much meaning ... and maybe more, much more.

Because it is founded on friendship.

And respect for each other.

I can understand it all now, my friend.

And ... I am very sorry for laughing at you.

Please.

Be around for a while longer.

Please, my friend?

Erin

* * * *

He could remember laughing, bitter tears falling down his face, as he read the letter – and tore it to shreds. He could recall with clarity throwing the copper bracelet she enclosed with the letter into the fireplace of his Head Boy’s dormitory … and, hours later, streaming still-bitter tears, reassembling the letter with Spell-o-tape … crawling to and pulling out the copper bracelet from the fire and performing a charm to remove the damage done by the fire.

But he never backed down from his resolution: he cut himself off from Erin and Richard, preferring to throw himself into his books, OWLs and NEWT preparations, fully focused on ensuring that he got top marks – and his choice of career after graduation. Erin had tried to reach him … but after pointedly ignoring her every time they chanced to meet in the corridors of Hogwarts, she returned his denial of their friendship in full measure …

No more talks, no more walks … no more letters or notes, from the time he learned that she and Richard were an item … all that he had left of his friendship with Erin were his memories … the journal he put together during those first lonely weeks in Cairo … and the copper bracelet he still wore as a reminder to himself of the pain and loss that he caused himself.

And all for what, he asked himself yet again. Because he could not accept that his best friend was in love with his other best friend? Because he chose to ignore what he could see with his own eyes – that, no matter how close he and Erin were, she and Richard seemed to communicate on a totally different level – one where nothing needed to be said, nothing had to be written but they each acted as if the other was sharing the same brain?

Because he felt betrayed by his best friends him because they fell in love with each other?

Or were they already in love with each other from the very beginning, while he … was simply in love with love?

“… She wants to know if you have finally forgiven her.”

His eyes, his brain, his mind flew back to the present, and he looked in utter shock at Nicole. “Forgive her? I have nothing to forgive her for … I should be the one to ask for forgiveness from her!”

“But you never told her, Bill. You never told her how you felt about her …”

His eyes locked with hers, and he asked the question that he knew the answer to: “Would it have changed anything, Nicole?”

She broke away from his blazing eyes and whispered, “No. She had given her heart to Richard, as he had … but at least everything would have been clear to both of you. There would have been no expectations, no recriminations, no regrets.”

“And I wouldn’t have lost a friend.”

“You never lost her, Bill.” He looked at her, puzzled, and she continued. “She always felt she lost you …”

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped … and nodded. Yes, he thought, that was the way Erin was … she would think that she was to blame, that it was her fault for not understanding him or not realizing his feelings sooner … but knowing, in the end, that there was nothing she could do about it.

She would have accepted the cards that Destiny dealt her, and would leave him alone to sort it out. How could she have known, he wondered, that it would take him years to finally sort it all out?

He felt a hand tapping his shoulder, and turned to look into the emerald-green eyes of his brother’s best friend. “Aren’t you joining us, Bill? Nicole?”

He took a deep breath. “In a minute, Harry. Why don’t you and Hermione go on ahead? We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Harry looked at them for a moment, and turned away to walk towards Hermione, once again burdened with the day’s shopping – and Hermione’s books. He watched them for a moment and whispered to himself, “And history repeats itself.”

“I hope not.”

He turned back to Nicole and smiled. “It won’t. I think I can promise that.”

He drew his wand and waved it over his journal, reducing it back to its small, pocket-sized form. As he was about to tuck it away, Nicole stopped him, holding the hand and the journal. Before he could react, she had reached up and given him a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Erin would have wanted to give you that,” she said, and handed him a small card. “As well as this.”

He glanced at the card … and the words broke off the iceberg that surrounded his heart: “I have been, and always will be, your friend.”

Underneath the words were an address in North Carolina, and he smiled at Nicole as he tucked the card into his journal, which he carefully placed in its customary location – in the pocket just over his heart.

“Thank you.”

Epiphanies 09

(Author’s Notes. The usual disclaimers, this is a work of fiction built around JK Rowling’s masterful Harry Potter universe, yadda,yadda, yadda. As usual, a million thanks to all those who reviewed the previous chapters.

For all those who were asking for more H/Hr, sorry to disappoint you. There’s almost no H/Hr action here, but there’s a reason behind it all. Please read and review!)

Chapter 9. Darkness Descending

It was a two-toned world … black and white with every shade of grey in between. The only illumination came from the brilliant orb of the moon and the cold, sparkling light of the stars as they stared with cold indifference on the world below them. They’d been witness to the calumnies of men, both Muggle and Magical, over countless millennia; if they knew any secrets, they kept these to themselves in spite of the efforts of ordinary mortals, astrologers, Seers … or centaurs.

Harry Potter rubbed his eyes … and felt a sense of panic as he realized that his glasses were gone. He wondered whether that was the cause of his seeming color-blindness but realized, in the next moment, that the world around him was that way: cold, forbidding, grey.

There was no sense of familiarity about this place, even to his blurred eyes. It was not the village of Ottery St. Catchpole … neither was it the neighborhood surrounding No. 4 Privet Drive. For a second, he wondered whether it was Hogsmeade Village – but no, he could not make out the dilapidated walls of the Shrieking Shack, or the warm sign of the Three Broomsticks … or the other houses and shops that he’d grown familiar with in the two years he’d been allowed to visit the tiny wizarding village.

This must be a dream, but what did it mean? He’d fallen into a comfortable sleep last night, after spending a most enjoyable evening with Hermione, Ron and the usual cast of characters in what he called the Weasley Common Room – although there was something off-kilter about it: Hermione and Ginny playing Exploding Snap, the Twins playing Wizard’s Chess, Molly knitting while Arthur discussed the latest developments at the Ministry with Percy … Ron and himself, reading.

Reading?

Ron was perusing what looked like an old, beat-up journal with seemingly avid interest, his eyes running down each page swiftly … but just as often stopping, and looking off into the distance, brow furrowed in deep thought – although Harry had felt several moments when he thought that Ron was staring at him, only to look up to see Ron either looking away, or else seemingly focused on Hermione.

And as for him? He was reading a book of Ancient Runes … which may well have sent his dorm-mates into epileptic shock. Why should he, Harry Potter, the greatest slacker next to Ron Weasley among the fifth-year Gryffindors, be spending the last few days of summer reading up on a subject he was not even taking up? Or rather, that he was not yet taking up. He’d made the decision some time during the day before … probably when he was reading the book that Hermione had ‘lent’ him, and which he had lugged around all over Diagon Alley (along with her other books) …

He nearly slapped himself at the thought. The decision to take Ancient Runes was made the moment he found himself staring at his best friend in the Leaky Cauldron, thinking to himself yet again, as he had since the Yule Ball last year, that Hermione was not just brainy, bossy and a general know-it-all … but was absolutely … beautiful.

At least, to his eyes.

Unconsciously he began rubbing his forehead … and felt as if he was slowly turning to ice … as if someone or something had sucked out the warm marrow from his bones and was slowly pouring in bucket after bucket of ice-cold water …

His scar was aching.

It wasn’t the sharp, acute pain that he’d felt before … it was a sustained, throbbing pain; for a brief moment, he wondered if it was the mere thought of his best friend and how she looked to his eyes that was keeping the worst of the pain away.

He shook off that thought – and felt the pain suddenly explode as he fell to his knees. It was excruciating; he tried to stifle his screams and the agony in his bones by clamping down, hard … grinding his teeth as he fought against the pain …

He tried to bring back the picture of his best friend, tried to bring back the pleasant memories of that day in the same way that he prepared himself to cast a Patronious, but failed … the pain was piercing, radiating from his scar down his marrow to his extremities and he doubled over in pain, as he felt movement around him … sensed them moving towards a small, isolated house at one edge of the unfamiliar village.

He tried to hide but knew that he could not … realizing, in the same moment, that this was but a dream, a nightmare even, but powerless to stop it – and feeling fear at the memory of other dreams, other nightmares … especially those that he’d had since he stepped into the hallowed walls of Hogwarts.

