Chapter 9 The Many Minds and Memories of Hermione
Hermione awoke the next day with the sun streaming through her bedroom windows. She stretched lazily, rubbed Crookshanks' head, and turned over to glance at her clock. Thinking that she was late for something, she sat bolt upright when she saw the dial read 9:30. Then the realization that it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year penetrated her foggy brain and she plopped back onto her pillow, happy in the fact that she didn't have anywhere to be and didn't have anything to do.
That was good since she got very little sleep the night before.
She rolled over on her stomach and pulled the blankets over her head, blocking out the sickeningly cheerful sun. She didn't feel remotely cheerful at the moment. The events of the previous night and her subsequent hours of analysis came flooding back to her, weighing her down with conflicting thoughts and emotions she could not wade through. She was much happier to stay buried beneath the blankets as darkness was more indicative of her current mood.
But why? If she was correct, and she usually was, then a man, a very handsome man, is interested in her. Where was the logic in that being depressing?
Because, the man that is interested in you is Harry.
Oh, right. That is the depressing part. Thanks for the reminder.
I'm here to help.
Hermione tutted her inner logic and groaned aloud, knowing herself well enough to realize that another round of unrelenting situational analysis was on its way. She really didn't have the energy or desire for it. No matter how many times she went over it all in her head, the facts of the matter stayed the same.
Harry fancied her.
She couldn't fancy Harry.
She needed someone to talk to.
There was no one she could talk to.
She missed her mother.
She flipped the blankets off of her, swinging her legs out of bed. She grabbed a beige chenille throw from her wing chair and threw it around her shoulders, pulling it close around her to ward off the morning chill. She padded to her bookshelf and carefully removed a framed picture, using the corner of the throw to wipe a light layer of dust off the glass. Smiling at the picture, she returned to the wing chair and settled into it, tucking her feet under herself.
The picture was of her parents and her in Paris, the summer before her sixth year. They had insisted that she take a holiday with them, owing to the fact that she had spent the majority of her holidays the previous few years either at Hogwarts or with the Weasleys. Hermione had resisted, not wanting to be absent from the wizarding world so soon after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, but her parents were quite adamant. In the end, Hermione had acquiesced, compromising with them for a two-week holiday instead of their preferred one month.
Hermione regretted that compromise. That was the last time she had seen her parents alive. They had been tortured and killed by Bellatrix Lestrange the following Halloween.
Hermione sniffed loudly, looking at the last picture taken of them together. It was the last day of their trip and they were sitting outside at their favorite bakery, eating breakfast. Hermione's father, who was incessantly taking pictures, asked their waitress to take one of the three of them. Hermione and her mother had grinned and rolled their eyes at each other, knowing that this picture would look just like the last picture her father had coerced someone into taking. They good-naturedly went along with each one, knowing how much her dad enjoyed it.
She looked at her parents in the picture, forcing herself to remember them as they were in Paris - happy; she did not want to dwell on their last moments and the terror they must have felt in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her mum and dad draped their arms over the back of her chair and leaned toward her in an effort to fit into the frame. Tanned from their time in the south of France, and smiling, her parents were a handsome couple.
Her dad, tall and lanky with salt and pepper hair, sported a huge smile, revealing rather large, but perfectly straight teeth. Her mother, a bit more reserved, but with a dry, biting sense of humor, had unfortunately given Hermione her hair genes. Mrs. Granger's solution to the bushy nature of her locks had been to pull her hair back in a tidy clip at the nape of her neck. Hermione couldn't remember her any other way.
It was in times like these, when she needed an objective point of view, that she missed her mother the most. Her mother had always been good at cutting to the core of the problem and finding a solution. On that very trip, Hermione had talked to her mother about Ron, finally revealing to someone the true depth of her feelings for him. Of course, her mother had known already and had advised Hermione to talk to Ron, which she did months later at Harry's insistence. Try as she might, she could not fathom what her mother would recommend in this situation. Too much had happened over the years, she was too far removed from her mother's objectivity to formulate an answer to the question she would ask: What should I do?