His wand! A simple “Lumos!” -- and he experienced true panic as he realized that it wasn’t on him … and he clamped down again, feeling his teeth encountering cloth and other things as he tried to stifle his screams … through his tightly clenched eyes he felt, more than saw, a wash of green light emanating from that isolated house outside the unfamiliar village …

Harry thrashed and kicked, fighting his way out of the dream, the nightmare that assailed him … screamed once again into the cloth that had stifled his yells as he heard the high, cold voice that haunted the deepest regions of his subconscious roar: “MORSMORDRE!”

As the Dark Mark exploded into the sky, Harry felt his clenched fist slam into the night table and pain lanced through his arm … felt the nightmare dissolve as his conscious mind registered the tiny bedroom, his sweat-soaked clothes and the pillow he’d been clutching and which had helped muffle his screams … felt someone holding him, trying to shake him from his nightmare.

He reached out, eyes glazed and stinging from the sweat that had poured over his face … unable to see anything clearly without his glasses, but needing to hold on to someone, to assure himself that he was out of his nightmare and in the real world … felt himself embracing whoever it was like a drowning man clutching an extended arm, and felt himself hugged back …

He felt a fleeting warmth in that human contact and drew in a deep, ragged breath … felt himself relaxing momentarily, and released the air in his lungs with a whispered, “Mione?”

He felt the person holding him stiffen and pull away; confused, he let go and grabbed for his glasses by the night-stand … before he could even put them on, his mind registered a flash of red hair … as his eyes finally focused through the lens of his glasses, they met a pair of shiny blue eyes that held an infinite sadness and a look of reproach as she stared back at him …

“Ginny?” he whispered. He spun around, quickly registering the undisturbed and empty bed beside him, and asked, “Where’s Ron? And Hermione?”

* * * *

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

The moon and stars spread their silvery light over the grounds of the house just outside Ottery St. Catchpole … and the words floated in the air between them. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the world was waiting in breathless anticipation for the answer to the question raised.

Ron looked at the person sitting beside him on the bench and wondered again at the changes that had taken place over the years of his friendship with her. His mind drifted … comparing the person beside him with the girl he first met on the Hogwarts Express years ago. At first glance, nothing much had changed – the same bushy brown hair, the same look of intelligence in her brown eyes, the same nose, lips and chin … her teeth as she bit her lower lip were the only things different from the memory he held of her.

He sighed, wondering where he found the courage to follow Hermione when he heard her stirring awake and walking out of the room she shared with Ginny … how he found the nerve to watch as she sat on the bench outside The Burrow where she had sat with Harry, watching yesterday’s dawn … where he found the strength to sit beside her calmly – and open up about his confused and conflicting feelings for her.

‘Bill’s diary,’ he answered himself. ‘Where else?’

It was surprising – but at the same time, gratifying – when Bill pressed the journal into his hands when they were saying their goodbyes at the Leaky Cauldron. He had (somewhat cheekily, he thought) asked if there was anything interesting that he should know about Erin, Nicole, or Carolyn before Bill left for Cairo. Bill’s response was a smile … and the journal.

He still didn’t know what he truly felt after reading Bill’s … memoirs. It was exhilarating at the start, looking into the innermost thoughts and feelings of a younger Bill – the larger than life brother who was their hero and icon … but at some point, he felt as if he were riding a hexed broomstick, as he felt his emotions zoom up and crash down the deeper he got into Bill’s story …

And he began to wonder, what was the point of it all?

Why had Bill given him the diary in the first place?

Of course.

He’d been so engrossed in reading that he had simply nodded distractedly as the others went up to bed; he must have read and re-read portions of it so many times that the words seemed imprinted on his eyes … and he had sat in his chair in the living room, immobile and so sunk in his thoughts, that he’d actually fallen asleep right there.

Only to be awakened by the sounds of Hermione coming down … and walking out to the bench outside The Burrow.

It was that darned thing, Ron thought, that made him do this … follow Hermione out to the bench, made him sit down beside her … and forced the jumbled, rambling and incoherent words out of his mind.

But as he talked and tried to arrange his jumbled thoughts and emotions into some logical order, he began to realize the futility of his plans and intentions. It wasn’t a mere crush that he felt for Hermione Granger; it was a combination of so many things: admiration for her intelligence and strength, appreciation for all the academic help over the years, respect for the loyalty and affection that she showed him, even during the worst days of the Scabbers incident – and his falling out with The-Boy-Who-Lived.

And yes … there was the comfort of having her as a friend: someone who accepted him for what he was, who looked beyond his lack of money, his hand-me-down robes, his second-hand books and Spell-o-taped wand ...

And there, he realized, was where the truth lay: it was Hermione’s friendship and acceptance of who he was and what he was that formed the solid core and foundation of everything that he felt about her. At the heart of it all was gratitude for everything that she had been to him … but beyond the sense of thankfulness and appreciation for all that she had been to him was … nothing.

Hermione accepted him for what he was, and that was enough. There was no need for anything more …

But there lay the difference between him and Harry.

Because even he could sense that there was something more between them … something that made Harry look beyond the bushy-haired, know-it-all, interfering and indescribably bossy persona that Hermione initially exhibited … and made Hermione go past the messy-haired, green-eyed, clueless face of The-Boy-Who-Lived.

It was the same something that made Harry realize, in a series of steps that even he could never explain, that Hermione did not know about the Mountain Troll that had gotten into Hogwarts – and the same something that made Hermione recognize that someone was hexing Harry’s broom during his first-ever Quidditch match.

And made both of them act, thinking of only one thing: that the other was in danger, and they had to do something about it.

They needed each other.

At the heart of every thought and every action was that single overriding reality: they needed each other … to survive, to continue …

To live.

While he … did not really need them as much as they seemed to need each other.

He could hear himself rambling … but it was as if his mouth was running on auto-pilot (which, he ruefully admitted to himself, was something it was wont to do often), fueled as it was by that stubbornly optimistic side of himself that often refused to accept facts until he was beaten bloody and bowed, forced to stare facts in the eye. He heard himself stumbling and mumbling until his mouth ended with the question: “Will you be my girlfriend?”

And now that the question lay between them, he was totally surprised that what he felt at this moment was … release.

Liberation.

There was no sense of anticipation, not one iota of expectation about the answer that she would give … thinking back on the past ten minutes or so, he realized that she knew … that she was expecting something like this to happen … and that he had known what her answer would be.

He watched as she turned to him, tears in her eyes as she said, in a soft, strangled voice, “I’m sorry, Ron but I can’t … I can’t …”

He placed a finger on her lips to shut her, for once exhibiting a tenderness and understanding that he knew was often absent in his dealings with her and told her, in the same soft, strangled voice, “I understand, Hermione.”

And he truly did.

They fell silent at that, turning away from each other … retreating into their thoughts, staring at their surroundings etched in black, white and shades of grey from the light of the moon and the stars ...

He took a deep breath of the cool night air and released it in one explosive exhalation … and felt his sense of relief magnified, expand to immeasurable proportions and spread through his mind and his soul

It was … he struggled to find a word to describe his feelings … it was wonderful! It was liberating … it was wonderful to sit in the garden with his best friend …

His friend.

Not someone to court. Not someone to think of as a prospective partner … just a bushy-haired, bossy girl with whom he frequently bickered, often teased and sometimes insulted without thinking, but who was attractive in her own way: enjoyable as a companion, intelligent in a way he would always admire and want to emulate, loyal to her friends and the causes she espoused … but, at the end of it all … a friend.

His friend.

And he was happier for it.

But the stubbornly insistent part of his personality demanded an answer … needed confirmation of his thoughts and observations … required an assurance that he could still understand his friends, that he was still a part of them as they were a part of him … and that they would continue to treat him as one.

Which was why the question had to be asked.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

From behind the curtain of her hair, an answer came … so softly that he almost missed it: “No.”

He turned to her, stunned. “No?” he repeated, unsure whether he heard her correctly.

She turned, pushing aside her hair to look at him, unencumbered by anything in the way: “It’s Gilderoy Lockhart, Ron … always has been, always will be.”

He felt his jaw dropping … he would later swear to all the wizards and witches in his extensive collection of chocolate frog cards that he felt his lower jaw waggle in shock before he could blurt out, “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

Hermione simply stared back … and he could only gawk in disbelief. His brain shut down and he didn’t see Hermione biting her lower lip, didn’t notice that she was beginning to breathe rapidly and shallowly, didn’t realize that she was turning red from the effort of holding back, until:

“I wish Colin Creevey could take a picture of your face …”

And he knew he’d been had; royally, totally had by his friend … he lunged at her, only to trip over his own feet … and he was eating dirt as her laughter rolled out above him.