Ginny and Minerva had taken the place of her mother's confidence quite admirably in the years since. Ginny, whom Hermione would normally talk to about something like this, was not an option at the moment. To begin with, she would be swamped at the shop, helping the Hogwarts students choose and purchase all of the stinkbombs and fireworks that would invariably make Filch's job a nightmare. Secondly, she was Ron's sister, and Hermione had never fully explained to her the events preceding Ron's death. It was these long-past, but unforgettable events that muddled this situation so completely she wondered if she would ever find a solution.
That left Minerva. She would be logical, that is certain. But her objectivity was questionable. Not to mention the fact that any conversation she envisioned sounded quite inane.
"I think Harry fancies me."
"Is that so? How do you feel about him?"
"I'm not sure."
"So is the problem that Harry fancies you or that you don't know how you feel about Harry."
"I don't know."
"You don't know what, dear?"
"Anything. I don't know anything."
Hermione stood and replaced the picture on the shelf. If her mother was here she could tell her everything. Her mother would understand the loyalty Hermione still felt towards Ron. She would understand why this loyalty was what was keeping her from exploring a relationship with anyone, especially Harry. She would understand the apprehension Hermione felt at the mere thought of an emotional attachment. She would understand why the thought that someone fancied her caused her stomach to clench as if squeezed by a vice.
Throw on top of this the fact that this person was Harry and her apprehensions multiplied and eased simultaneously.
I'm a bloody mess.
She walked over to gaze out her window at the beautiful day, most likely the last one before the cold, steel gray of winter overtook them. She turned around and saw not her warm, comforting room, but the prison of her mind. Logic, her lifelong companion, had failed her.
Hermione had never felt so alone in her life.
Releasing a yell of frustration, Hermione ripped the chenille throw from her shoulders and threw it on the bed. She hurriedly went through the motions of getting ready, desperate to escape her room and her frame of mind. She grabbed the throw again, picked up the first book she saw and yanked the door open to leave…
…and ran straight into Harry.
He stumbled backwards, grabbing onto Hermione's arms to catch himself before falling.
"Whoa! Where's the fire?" he asked.
Hermione gasped audibly, although in reaction to what, she wasn't sure. She felt the tension, which had been humming through her body just seconds before, ebb away. A churning stomach and sweaty palms quickly replaced it.
"Harry! What are you doing here?"
"Looking at your door," he said, nodding to the engraved Athena. "And getting ready to knock." He tapped his knuckles on the door three times and smiled.
Hermione stepped back to pull the door closed and started walking. "Did you need something?"
"Do I have to 'need' something to come see you?" Harry asked.
"Well, no," Hermione replied nervously. "I thought since I just saw you last night that you might have a specific reason, that's all."
"Okay, you caught me. I did have a specific reason. I wanted to see what you were doing today. I was going to go to Honeydukes for some chocolate and thought you might want to come."
Hermione stopped in the middle of the corridor. "You came through the village, past Honeydukes to ask me if I want to go back into Hogsmeade with you?"
"No," he replied slowly. "I came up here for breakfast. The idea for Honeydukes came to me while walking to your room to find out why you weren't at breakfast."
"Oh." She turned and resumed walking, unaware of the quizzical expression on Harry's face.
"So, why weren't you at breakfast?"
"I overslept."
"That's not like you."
Hermione made an indiscernible humming noise and began absently rubbing her roiling stomach.
"Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt?"
You have no idea.
"No, I'm fine. I probably just need to eat something," she replied dismissively, although the thought of food made her stomach constrict tightly in objection.
"Lucky I nicked this for you," Harry said proudly, producing from the pocket of his robe a scone, inexpertly wrapped in a serviette.
Hermione caught the sob of joy that was threatening to escape her throat just in time. She swallowed, jamming it down until she was sure she could speak in a normal voice. To be safe, she cleared her throat before saying, "How sweet. Thank you, Harry."
Despite herself, Hermione smiled at Harry.
You would think he had just discovered the cure for cancer based on the look of pride and happiness he has on his face. All because you took the scone he offered?
How could you not fall for this guy?
Maybe I should go back to the prison of my mind. I'm losing the battle on the outside.
"How about Honeydukes? Are you interested?" Harry asked.
"I was going to sit by the lake for a while and read. Enjoy the last day of good weather we are likely to have for a while."
"Can I join you?"
Thinking of no plausible reason to deny him, Hermione found herself saying, "Sure."