He sat up, spitting dirt and leaves … watching Hermione, who was now on her knees, laughing at him. He wanted to stand up and brush himself off … to try and regain what dignity he had left … but her laughter was infectious, and he found himself clutching his stomach as the humor of it all hit him and he joined her in the cleansing relief of laughter at himself and his willingness to believe his friend … and the sheer joy as he realized that he could still understand her, he could still appreciate her sense of humor, even if it was at his expense.

The moon and the stars continued their course, indifferent witnesses to the sight of two friends rolling around on the ground, sharing the cleansing gift of shared laughter.

* * * *

The silence between them stretched and expanded, neither one sure of where they were going, or even how to get there, wherever or whatever it was. Harry couldn’t look at Ginny’s reproachful face and eyes and he felt himself torn between the need to get out of bed and see to his friends’ safety … and the immobile figure of Ginny Weasley in front of him.

Harry’s head suddenly snapped around at the sound of Ginny’s quiet voice: “It’s Tom, isn’t it?”

Tom?

Tom Riddle.

Of course.

He didn’t respond immediately as his inner turmoil continued. He had no wish to rake up Ginny’s buried memories, no desire that she confront once again those painful, tormented days and nights when she had fallen so deeply into Tom Riddle’s power that she had ended up alone in the Chamber of Secrets … drawn there by her childhood crush on Harry Potter and his own feeble, and in the end, inept efforts to help her.

In truth, he had no inkling, no clue of what to do about her feelings for him … he’d recognized the signs from the moment she walked into the kitchen and fled, that first time he’d visited The Burrow. He didn’t need the constant snickers of the Twins or the sly teasing of Hagrid, to know that Ginny had a crush on him … all he felt he could do was to let time and maturity work its way on her and eventually, help her move on …

How was he to know that the infernal diary from hell would turn the tables on him?

Instead of the crush fading away, Ginny was now bound even closer because of the debt she owed him. Instead of friendship and affection replacing immature emotions, he now had to deal with hero-worship and awe – both of which he hated with a passion.

It was just another of the insidious ways, he thought, that Voldemort had ruined his life … aside from the guilt that he had to carry, he again had to confront the fact that he was not living an ordinary life … that he could not even hold a decent conversation with his friend’s sister because of what had happened between them.

He remembered Piers Polkiss’ sarcastic remark from way back in his abused childhood (a miserable time caused, once again, by Voldemort’s interference in his life): “Whoever said that life was fair, Potter?”

Yeah, right.

Fate sucks.

His head snapped up at Ginny’s strident whisper, “Harry!”

He gawked at her next statement, “You better get dressed … we need to talk with Ron and Hermione about this.”

“We, Ginny?”

She looked him in the eye as she responded, “Well, you got me up anyway, right? Might as well be in on what happened … and what’s going to happen.”

“Ginny …”

“Shut it, Potter.” He gaped, surprised at the intensity of her reaction. “I’m involved … we are all involved. You’re a member of this family now … whatever happens to you, happens to us. You can’t keep on like this, carrying the load by yourself … if we can help you, we will.”

“Ginny …”

“Oh, stop it, Harry! I know what you’re trying to do! You want to protect me … keep me from getting involved, stop me from getting hurt. Well, get this, Mr. Harry Potter – I am involved. Tom used me to try to get at you … he almost succeeded because I was too weak … but no more. No more, do you hear me? I’m not going to let you or my big brothers keep on hiding me from the real world. I have a life too, you know … the sooner I learn to face it, the better for me.”

“Ginny …”

“What? If you’re going to go all noble and protective on me …”

“Ginny! Would you please step outside while I get dressed?”

Blue eyes clashed with green, and Ginny felt the blood rushing to her head … but this time, it wasn’t because of her feelings for the boy on the bed. It was embarrassing, she thought, she’d been so engrossed with her declaration of independence that she had totally forgotten who it was she was talking with (and his state of undress at that moment) … and remembered, once again, the reasons behind her conflicting emotions for The Boy-Who-Lived.

She turned away, the blush still on her face from her mortification, and whispered, “I’m sorry … I’m such a girl …”

She felt him leaving the bed and standing beside her, felt his hand on her shoulder and heard him say, “Never apologize, Ginny … never apologize for the things we have no control over. If there is one thing I learned over the summer … never blame yourself for the things that you never know … and could do nothing about when they happen.”

The kind words and the soft touch broke her down. She turned around and hugged him; for the first time in a long while, she gave in to her emotions and embraced him in the same way that she’d hugged Bill during her troubled, growing up years as the youngest child and only girl in a family of boys.

She wept not for the loss of him as a potential boyfriend; she cried from the sheer comfort of knowing that he was around, that no matter who he was and would be, no matter who he was with and will be with … that she’d have his friendship, his understanding … his protection and warmth from what she knew was the gathering darkness.

She felt his arms around her, holding her tightly as he’d held her when she woke up in the Chamber of Secrets … felt his clothes getting wet with her tears in the same way she’d wept on him then … heard his comforting words: “Shhh, Ginny … it’s all right. It’s all right …”

Too soon, she could feel him pulling away and she convulsively hugged him tighter, wishing only for a few more moments of comfort and protection … and let go only when she heard him say, “You’d better wait for me outside, Gin. I doubt being a member of the family will keep Fred and George away when they see you in my room!”

She giggled and wiped her eyes, whispering, “Thanks, Harry.”

He smiled at her and they spent a few moments looking at each other, understanding running between them, before she turned and walked to the door of the room. As she was about to step out, however, she paused again to look at him: “You’re not going to jump out the window when I’m out here, are you?”

He grinned back at her, the patented Harry Potter Smile that once would have made her weak-kneed and red all over, but now only bathed her in warmth and comfort, and replied, “Only if Fred, George or Ron come in here demanding to know what you’re doing in my room.”

She giggled again and stepped out, secure and confident in Harry’s trust and affection – and realized that she had been spending all that time talking and hugging him in her nightdress. She felt herself blushing all over, knowing that the only non-red parts of her body would be the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet, thinking at the same time, ‘No wonder Harry was scared of the Twins or Ron or Percy finding me there!’

Soon enough, he was outside the door again and they started down the stairs, pausing only for her to grab a robe from her room. They were in the living room, heading for the door when the fireplace suddenly blazed with a startling, green light … and the face of Albus Dumbledore could be seen in the midst of the flames.

“Arthur? Arthur, are you there?”

Ginny and Harry froze in surprise: why should their Headmaster be looking for Mr. Weasley at this time of the night? Unconsciously, Harry began rubbing his scar, even though its aching had stopped earlier … Before either one could respond, Dumbledore’s eyes focused on Ginny and, seemingly ignoring Harry, called out, “Miss Weasley? Can you please call your father here? I need to talk with him, urgently.”

Ginny looked in confusion to Harry; before he could say anything, however, she had given him a gentle shove towards the door, whispering, “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”

As she turned and ran back up the stairs, Harry hesitated … and decided to go on. If Dumbledore needed him, he’d have asked for him – and he could see that the Headmaster had turned away from the fireplace, as if he was talking to someone out of his field of vision.

The decision made, Harry walked swiftly to the door and stepped out into the cool darkness of the remaining night …

* * * *

They’d been sitting in comfortable silence for some time, both of them awed by what a few moments of honesty and openness had wrought.

It was a silence without a tinge of tension in the air; it was comfortable with no sense of anything unsaid floating between them. It was companionship, friendship and familiarity … and though both knew that they would soon be bickering over things trivial or important (since both had distinctly opposing views of what was trivial and important), they both knew that it would be more in the nature of bantering, good-natured joking – and never bickering.

Because they both knew where they stood.

And both were comfortable with that.

Soon enough, Ron broke the silence – and Hermione smiled. He could never stand the silence, she thought. Having grown up with a large and rowdy brood, he’d never understood the value of silence … unlike Harry who was used to the silence.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

She let her hair fall over her face once again, not willing to verbalize her response. Yes, she wanted to shout out loud, yes, it’s Harry … it has been, always will be … but she didn’t want to say it, fearful that doing so may break the magic … in much the same way that a mispronounced Levitation Charm found Wizard Baruffio on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.