Once outside, they found a spot by the lake far enough away from the first and second year students who weren't allowed to go into Hogsmeade yet so as not to be disturbed. With a flourish Hermione spread out her blanket and lay down to begin her book. Harry sat down beside her and began fidgeting, trying different seated positions, until settling back on one elbow, his legs thrust out in front of him, his feet at Hermione's head.
The book she had randomly grabbed was the one she had brought back from Harry's the night before. It was about the history of New Orleans and the Mississippi Delta and, she had to admit, was very interesting. As hard as she tried though, she could not concentrate fully on what she was reading. Her mind kept wandering to the time over the last few weeks she had spent with Harry. How she didn't notice his interest in her at the time, she would never know. Looking back on it, she could see that he had been interested in her (as more than a friend) almost immediately following his return to Hogwarts. She periodically chanced a glance in his direction, watching him look out over the grounds, pick at the grass, look up at the sky. Once, he caught her looking before she quickly returned the book to block her rapidly blushing face from his view. She decided to re-focus on the book in an attempt to stop staring at Harry. Her eyes glazed over as she tried to read the pages in vain for nearly ten minutes before she placed the open book on her chest. She threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun and decided to take a nap.
"Do you not like the book?" Harry asked.
"No, I like it. Just tired."
"I thought you slept late."
"I did, but I went to bed late, too."
"What were you doing? Working?"
"No."
"Reading?"
"No."
Hermione heard Harry take a breath, as if to say something else. "Harry! I couldn't sleep, okay?" she interrupted tersely, grabbing her book again to try to re-read page three.
"Why couldn't you sleep?"
"No idea," Hermione lied.
"Does it happen often?" Harry asked.
"Not often."
"Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey and ask her about a sleeping draught."
Hermione dropped the book down an inch and looked over the top of it at Harry. "I'm fine. Can we just drop it?"
"Okay, fine."
A few minutes passed in silence as Hermione continued to stare blankly at her book, periodically turning the pages so it seemed like she was in fact reading. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry wave to someone.
"Whom are you waving to?" Hermione asked.
"Hagrid. He's heading to Hogsmeade."
"Mmmm," she said. She put her book down again and sat up, propping herself on her elbows to look out over the lake. She saw some first year girls in a group (was there any other way) giggling and talking about 100 yards or so closer to the lake. A group of boys was daring each other to run under the swinging branches of the Whomping Willow to touch the trunk. Hermione had news for them; no one would touch the trunk.
"Here comes Professor Sprout, Hermione. Let's make her jealous." And before Hermione could object, Harry had turned his back to her and plopped his head in her lap so that he was looking up at her shocked face. "Don't look so shocked, Hermione, look happy! We're making her jealous…shhhh, here she comes." And Harry closed his eyes.
Hermione was so dumbfounded that she just continued to stare down at him. From an outsider's point of view it probably did seem like a cozy moment between an intimate couple. She was still staring at him at a loss for words when Professor Sprout came up to them and said cheerfully, "Good morning Hermione, Harry! Isn't it a beautiful day? Days like these make me so thankful that I have a job where I can…" she took a deep breath in and continued, "breathe the fresh air. Invigorating, I say."
"Well, hello Professor Sprout," Harry said squinting in the sun up at her. "It is a beautiful day and here I am surrounded by two beautiful ladies. I am the luckiest bloke at Hogwarts right now, without a doubt."
Hermione looked up at Professor Sprout and could swear that she was blushing.
"Oh, Harry, you always were such a sweet boy."
"Boy? Professor Sprout, does that mean that there isn't any chance for us? None at all?" Harry asked innocently.
"Harry, you are such a jokester, just like your father. You two have fun!" she called as she waved and walked towards the castle.
"Well, I'm not giving up hope on you yet!" Harry called after her.
"She is definitely softening up," he said as he plopped his head back into Hermione's lap and closed his eyes.
What just happened here? And why is Harry's head still in my lap?
"Harry?"
"Hmmm?" he said with his eyes still closed.
"You can take your head out of my lap now. Professor Sprout is gone."
"No, she will be coming back out soon to go to Hogsmeade. Just wait."
Hermione looked around, relieved by the fact that the students nearby were too engaged with the Whomping Willow to pay them any mind.