After a moment, she shook herself and turned to him, a teasing tone in her voice: “Are you sure you’re Ronald Weasley? The Ron Weasley I know would have been turning the air blue with four-letter words … “

“You forget, Hermione, love is also a four-letter word.”

She looked at him, eyebrow raised in surprise and speculation … and he smiled at her. “Well, that Ron Weasley was a real prat who didn’t deserve you or Harry. Let’s just say that he’s had a change of heart and mind … it just needed a few things to make him realize how much of a dense, insensitive and totally immature prat he was.”

“Oh? And what would those changes be?”

“Bill’s diary.”

“Excuse me?”

Ron turned away and repeated his words, softly: “Bill’s diary.”

As if those words were the key to an unopened door, the words spilled out, and he started telling her about what he had been reading that night … quoting passages from Bill’s thoughts … interspersing these with his own thoughts and feelings memories … and as the words poured out, Ron felt Hermione’s hand enfolding his, holding him tightly as she watched his face move from elation to sadness …

“I guess it was that last letter that did it for me, Hermione. He’d kept the letter in that diary … Spell-o-taped together after he’d torn it up … smudges here and there from his tears, her tears, who knows? But he’d kept it …”

He took a deep breath and looked into her chocolate-brown eyes, now glinting with unshed tears. “I kept asking myself … what would I have done in Bill’s shoes? Would I have turned away from Erin simply because she was in love with someone else? From what Bill wrote, Richard was a nice enough guy … who’d also been his best friend. In fact, it seemed as if Bill was the one who got them together in the first place … during the times when he thought that Erin was just a friend to him …”

“Oh, Ron … that’s so sad.”

He didn’t appear to have heard her, as he continued talking … “I finally understood what Erin was trying to tell Bill … and why Bill tore up her letter to him. He felt she had betrayed him and was trying to make up by throwing in his face something he’d said to her years before.

“It made Bill bitter. We never understood why he decided to accept the Cairo posting from Gringotts. We always assumed that he would continue working here … in fact, Gringotts had offered him a position with their London headquarters, but he said Cairo gave him a higher allowance and better scope for promotion …”

He fell silent, breathing heavily, as if Bill’s story had been some sort of catharsis for him. Hermione wisely kept silent as she listened to the story, although she wondered what had been in that final letter that seemed to have affected Ron so deeply.

“I’m not going to repeat Bill’s mistake, Hermione. He turned away from his best friends because he felt they had betrayed him when in fact, he betrayed himself. If there is one thing I’ve come to realize from reading his diary … I’m not going to let myself destroy one of the most wonderful things that has happened to me.”

“And that is?”

“You. Harry and you … you and Harry.” He turned to her and suddenly grabbed her hands, and she looked into his blazing blue eyes. “You’re my friends, Hermione … you have always been with me all the time. Even when I was acting like a complete idiot, even when I was being Hogwarts’ biggest prat last year, neither of you ever gave up on me … I’m not going to risk that. I’m not going to risk what we have just because I’m jealous of what you and Harry have … I want to be your friend, Hermione.”

“Oh, Ron.” There was nothing else she could say, so she did the next best thing … and gave him a hug. For a moment he sat frozen on the bench, and finally gave in to his emotions – and embraced her tightly, closer than he’d ever hugged anyone before – even his mother or father. As their embrace tightened, he felt her tears soaking his chest … but did nothing because he knew that she could feel his tears falling on her hair.

Neither one saw that Harry had come upon them … neither one realized that he was standing there, gaping like a beached salmon at the sight before him … neither one heard as he turned away and started walking swiftly away towards the paddock the Weasleys owned … only to suddenly stop some distance away from them and turn back, staring as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, feeling as if his insides had turned molten and was pouring down into his feet …

They finally broke their embrace … faces flushing at the raw emotions they’d felt … Ron feeling that his emotional liberation was finally complete, Hermione finally understanding what Ron had gone through during the past four years as he watched the friendship grow and deepen between his two best friends, never knowing what it was that was happening, wanting to be a part of it all but too often incapacitated and out of it through no fault of his own …

Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek … unconsciously, he turned his head to look at her and the kiss landed near his mouth … they sprang apart as if stung, but their looks of shock quickly turned into smiles and they hugged again, but this time without the raw emotions of only seconds before.

This time, the hug was comforting … it was a hug shared between friends who’d reached a deeper understanding of each other … for whom acceptance had arrived without fanfare or grand gestures … who knew that their friendship would last for an eternity, never seeking or wanting anything more from each other but acceptance, tolerance, support, affection …

Finally, they broke apart, to sit comfortably once again on the bench that had seen its share of heartbreaks and loss, as well as affection and promise … but had never before seen or felt the renewal or re-casting of a friendship into a different form.

Hermione leaned her head on Ron’s arm and felt him wrap an arm around her; instinctively, she placed an arm around him in a reaffirmation of the new level of friendship they shared, and she heard him murmuring something that she knew were the words of the mysterious Erin to Bill:

"Sometimes, the love you hold for a person can never be realized in the usual ways. At the moment of realization, it begins to change ... away from selfishness to one of truly caring without the need for any actual 'return’.

"Love is never lost."

She sighed in contentment, happy that she hadn’t lost a friend … feeling delirious in the knowledge that she had nothing to fear in her deepest feelings for her other friend … feeling a burden lifted from her shoulders that their Trio could only grow stronger, even if two of them were going to be closer in a way she had hoped for and wanted …

But the moment was broken as they heard running footsteps behind them, and they broke apart as Ginny’s frightened, strident voice reached their ears: “Harry! Harry! Ron! Hermione! Where’s Harry?”

They stared at each other in shock – why should Ginny be looking for Harry out there? Wasn’t he in bed, sleeping? He would have said something, anything if he had gone out to look for them, wouldn’t he?

Their mouths dropped simultaneously just as a panting Ginny reached them. Ron grabbed his sister’s shoulders tightly and shook her slightly in an effort to calm her down.

Ginny was babbling, almost incoherently: “Harry was having a nightmare and I woke him up … we were going to look for you when Professor Dumbledore came on the Floo network asking for Dad … I went upstairs to get Dad but told Harry to go ahead … where is he, Ron? Where is he?”

Before Ron could answer, they heard more footsteps coming their way and turned to see Arthur Weasley and Percy bearing down on them, disheveled, hastily thrown-on robes flapping in the air, both in fuzzy bedroom slippers that had seen better days …

“Dad!” Ron called as they approached, “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Ron! Hermione!” Arthur Weasley stopped beside them, gasping for air, “Where’s Harry?”

“What happened, Dad?”

Arthur’s eyes kept darting around, apparently searching for Harry as he answered his youngest son, “It’s Dedalus Diggle, Ron. Dumbledore told me … there’s been a Death Eater attack and they killed him … “

Ron’s eyes widened at this and he croaked out, “Are you sure?”

“The Ministry just confirmed it, Ron,” Percy said, as he tried to catch his breath. “There was a Death Mark in the sky above Mr. Diggle’s cottage … the Aurors got there too late … they’d left a sign …”

“What sign, Perce?” Ron asked, puzzled but trying to keep his panic down.

“Potter’s Fan.”

A stunned Ron looked from his father to his brother to his sister … and his eyes met Hermione’s, who was now biting down hard on her fist, as she tried to keep from whimpering. Before he could say anything, Hermione had turned and fled – and his eyes followed her as she ran, not to The Burrow but towards the paddock and he breathed a sigh of relief …

He turned back to his family and their increasingly frantic questioning of where Harry was and replied, in a voice that quickly silenced them all: “Hermione’s gone after him.”

He didn’t voice the next thought that popped in his mind: “Better her than me.”

Epiphanies 10

(Author’s Notes: The usual disclaimers (ducks objects thrown at him).

OK, guys, this is it. The last chapter (:sob:)

I would like to use this opportunity to thank some of the people who have made the writing of this story so enjoyable and rewarding: dan (griffiths eye), whose comment on an early chapter helped define the story in a way I never expected; catsky, elise and freya, whose constant follow-ups last year made me continue the story which I had set aside; erin, nicole and briarswt, whose gentle reminders helped me bring the tale to this point; and lils, amelia, paracelsus, brazilianfan and many, many others whose thoughtful reviews and lovely insightshave helped improve this sometime writer’s craftsmanship immeasurably.

And, as always, hugs and kisses to the people of the HMS Pumpkin Pie, portkey.org and pumpkin pie.org, my “homes away from RL” from whom I have often drawn inspiration, solace, and ideas. Thank you all!

Chapter 10. “I Need You …”

Hermione stumbled yet again as she ran up the unfamiliar path towards the paddock where the boys had often played Quidditch in the summer just past. She’d gone up there with them before but always in daytime … but the changing light, as the night surrendered reluctantly to the coming dawn, made it difficult to see the way. She felt brambles snag at her but she ran on, heedless that she had torn Harry’s old Quidditch robes in several places, thinking that she could easily repair them when she returned to her room, anxious only that she get to Harry.

She kept berating herself for not being there when Harry had his nightmare … scolding herself for not realizing that whatever it was that had woken her up earlier was somehow related to Harry … reproaching herself for going out of the house rather than going to Harry’s room to check on him …

‘But what could I do?’ she asked herself. ‘I couldn’t just burst into his room because I had a bad dream … not when Ron is sharing the same room …’

‘But he wasn’t,’ another part of her brain replied. ‘He said he fell asleep in the living room while reading Bill’s journal …’

‘How was I to know,’ she snarled back. ‘It’s not as if I was looking for Ron when I went down the stairs …’

‘You still should have gone to Harry,’ the voice in her mind said. ‘Then you wouldn’t be in this mess …’

‘What mess?’ she shrieked back in her mind. ‘I just had a talk with Ron …’

‘And ended up hugging him, and kissing him, and hugging him again. What do you think Harry will be thinking if he saw that … no, erase that. Not if … when he saw that.’

She tripped over an exposed root that her tear-filled eyes had missed, and felt her hands getting scratched as she caught herself. Unheeding, she scrambled on, not even realizing that a thorny branch had caught in her hair and drew a long, thin scratch down her face, drawing blood that beaded along the cut skin …

She pressed on, one thing on her mind: she wasn’t there when Harry needed her.

She abruptly paused … and mentally threw her traitorous thoughts (now asking why and how she knew that Harry needed her) behind her. She didn’t need those thoughts now … all that she knew, all she wanted to know, was that Harry was safe.

She would deal with it as she had dealt with everything else in her life: with cool logic, even in the face of fire.

But her pace faltered.

Cool logic came from knowledge; but her store of knowledge came from books, not hard-won experience.

Books were her solace … books were her refuge … books were the perfect means to hide behind when one’s mind was in confusion, although at those times, they seldom had the answers to the questions that boiled in her mind …

At least, not the books she was most comfortable with.

Would Hogwarts: A History have an answer for her current predicament? Does Most Potente Potions have a Time-Turner potion so that she can live the past ten minutes over again – and prevent herself from letting her emotions go? Would Gadding with Ghouls have given her any advice how to approach Harry now?

And, for a brief moment, she wondered whether Unfogging the Future would have helped predict this: establishing peace with one friend but setting up a situation that would make the other question her feelings for him?

She burst into the clearing and frantically looked around for Harry. She felt a wave of panic and nausea engulf her when she didn’t see him … and realized in the next moment that he was standing near a tree, his back to her … leaning on it and shaking his head …

Hermione walked forward slowly, feeling pain lance through her. He’d been sick, she knew … she didn’t need to see the puddle by his feet to know that he’d thrown up … but was it because of his nightmare, or his mad rush to get here, or …

Had he seen them, she wondered? Had he seen them on the bench as they’d hugged in that shared moment of understanding … seen them and jumped to the wrong conclusion, as boys so often do?

She felt a twig snap beneath a bare foot and became aware that she’d lost a slipper in her mad dash to find him. But she didn’t pay heed as a stone dug into her foot … Harry had straightened up at the sound of the snapping twig and said, in a cold and distant voice, “Don’t.”

Hermione stopped, the stone she’d stepped on digging uncomfortably into her heel. She shifted from one foot to another … waiting for Harry to make the next move.

“What do you want, Hermione?”

She nearly stepped backward at the venomously cold tone of his voice, but forced herself to speak, knowing that she wasn’t answering the question he was really asking, but telling herself that she had to set a priority: “It’s Mr. Weasley. He needs you back at The Burrow.”

He didn’t respond; neither did he turn around to face her. After a moment, she continued, nearly stumbling over her words: “It’s Mr. Diggle, Harry … Dedalus Diggle? He’s been attacked by Death Eaters …”

She watched as his shoulders slumped and nearly stepped forward, but his response stopped her cold: “They killed him, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they did,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“I know.”

Her head snapped up at this, and she felt the beginning of a smile break out on her face … only to lose it as he turned around to face her: pale-faced, messy hair, looking slightly green, one lens of his glasses shattered from an apparent stumble. She gave a small cry and stepped forward … only to step back again as she saw the thunderous look on his face as he threw a soiled handkerchief away from him.

“Your glasses …”

She couldn’t approach him … his very stance told her that. She could only watch helplessly as he removed his glasses and pulled out his wand. With a murmured “Occulus Reparo!” he fixed it himself and put them on … and she had to step back as her eyes finally met his blazing greens, seemingly magnified to enormous, fiery orbs.

She flinched as he locked eyes with her … and she felt something within her curling up into a fetal position, beaten into fear and submission by the aching pain that she saw in his eyes. She could sense his feeling of betrayal as his eyes flickered with the memories of what he had seen only minutes before, contrasting with the moments they’d shared the day before … and she knew he would be feeling a wrenching loss at all that had happened …

Because she could feel the same wrenching loss, knowing that there was nothing she could do or say right now … there was no answer that he would listen to at this point. Behind his anger, she could see the shadows of that little boy who’d been abandoned to a family with no understanding or sympathy for his uniqueness, the shades of the boy who’d grown up like a mushroom in the dankness of a cupboard, unable to use powers he didn’t know he had to release him from his prison. She knew he would not accept her, and she felt the tears spilling from her eyes at how coincidence and unforeseen circumstances could so easily change moments of happiness into slashing pain and longing.

She felt the sting of the salty liquid as they seeped into the scratches on her face, tasted the tears as they trickled on her lips … she wanted to turn away from him, unable to look much longer at his wounded, hurting face.

Hermione turned away as a ray of sunlight from the rising sun broke through the trees surrounding the paddock, blasting like a laser beam into her tear-sparkled eyes.

She didn’t see Harry’s eyes blink … didn’t see his eyes – the eyes of the youngest Seeker in a century – suddenly focused on a solitary tear which had mixed with a bloody drop that had welled up from an angry scratch down her cheek.

His eyes raked over her face and body – noting the scratches on her face and hands, saw the torn robe she wore and the thorny twigs that had caused them … realized that she had lost one slipper, and understood the reason why … his mind instantly calling up all the times he’d seen her frantic and worried, rushing to his side every time she felt he was in danger or when he was victorious: all those moments from his first Quidditch match to the end of the First Task when she’d shown up at the Champion’s tent with fingernail marks on her face …

But his mind intruded with the pictures that he’d seen only minutes before and he froze … the film in his mind moving along one frame at a time … and he closed his eyes to the obvious hurts that he saw on her … and tried to force the infuriating idea of his best friend tending to her hurts from his mind …

However, his fickle mind suddenly shifted to a singular moment months before in Dumbledore’s office, when he’d asked about something that he’d seen in the Pensieve … where he learned to his horror, the real story of Neville Longbottom’s parents – a story that he had never bothered to find out through four years of being Neville’s dorm-mate, classmate and fellow Gryffindor. He remembered climbing into his bed later that night and listening to Neville’s snores – ashamed that he’d immediately jumped to the conclusion that Neville was a natural klutz, without even bothering to find out if there was a reason behind his seeming ineptness.