She gently poked him in the arm. "Harry?" Still no response. As she looked at his relaxed face, she realized that he was feigning sleep, and very convincingly. She sat there staring at him for a moment, wondering how best to handle this particular turn of events. She could stand up; that would solve the problem. But Then she realized, to her utter surprise, that she didn't really want his head out of her lap. That disturbing realization brought on an entirely new wave of issues and emotions.
"Harry," she murmured. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her left hand running itself through his hair, seemingly without her permission. She jerked it away and sat on it, attempting to keep the rogue hand under control.
"I know what you're doing, Harry."
Apparently, she had been looking at his lips, because when she looked at his eyes, they were open, bright green and sparkling with … what? … a look she hadn't seen before. She was mesmerized.
"Well, well, well. Isn't this…cozy," Snape said in his creepiest voice.
Hermione yanked her hand away from Harry's hair, unaware that it had freed itself from its prison and resumed its traitorous activities, and looked up at Snape, horrified. Attempting to regain her composure, but realizing that she could not explain this scene with any amount of dignity, Hermione said in a falsely benign voice, "Hello, Severus. Heading to Hogsmeade, are you?"
Harry sat up and glared at Snape, who ignored him completely and addressed Hermione. "This does seem a trifle inappropriate, Hermione. After all, there are students staring all around you. You should be setting the example, not making a scene," Snape said silkily.
Harry bounded to his feet. "There is nothing inappropriate about two best friends sitting together by the lake. Everyone in this school knows that Hermione and I have been friends for years. No one but you would find anything improper about it."
"Maybe so. But it looks like the second generation of your fan club might be a little upset that you are apparently 'off the market,'" Snape said with a nod towards the group of First Years by the lake. Harry and Hermione turned to look and noticed that all the girls, and the boys at the Whomping Willow, too, were talking and pointing at them. Snape smirked and walked away.
"Great," Hermione said as she picked up her book and blanket and made to return to the castle.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to my room. I feel sick." She started walking.
Walking beside her Harry said, "You aren't worried about Snape are you? We weren't doing anything wrong, Hermione! We aren't students anymore; he can't put us in detention." He was making no impression whatsoever. "Hermione, wait!"
Hermione stopped, glancing over her shoulder at the First Years. She turned to Harry and said, "Go to Honeydukes, Harry. I'll see you later." Then she turned to walk up the castle steps.
Hermione was telling the truth when she told Harry that she felt sick. Unfortunately, she didn't think that Madam Pomfrey had an antidote for this ailment.
The fluttering and flips that her stomach was doing as she walked down the corridor to her room told her plainly that she now had the answer to one of the questions she had posed to herself during her imaginary conversation with Minerva.
She was attracted to Harry.
She found herself in front of the door to her room, staring at Athena, hoping a bolt of wisdom would fall from the heavens and tell her what in the world was going on. Her eyes moved from Athena's face to the shield she held in her left hand, and Hermione' heart tumbled down a mountain of fear. The symbolism was unmistakable. Hermione was dumbfounded that she hadn't seen it before.
An owl and a unicorn, separated by a bolt of lightning.
She opened the door and quickly walked through, slamming it behind her.
She sat down on the edge of her bed trying to come to terms with the fact that her feelings for Harry had apparently changed from friendly to - she gave a slight shudder - romantic.
This is Harry! I've never thought of him as anything but a best friend. This is just insane!
What's insane? Why shouldn't you like Harry? He's handsome, smart, funny, and you know him better than anyone. And, he is handsome…
I know; you just said that.
Well it bears repeating. I really love his hair. It would be nicer if it were just a little longer… I wonder if he is a good kisser?
God, you're pathetic!
I know, but it's been a while since you've allowed any romance in our life. It's nice to at least think of the possibilities.
But this is Harry! You're best friends!
Another part of her brain interrupted in a voice that sounded maddeningly patronizing - as if explaining something to a five year old.
If you change the relationship to anything else, you will ruin it; you know that from experience. It is best just to keep things the way they are. You don't want to lose another best friend, do you?
But think of the fun we will have in the meantime!
Oh good Lord.
None of this makes sense. One day everything is platonic, the next you are canoodling by the lake. Love isn't a switch you turn on and off.
Now wait just a minute. I am not in love with Harry!
Who said anything about love? I'll settle for desire right now. Hell, even passing interest is more than what we have had lately.
Hermione groaned and flopped back on her bed at that thought, willing the debate raging in her head to cease immediately.