They deserved more than that, he realized … they deserved more than his anger at seeing them together for a few moments that could have a hundred different explanations than the one he’d immediately leaped to. They were his friends, who had been with him through joy and pain, who’d stood up to defend him against everything life had thrown his way …

And, more importantly, this was Hermione … she deserved more than his dirty mind leaping to conclusions – not after all that they had been through in the past four years and … and (he shivered at the thought) what they will have to go through for the next how many months and years, until he – or someone -- could bring this feud with Voldemort to a successful conclusion.

She felt something blocking the sunlight on her face, casting it in shadow – she turned back to Harry and almost fainted in shock. She had turned away when he was a few feet away … she turned back to see him standing right in front of her, looking down with his blazing green eyes, and she could only stare back like a deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing car …

His eyes bored into her doe-like brown eyes, and he felt something shifting within him … a boulder or some such thing that had fallen on his chest being nudged away by the tears that were falling from his best friend’s face, and he couldn’t help himself any longer …

He reached out with a trembling finger and softly, as gently as he could, wiped away the tears from her cheek … watched, with a growing sense of panic that he quickly rammed down, as tiny droplets of blood continued to well up from the scratches … felt his throat working, swallowing repeatedly as he tried to wipe the blood away with still gentle, but increasingly frantic motions …

“I don’t want you hurt, Hermione … I don’t want to see you hurt … you shouldn’t have come after me like that in the dark … when I woke up and found that you and Ron were not there, it scared me … it scared me, Hermione … I don’t want to see you hurt …” She had closed her eyes to prevent herself being blinded by the blazing green orbs of Harry’s eyes, and she shivered as she felt his gentle fingers wiping her face, felt the blood pounding in her ears, such that she could barely make out Harry’s hoarse, croaking voice as his fingers touched her flushed skin.

She felt a sudden warmth on her face and her eyes blinked open … only to turn her face away as the light from the ever-rising sun washed into her eyes … realizing in the same instant that Harry was down on his knees, embracing her … his face in her tummy and his glasses pushing against her clothes. Hermione could feel his body shaking, and knew that he was crying … finally letting go of his fears and inner turmoil, starting from that night in the Hospital Wing when his need to cry and let go had been rudely interrupted by her capture of Rita Skeeter in her Animagus form …

Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his head and she held him tightly, feeling his arms around her waist, and she felt herself rocking him gently as her hands ran lightly and gently through his messy hair … knowing that he could feel her tears on his head, but caring not one bit.

There was only comfort in that embrace … and for the moment, there was no one else in the world except each other … and no one – not Death Eaters, not friends, relatives or teachers, not even Lord Voldemort – would have been able to catch the attention of either one.

Which was how the others found them a few moments later.

* * * *

With quick glances and silent nods, the Twins, Ron, Ginny and their father drew back … each of them agreeing to a silent pact: none of this would be shared with anyone else, except for Molly.

And not even her, if they could help it.

Quietly, they withdrew from the paddock … each with their own thoughts: scared at the prospects of the gathering storm, happy at the same time that, even in the midst of darkness, light still found its way in.

With another exchange of looks, they silently agreed to head back home and wait for the two to come in. Arthur led the way, his mind in turmoil at the morning’s dreadful news, wondering how Cornelius Fudge would try to cover-up this latest incident – and wondering what they could do to prepare the wizarding world for the inevitable storm.

Ron and Ginny followed, both silent and sunk in their own thoughts. They would have been surprised to find out, if they had only spoken to each other, that they were – for once – operating on the same wavelength, with the same thought running through their minds: “So that is what true love looks like,”and wondering whether they would be lucky enough to find someone to love – and someone to love them back.

Fred and George were last … but no one could have said what they were thinking about – their minds were too nimble, too quick, to remain focused for long on a single topic, unless they were planning a joke – or watching for Bludgers. They were walking together … until Fred realized that he was suddenly walking alone.

He stopped and spun around, eyes automatically scanning the surrounding terrain for any threat, hand clutched around his wand ready to draw and curse if need be … and he spotted his twin a few meters away, holding a fuzzy bedroom slipper, a bemused expression on his face.

Puzzled, Fred walked over to his brother as his mind ran over the possible significance of a slipper in his brother’s hand. He didn’t recognize it – while it seemed to be a comfortable, lived-in slipper, it was in far better condition than anything his family owned … from the style, he deduced that it was a girl’s slipper – slim and feminine as it was … it could only belong to someone from The Burrow, since no one from the village ever went up here … and he realized that Hermione must have lost it in her mad dash up here in search of Harry.

His jaw dropped as he saw George, with an cheeky grin and an impish look in his eye, draw out his wand and transfigure the slipper into a small bunny which he gently placed on the ground. The bunny, after an inquiring look at the brothers, quickly turned and ran off into the bushes … either looking for something to eat, or another bunny on which to vent its hormonal urges on.

And then, Fred smiled as his brain processed the information – and the brothers gave each other high fives as they proceeded back to their home and breakfast, both of them wishing that they had the guts to remain there and watch … but both too scared of living out life as a pair of pumpkins in the grass to do so.

While they knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to handle such a Transfiguration, they wouldn’t put it past Hermione … and at the same time, neither one wanted to face an enraged Harry Potter – or an even angrier Hermione Granger.

Some things were simply not worth the risk.

* * * *

The emotional storms had passed, and the rising sun could now smile as it witnessed the sight of two friends sitting side by side on the grass of the empty paddock beneath its warming rays – both leaning on each other, Harry’s face resting on Hermione’s head, the latter snuggled warmly on Harry’s shoulder, arms around each other … and Harry rubbing Hermione’s hand, trying to remove the dried droplets of blood there.

They’d been talking for some time … both studiously avoiding Harry’s emotional outburst, although the memory of that shared moment continued to envelop them in its glow. They quietly shared their experiences of the night: Harry, calmly and quietly telling Hermione of his nightmare while the latter listened in silence, shivering only as Harry described the voice that he assumed was Voldemort, casting the Death Mark into the sky … and Hermione telling Harry of her conversation with Ron, with Harry listening attentively and looking spectacularly shocked at the apparent change in their red-haired, hair-triggered friend.

They had calmly discussed their fears of the night – of Harry waking up to realize that Ron was not in his room, and learning from Ginny that Hermione had gone out of their shared quarters … of Hermione so afraid that Harry had jumped to the wrong conclusions and would turn away from her or worse, neither one realizing that they had held each other just that tiny bit more closely as the words came tumbling out …

Harry finally broke the silence that had fallen, as he continued rubbing her scratched hand: “Hermione … I meant what I said earlier … I don’t want you to get hurt …”

“Don’t, Harry,” she said, turning her face to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say … don’t.”

“But Hermione …”

“Don’t be getting all noble and protective of me, Harry Potter! Ginny’s right – I’m involved, we are all involved … nothing’s going to erase the past four years.”

“Hermione …”

“Harry. You can’t stop me, or Ron, or Ginny, or anyone else from helping you if that is what we want, do you hear me?”

“Hermione …”

“Stop it, Harry. You cannot stop me from helping you without killing me, and that is a strange way to protect my life.”

He stared at her, and she met his gaze head on – but he refused to bow to the inevitable, making one last desperate stab at logic to dissuade her: “But Voldemort doesn’t know anything about you …”

“You’ve forgotten Scabbers, Harry.” She suddenly giggled, breaking the tension between them. “Remember the first time I met you on the train, and Ron was trying to cast that spell?”

Harry grinned, and solemnly recited, “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

Hermione laughed out loud. “Poor Ron … he must have felt like a complete fool with that spell …” She suddenly became quiet, as she remembered again what she must have looked like to Harry and Ron that day, but her thoughts were interrupted by Harry.

“Maybe not as much as Ginny with that stupid dwarf singing …”

Hermione smiled as she supplied the memory:

“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!”

The paddock suddenly rang out with their laughter, and Hermione – in between gulps of air and laughter – sputtered, “You know, I’ve always believed that it was Fred or George who set that thing up … I just couldn’t believe that Ginny would do something like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’ve never believed it was Ginny either. I always thought that it was you who – Ow!”

“Shut it, Harry! You weren’t even on my radar screen that time …”

“Well, who was?” Harry replied in a feigned, hurt tone. “Lockhart?”

He blinked at her in surprise. “Hermione! Don’t tell me that you were one of the forty-six who sent Lockhart a Valentine’s card?”

She turned away with a forceful shake of her head, which sent her hair flying in all directions but which successfully screened her reddened face as she whispered, “Actually, I sent him six …”

Harry didn’t know if he would find the strength to pull his jaw up off the grass. He stared blankly at Hermione, who steadfastly refused to look at him. “Hermione … six cards?”

“Well, I wasn’t the only one, Harry. Lavender sent ten, I think … Parvati and Padma sent five each … I heard someone say that Susan Bones and Mandy sent two … even Cho Chang supposedly sent a few herself …”

She finally found the courage to look at him, and saw Harry with his brow furrowed in thought. Before she could ask what he was thinking, he looked at her with a cheeky grin. “Hermione … six cards?” She nodded. “And Lavender, Parvati, Padma … all of you sent a few cards each?”

She nodded, wondering where this was going. “So, how many girls actually sent cards to Lockhart?”

Hermione suddenly giggled. “I think … less than ten, Harry.”

He couldn’t help himself, and broke out laughing, “So, rather than forty-six, less than ten sent him cards?”

“I said less than ten girls, Harry,” she replied in her officious voice. That stopped him, and she gave him a saucy grin: “How do I know you didn’t send him something?”

Hermione gave in to laughter as he tried to sputter a response – but stopped when he replied, “Well, for one thing … I know you’re a girl, Hermione.”

She responded to that statement with a smirk, “Took you long enough, Potter.”

“I know.”

Hermione looked at him in surprise, and felt herself wading into the deep, green pool of his eyes, as her ears began picking up random sounds from around them. She felt her breath hitching as she saw Harry leaning towards her, drawing ever closer, and felt the blood beating as her lips felt flushed. She unconsciously licked her lips as she watched Harry’s come closer to her … and she closed her eyes and leaned closer to him …

And felt him suddenly pausing and drawing away … she could have sworn that her hyper-sensitized ears pick up his mumbled, “I can’t … I can’t … I’ve got morning breath …”

If there were a rock or stone handy, she would have brained the stupid git and brought his body to Lord Voldemort herself. Her eyes flew open to see him still staring at her, and she heard his whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you, Hermione.”

Her first thought was to tell him that a kiss wouldn’t make her pregnant, but she stopped on seeing – and understanding – the naked fear and longing in his eyes. She knew that he was not looking at her, but seeing once again the parade of ghosts that had fallen out of Voldemort’s wand: Cedric, the old caretaker, Bertha Jorkins, James and Lily and now, Mr. Diggle … and imagining that she, or Ron, or Ginny would be joining them.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, and buried her face in his shoulder once again, feeling his arms wrapping around her tightly, and his lips on her hair. She could feel the tears again welling up, and wondered, irrelevantly, how much in tears can the human body hold?

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Hermione. I need you too much to risk losing you … not now, not ever.”

She didn’t answer immediately, simply snuggled closer to him. She could feel his arms around her, felt his heart beating next to hers, and knew that nothing she would say now would make him change his mind, and she held him tight, knowing that this would be as far as he would be willing to go with her … until Lord Bloody Voldemort was back in his special chamber of hell’s half-acre.

She looked at him and saw his wounded, aching eyes on her … and she heard Ron’ voice as he repeated something he’d learned from Bill’s diary: “Follow your heart, Hermione …” and with a strength that surprised her, she grabbed him by his messy, silky hair and pressed her lips on his.

She could feel him pulling back, but she wouldn’t let go and followed … Harry threw out an arm to stop himself from landing on his back, and pushed back, but Hermione kept up with him, pressing their lips together … and for the next few moments, there was no one in the world except themselves … toothbrush, flossing, or morning breath be dammed.

That first real kiss was awkward, laced as it was with too much passion and emotion, but it was the sharing that mattered, it was the affirmation of their mutual feelings that counted. In the years to come, the memory of that kiss would follow, but imbued with a singular character and beauty all its own.

The clumsy, uncoordinated first pressing of their lips together soon gave way to an intimate exploration of each other’s mouths; lips and tongues gently traveling the ridges and planes of the other. Tongues gently reached out and met, tasted each other and explored … and Harry would forever be thankful that Hermione was not a telepath, for the image of the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, tongue flicking out to sense his prey, came to his mind – unaware that Hermione had the same mental image from a documentary film passing through her mind.

The thought made them both draw back for a bit, their lips the only ones doing the exploration … but the brief memory of their gliding tongues made them want more, and their explorations continued, both of them unconsciously blocking air passages as their kiss deepened.

Too soon, however, the need for air became overwhelming and they broke apart, drawing deep breaths of each other’s bodies into their lungs … hands entwined in the other’s hair, eyes locked on each other in wonder at what had just happened.

They leaned in again to each other but their higher brain functions took over and instead of the scorching kiss they exchanged earlier, this was softer, more intimate … a gentler exploration of each other’s lips.

By mutual consent, they broke off and leaned against each other, Hermione’s head snuggled in Harry’s chest, Harry’s face buried in her hair, arms around each other in an embrace that was both intimate and reserved …

* * * *

After a while, she felt Harry kiss her forehead and she looked up to see his eyes on her.

“We’ve got to go, Hermione,” Harry said softly. “They’ll be worrying … they’ll probably be calling the Ministry to send out search parties by now …”

She gave a sigh, and nodded, standing up with him – and nearly stumbling as she remembered that she was lacking a slipper. Harry caught her arm and steadied her, and they both began looking around the clearing but couldn’t see it.

She felt Harry slapping his head and saw him raise his wand, saying “Accio, Hermione’s slipper!”

They waited … and waited … and finally, Harry put down his wand, as puzzled as she was – neither aware that the slipper was already enjoying life as a full-fledged bunny, and having the first real meal of its life. He looked at her, unsure of what to do … and suddenly smiled, extending his wand to her.

She took it from him, confused.

“You can always transfigure something into a slipper, Hermione.”

Her confusion cleared, and she opened her mouth … and shut it. “One problem with that, Mr. Potter … I don’t know how to do that particular charm.”

“What? I thought you knew everything!”

“Apparently not, Harry.”

She saw him staring intently at her, but decided to hold her ground and the white lie, adding for good measure, “I know it’s on the schedule for this year … but I haven’t got around to studying it yet.”

He continued staring at her, and she grew distinctly uncomfortable under his gaze. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he suddenly answered her: “I just want to fix this moment in my memory … for once, Hermione Granger does not have an answer to a question from Harry Potter.”

She was about to swat him when she realized what she had in hand, and gave him an evil smirk, “Who’s holding the wand, Mr. Potter?”

“Well, I still have another wand, Miss Granger.”

“What … Oh,” she replied, suddenly blushing at his insinuation, but determined not to let him have the final word, and answered in her best earnest-Hermione-the-teacher’s-pet tone: “But is it any good, Mr. Potter? Are you sure it will fit me? Didn’t you say that the wand chooses the witch? Can you use it to levitate me?”

They stared at each other, and burst out laughing, which ended with both of them down on the ground, rolling around and laughing like banshees. Soon enough, they were wiping their eyes of the tears they’d shed, and stood, with Hermione handing Harry’s wand to him.

To her surprise, he ignored it … and before she could say a word, he had swept her into his arms to carry her. Automatically, she placed her arms around his neck and snuggled into the comfort of his shoulder, murmuring at the same time, “My hero!”

He smiled and kissed her forehead; she tightened her arms around him as a shiver passed through her. She knew that there were a dozen levitating charms that he could have used, but she appreciated what he was trying to do (which was in fact, what she wanted him to do), and kissed him on the cheek.

He gave her another warm, patented Harry smile and started walking towards the Burrow.

Neither one noticed a small brown bunny by the side of the path, busily chewing on some greens that it found, staring in curiosity at the sight of the boy carrying the girl in his arms. If it were human, it would have given a shrug … as it was a mere bunny, it continued chewing on the greens with a happy, contented expression on its face.

* * * *

Molly Weasley glanced up from the teapot she had prepared for her guests and saw Harry and Hermione returning to The Burrow. She smiled at the sight of a struggling Harry Potter doing his best not to drop the Hermione he carried in his arms, while the latter kept her arms around his neck although, even at this distance, Molly could see her hands were playing with his hair.