While Hermione was obsessing and overanalyzing the events of the day, Harry was worrying about what Hermione was thinking of him. If he had not had his head in her lap, Snape would have most likely ignored them. Then he would have been able to spend the rest of the day with her, as was his original intent.
Instead he spent the day at home alone.
It had taken all the willpower Harry possessed to suppress the grin that so desperately wanted to escape when Hermione started playing with his hair. He knew she had been staring at him and found it very difficult to keep his eyes closed. But he also knew as soon as he opened his eyes, she would've made him move. That was the last thing he wanted. He had been conjuring ideas of how to spend the day with Hermione when he heard her say, "I know what you're doing, Harry."
He had opened his eyes to see her staring down at him, at his lips. Then her eyes moved and locked on his.
She knows.
For Harry, the realization was both a relief and a burden. Finally, he would know how she feels, would know if he was chasing after something he would never have. But the chance that he would never have Hermione filled him with dread and apprehension. He could only imagine what his expression was saying to her. His heart was thumping with fear and exaltation.
Then Snape had shown up. At that moment he hated Snape more than he ever had before. Slimy bastard.
Later that night, when he knew the hallways and corridors would be deserted, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak and started towards the castle. Once at Hermione's room, he softly knocked on her door. She opened the door a crack and peered out. Harry's breath caught.
Her hair was tied back haphazardly at the nape of her neck and strands were falling down around her face. Her reading glasses were on but had slipped down to the middle of her nose. In her left hand she held the book she been reading that morning by the lake, with her index finger marking her place. He hadn't considered that she would be in her pyjamas, probably already in bed. Although her pyjamas could only be described as conservatively feminine (a light pink camisole and pyjama bottoms with little pink and blue flowers on them) and not remotely sexy, Harry was disquieted nonetheless.
"Hello?" she said in a soft voice. Seeing no one, she whispered, "Harry? Is that you?"
Harry opened the cloak up to reveal himself just inches from her. Startled at his proximity, she grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him into her room and shut the door.
"What are you doing?" she asked with anger in her voice.
"Coming to apologize."
"Couldn't that have waited until tomorrow?"
"I didn't think so, no," he replied with an edge to his voice.
"Fine. You have apologized. Now go."
Harry looked at her in amazement. "Why are you mad at me?"
"Why are you apologizing if I shouldn't be mad at you?"
Harry opened his mouth to say something then stopped. Good question, Harry thought.
"I knew you would be upset about Snape and I thought I might be able to make you feel better. My mistake." In one movement, Harry turned to go and draped his invisibility cloak over him.
The door opened, seemingly by itself, and in a sudden panic, Hermione said, "Wait!"
Harry stopped and turned, still invisible to Hermione. She took a couple of steps forward toward the door. "I, um…have to go to London on Friday afternoon for an ABMB board meeting. Would you like to come?"
Hermione started when Harry removed the cloak from his head making it appear to be floating in mid-air only inches from her face. Harry stood in front of her holding her gaze, making her wait. His eyes traveled across her face and paused on her lips. He glanced back up at her eyes to see her staring directly back at him. He glanced down at her lips, smiled and said, "Sure." He stepped back, threw his cloak back over his head and walked out the door.
With a soft click the door closed and Hermione let out a shaky breath. She was completely confused and emotionally drained. So much that had happened in the last 24 hours was unexpected, but pleasantly so, if she was honest with herself.
Unfortunately, Hermione had a history of rarely being honest with herself when it came to her feelings. She had always focused on her intellect and the facts, solving problems with her brain. That was something she could control. Emotions were an entirely different story and she had always failed miserably in that department. If she couldn't master something or find the answer in a book, she dismissed it as rubbish and moved on to something she could quantify with logic.
Her biggest and most painful failure had been her relationship with Ron. She had loved him totally, desperately, but secretly for two years before they finally became a couple. She could think of nothing more terrifying than telling Ron how she felt about him. Even meeting Voldemort face to face was easier to imagine than exposing herself to rejection and hurt. So she didn't say anything until the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts. It was Harry that finally made the two of them realize they felt the same way about each other…
Harry found Hermione in the Gryffindor common room late one night sitting curled up in one of their favorite armchairs by the fire. He thought she had been crying, which was untrue. Her supposed tears had been the catalyst for Harry to tell Hermione that he knew how she felt about Ron, and had known for years, at least since the Yule Ball that took place during their fourth year.