Her smile grew broader as she remembered the near-kiss that she’d seen yesterday in Diagon Alley, and wondered whether they had finally consummated the moment that had been building up for some time. She glanced at the rising sun and was startled … it had been a little more than twenty-four hours since she’d sat at her window and seen the two of them on the bench outside the Burrow … and her happy mood turned somber as she remembered her thoughts of the night before – and what she knew would happen today.

“They’re coming,” she said to Arthur and her guests, as she started to prepare breakfast for the two teenagers.

“Took them long enough,” Arthur said in a voice where Molly detected just the slightest hint of a false joviality. “I do hope they haven’t done anything … inappropriate.”

“Arthur!” Molly exclaimed in a reproachful voice, at which he blushed and stammered apologetically, “I’m sorry … just trying to lighten the mood.”

“They’re children, for crying out loud!” Molly continued, using the faux pas to release the tension she felt -- and grateful to Arthur for the opportunity, badly chosen as it was.

“Who have been through so much more than most wizards or witches their age have any right to expect,” responded Albus Dumbledore from his chair. He looked down at his teacup beside which rested two shiny, although slightly dented Prefect’s badges. “Not even James and Lily had to go through what they have done in the past five years.”

“I’m sure we can trust Miss Granger’s sense of decorum,” Professor McGonagall said in her usual, severe tone. “She has far more of that than Mr. Potter – father or son – ever had. Or even Lily Evans,” she added, after a pause.

“Indeed, Minerva,” the Headmaster said, eyes twinkling. “Which is why they work so well together.”

Professor McGonagall didn’t reply to that; merely stood up and brought her teacup and saucer to the sink … and looked out the window at the approaching pair. The sight that met her eyes caused her to blink as she remembered one of her earliest memories of Harry and Hermione together: the night that Filch had caught the two sneaking down from the Astronomy Tower at one o’clock in the morning.

“I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on,” she’d said at the time – and had immediately stopped herself when she realized that she was talking to an eleven-year old boy and girl. She had immediately leaped on Neville Longbottom’s story to connect the midnight excursion of the two to an effort to get Draco Malfoy in trouble … simply because she did not want to think of the other thing they could have been doing there at that time.

Albus Dumbledore’s voice broke into her consciousness: “What are you thinking about, Minerva?” and she could feel a faint blush rising in her face at the question. She turned back to the Headmaster and met his twinkling eyes – and again wondered whether her old friend was telepathic.

There was no need to respond as, with a clatter, the door opened and she turned around to see Harry with Hermione still in his arms, entering the kitchen as if he were a bridegroom bringing in his bride. She stopped herself from collapsing in laughter at the shocked looks of the two, mentally giving Harry twenty points for not dropping Hermione in his surprise … and made a promise to herself to use her Pensieve at the earliest possible opportunity: the looks on the faces of her favorite students were just too precious to leave to the vagaries of memory.

The heat emanating from the faces of the two teenagers as they faced the four adults would have been enough to heat the Burrow in the dead of winter, with one mind, both thought that it was extremely lucky that the younger Weasleys had not seen them – unaware that the Twins were still rolling around on the floor of their room, laughing at the success of their latest ploy … Ron was in the living room with his nose buried once again in Bill’s diary … and Ginny was in her room, furiously brushing her long, flowing hair as tears of mingled sadness and happiness streamed down her face.

All four of the younger Weasleys had been at various windows of the house, and the sights they had seen that day would be something that would remain in their memories for a long time.

In the kitchen, Harry slowly put Hermione down (the four adults noting with mingled amusement and nostalgia the gentle, almost reverent manner with which Harry did so) and asked, “Professor Dumbledore! Professor McGonagall! What are you doing here? Is this because …”

He stopped at the Headmaster’s upraised hand and soothing voice: “All in good time, my dear boy! All in good time …”

Molly Weasley bustled up then, asking the two whether they would like to have their breakfast now or if they would prefer that she made them tea for the moment. They glanced at each other, both unaware that they had suddenly bitten their lower lips (a fact noticed with keen interest by their teachers), as they slowly shook their heads. None of the adults knew that the quick glance was of a shared memory of Ron in Hagrid’s cabin, saying, “Er -- shall I make a cup of tea?” in response to Hagrid’s blubbering about Buckbeak, and his muttered explanation of his offer: “It’s what my mum does whenever someone’s upset,”.

The quick glance had also exchanged the same thought in their minds: who’s upset? And about what?

They quickly turned back as Professor Dumbledore gave a small cough.

“Let’s settle school affairs first, shall we?” He pulled out a Hogwarts letter from his robe and proffered it to Harry, who accepted it with a blank expression on his face. “The school governors decided last night, after some prompting from Mrs. Longbottom, to name you as Gryffindor Prefect. Congratulations, Harry.”

Harry’s response was drowned out Hermione’s whispered, “Good for you, Harry!”, followed by a rib-breaking hug from Molly and a bone-crushing handshake from Arthur. He adjusted his disheveled glasses in time to see Professor Dumbledore reaching for something glinting on the table.

“These were your parents’ Prefect badges, Harry. I think it’s time that I gave them back to you.” He handed them over to Harry, who accepted them without a word, and held them for a moment in his palm before looking at them through suddenly teary eyes. He held them up; noticing some engraving on the back, he peered at them closely and saw “James Potter” written on one, and “Lily Evans” on the other.

“Oh, Harry …” he heard Hermione’s voice beside him and he knew that she had seen the same thing that he had. Silently, he handed his mother’s badge to her and they locked eyes for a long moment before she reached out and accepted it, whispering “Thank you” at the same time. It was a gesture not lost on the four adults in the room, and they all turned away simultaneously to wipe their eyes and, in the case of Molly Weasley, surreptitiously blow her nose on her handkerchief.

“I understand you wanted to take up additional subjects this year, Harry? May I ask if you have reached a decision yet?”

“Yes, Professor. I … uh, have decided to take Ancient Runes this coming year.” He heard a gasp of surprise and realized that he hadn’t told Hermione of his decision yet, and wondered how Ginny would react to this. “Uh … Arithmancy is too close to Divination for me (he made a placating gesture at the suddenly bristling Hermione who visibly calmed down – a gesture not lost on Professor McGonagall, who hid her smile behind a handkerchief she conjured) and I don’t think I have a head for numbers that the course will require, so …”

“All right,” Dumbledore replied. His eyes twinkled as he continued, “I assume that Miss Granger has given you the references and study materials that you will need, including her notes?”

“Of course, Professor,” Hermione replied. With a glance at Harry, she continued, “Can I borrow Hedwig later, Harry? I can ask my Mum to pack up my notes and send them to us.”

“Can Hedwig carry four volumes of notes, Hermione – ow!” as Hermione gave him an elbow in the ribs. Before he could say anything, Arthur Weasley stepped in.

“We can always pass by your house tomorrow, Hermione,” he said. “You still have a few days before September 1st, I can drive you two over there tomorrow.”

The two teenagers looked at him with gratitude, but turned back as Dumbledore gave a small cough.

“You may wish to borrow one of the Ministry’s cars, Arthur. I am sure that Cornelius will be more than happy to lend you one.” For a split second, Harry caught a look being exchanged between the two men – and felt a shiver down his spine at the thought that certain arrangements were being made, and that his visit to Hermione’s house would be covered by teams of Aurors and hit-wizards … and he wondered if there were plans being made for the Grangers at the same time.

“If there is nothing else …” Professor Dumbledore began, but Harry interrupted him.

“Professor … I have to ask, but what is this all about? I mean … why did they have to attack Mr. Diggle? He was a harmless old wizard … surely he meant nothing to Voldemort.”

To his surprise, the Headmaster didn’t reply at once … and Harry watched as Dumbledore’s long, thin fingers covered his face and gently began massaging his eyes, as if he had been hit by a sudden, blinding headache.

He could feel the tension ramping up in the small room, felt the anxiety and strain emanating from Arthur, Molly and Professor McGonagall in waves thick enough to be cut with a knife, and began to feel the same oppressive weight on his shoulders. He felt a cool hand on his suddenly sweaty palms, and he entwined his fingers with Hermione’s – a move that was not lost on three of the four adults present.

Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.

“It is time,” he said, “for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry.

“Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything.”

The End