Following that pronouncement, true tears started flowing and Hermione found herself telling Harry everything, spilling her heart out to him. To his credit, he sat there and listened without interrupting for an hour or more. When Hermione finally talked herself out, Harry knelt down by her chair and took her hand.
"Hermione, I have watched the two of you bicker and battle for the last six years. And for what? What has been gained? All you are both doing is trying to hide how you really feel for each other. Everyone but you two sees right through it. Honestly, it is time to either do something about it or move on. Personally, I want to see my two best friends together and happy. And I think you both will be very happy together. But I can't stand seeing you both miserable, and you are…both of you."
He squeezed her hand and raised it to his lips for a quick kiss. "But I have some bad news." Hermione looked at him in alarm. "You are going to have to make the first move. Ron will never do it. Even if I told him that you used Umbridge's quill to tattoo 'I love Ron' onto the back of your hand, he wouldn't believe that you feel the same way."
"Harry, I just can't. I'm terrified. What if you're wrong?"
Harry looked at her and said, "If I thought for one minute that you would get hurt, Hermione, I wouldn't encourage you to do this. Trust me."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, avoiding Harry's eyes. "What?" Harry asked.
"Well, fear isn't the only thing that has kept me from talking to Ron."
"What else?"
Hermione, still determinedly looking anywhere but at Harry, took a deep breath, and looked directly at him. "You."
"Me? Why would…" Harry stopped, his eyes wide. "You don't think that I…"
"You have to admit Harry, it is a concern."
Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione, I think you are very pretty and all, but I don't like you like that."
"What?" Hermione said, all at once blushing and looking perplexed. "That isn't what I meant…I can't…oh goodness. Harry that never crossed my mind. No, I'm concerned how it will affect our friendship, the three of us, if Ron and I do become a couple."
"Oh." They were both avoiding looking at the other, each a bit embarrassed, when they caught each other's eyes and started laughing.
"What a great pair of communicators we are," Hermione said.
"And I thought we were doing so well up to that point!"
Harry looked at her and said, "If I was the least bit concerned about how you and Ron being a couple would affect our relationship, I wouldn't be here talking to you. I am not worried about it one bit."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
The very next day, Hermione decided to approach Ron. She, Harry, and Ron had been by the fire in the Gryffindor common room studying late into the night. Harry, knowing that she hadn't talked to Ron yet, decided to turn in early. As usual, Ron had left his homework too late and was going to be up for hours still.
"Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively.
"Yeah," he replied absently, looking through his Potions textbook.
"Have you talked to Harry lately?"
Ron looked up and gave her a curious look. "What do you mean? He was just here doing homework with us. Of course I've talked to him."
"Um, no…I mean, uh, about us?"
Ron's face dropped and he went very still. "Us?"
She cleared her throat. "Well, he seems to think that, um, we like each other."
Ron's brows furrowed and he said, "Of course we do. We are best friends."
He isn't going to make this easy, is he, she thought?
She leveled a gaze at him, took a deep breath and said, "As more than friends, Ron."
Ron's eyes widened, and he immediately got interested in his quill feather so as not to look at Hermione.
Thinking she had done her part and brought the subject up, Hermione started packing her books into her bag to go up to her room for the night.
"Where are you going? Aren't you going to finish?" he asked gesturing to his homework.
"Finish what, Ron? My homework? I finished that ages ago. I've been waiting down here to talk to you about this. You don't seem to want to, so I have my answer and I'm going to bed," and she turned to go.
"He's right," Ron said quietly.
Hermione stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around. Ron, who was still very interested in his quill, continued, "I have fancied you for ages, Hermione. I never thought that you would be interested in me like that, so I never said anything." He looked up at her then and said, "I think you're beautiful."
Hermione's breath caught and her stomach did a flip. She dropped her book bag and knelt in front of Ron taking his hands. "I've fancied you for ages, too."
Ron smiled and Hermione's heart melted. He leaned down and kissed her for the first time.
Hermione was still standing near her closed door, staring at it and at nothing. How long had she been lost in time? She didn't know. She had revisited that memory so many times it had become a movie in her mind. If only she could stop the movie there with a happy ending.