A/N: Well folks, here is the third part, where Harry and Hermione meet again. Sorry for taking so
long to put this one out, but I had a bit of writer's block. Ain't fun, let me tell ya, but I finally got it
done. Thank y'all soooooooo much for the lovely, enthusiastic reviews. They are soo very much appreciated and
please keep it up. The next part should be up much sooner, as I already have it written. Thanks again and don't
forget to review! Rock on!
III
The morning of the last day of August dawned bright and sunny, as if clinging stubbornly to the fading life of summer.
It was the kind of day that, contrary to its cheery appearance, demanded lazing under warm covers for as long as was
excusable, and all but one of the inhabitants of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place obediently slept on.
Harry Potter, though, sat alone downstairs in the vast, old-fashioned kitchen, lost in thought. He seemed not to notice that he was nervously banging his left foot against the underside of the table or that the cup of tea he had made himself had long since gone cold. Let's just say he was certainly not practicing constant vigilance.
Which was why he jumped half a foot in the air and whacked his knee painfully on the wooden table, when a voice suddenly growled from behind him, "You're up early today, Potter."
Harry jerked around to the creepy sight of both Mad-Eye Moody's eyes fixed beadily upon him. "Er, yeah," he muttered, rubbing his throbbing kneecap.
Mad-Eye clunked loudly to the table (how had Harry not heard him before now?) and sat down across from him. "I wouldn't worry too much, laddie. It'll all work out fine."
Harry looked up quickly in alarm. How did he know? How could he possibly know what Harry had been worried about? He hadn't told anyone, not even Ron, so how did Mad-Eye Moody-
"It's just for show, afterall. Damn Fudge, scrambling to cover his useless arse. And especially after he made such a big effort to deny it," Moody grumbled as he lazily conjured up a cup of tea for himself. "You want a refill?"
"Uh, no thanks," Harry said, suppressing a sigh of relief. Moody was just talking about Harry having to go to the Ministry of Magic today to give his official statement of what had happened in the Department of Mysteries last June. Everybody who had been there had already done so, but Harry had had to go to Privet Drive at the beginning of the summer and the Order had been too busy, so Harry's had been left until today. Dumbledore, Mr. Weasley and Mad-Eye would be going with him.
"-so I wouldn't worry about it," Moody was saying in a noticably gentler growl than usual.
"Thanks," Harry said again, giving the ex-Auror a weak smile and thanking goodness that Moody wasn't a Legilimens.
Because he wasn't at all worried about Fudge or the Ministry of Magic. All he had to do was tell them what had happened and answer their questions, and it was doubtful that he had forgotten anything; he'd replayed the events in his head so many times that when he was old and senile, he would probably still be able to retell it all with vivid imagery.
No, that was completely trivial compared to the other more significant event, as far as he was concerned, that was to take place today. His other best friend, his - what was she now, anyway? - would arriving later. Hermione was coming back and his emotions were all over the place. He couldn't wait to see her, even as he wished she wasn't coming back yet - that he had more time.
But more time to what? More time to berate himself for sending her that first letter? More time to reread hers, even though he could recite them all from memory by now? More time to glance guiltily at Ron while that annoying little voice in his head hissed "Betrayal! Betrayal!"?
God, he was so scared! What was he going to say to her? After such outpourings, what was there left to be said? He felt like he had cracked open the most intimate parts of his very soul over the past two weeks. He'd sent Hermione such deeply personal letters that he didn't know how he would ever be able to look her in the eye again.
But after that first time, and especially after receiving her response, it had become easier and easier to write, to continue the brutal honesty that had characterized his first letter. And her letters had warmed his heart, his soul. Apparently, via some major screw-up by fate and the gods, she loved him too! No words existed to describe the emotions he felt when he had read her response that first time; it was beyond surreal.
Now, though, he was terrified. What if she had changed her mind? What if she had decided that it was all a mistake and they were better off being just friends? He didn't think he could bear it if that happened.
Harry remembered how frantic he had felt as he watched Hedwig fly away that first time. Doubts ricocheted against his skull, setting his teeth on edge as he gripped the windowsill and watched his owl soar through the air. But by the time he had made up his mind to call her back, she was already too far away.
And then there was nothing to do but wait. The week had dragged by; every day, he both eagerly anticipated and dreaded Hedwig's return. Every day, he went about his business with a little more guilt when he was around Ron. At the end of every day, he both heaved a sigh of relief and chewed his bottom lip bloody in anxiety. Had Hedwig gotten lost? That had never happened before, but there was a first time for everything, wasn't there? Or maybe his letter had so shocked Hermione that she wasn't even going to bother replying?
And then, her answer had come. And it had set most of his fears at rest and fueled his desire to write more and better. And the cycle had continued.
"Know what you're going to say?" Moody asked, jolting Harry from his reverie.
"Er, yeah, I think so," he replied. "Do you know what time we'll be going?"
Moody's magical eye whizzed around in its socket and pointed out the back of his head. "Ah, well, the clock in the hall says it's a quarter to nine, so we should probably best be getting ready. Dumbledore said he'd be here by at least that time."
Harry stood up and emptied his untouched cup of tea in the sink. "I'll be back down in a little bit, then."
Moody grunted in reply and as Harry left the kitchen and stomped up the stairs, he tried to convince himself that there was no reason to be worrying. What was there to be gained by that? Hermione would be here soon, and then he would know where things really stood between them.
For better or for worse.
*******
"Well, that was a complete and utter waste of time," Moody growled much later as he, Harry, Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley arrived back at Grimmauld Place. "What the hell did we have to be there so long for? Potter didn't have anything different to say from what any of us had told the old codger, but would he listen? Stupid, useless piece of amphibian sh- oh, hello, Minerva."
Professor McGonagall fixed Moody with a disapproving glare before turning to Harry. "You alright there, Potter?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, his insides squirming. Was Hermione here? Had she arrived yet?
"Your friends are in the kitchen, Potter," McGonagall said, as if reading his mind and Harry gave her a quick facial twitch before pushing open the door and being greeted by a wave of sound.
"Harry! How'd it go?" "Are you hungry, Harry, dear?" "Why'd it take so long, Harry?"
He tried not to look too disappointed as he glanced around the room. There were quite a few people here, but none of them was Hermione. He was trying not to be too obvious but after sitting around for a good five minutes, listening to Moody rant about Fudge and the Ministry, Harry couldn't stand it any longer and blurted "Did Hermione get here?"
"Yeah, she's upstairs with Ginny," Ron replied and Harry seriously had to fight the urge to run upstairs too.
Just then the door swung open and his heart leapt into his throat but it was only Ginny. "Oh hi, Harry! You're back."
"Yeah," said Harry. "Where's Hermione?"
"Upstairs seeing to Crookshanks. She got his tail caught in her trunk so she's trying to convince him that she didn't do it on purpose. Silly cat," Ginny replied, flopping down into a chair at the table.
Harry glanced over at Ron and was startled to see him staring back with an unnaturally shrewd look in his eyes. "What's the hurry?" Ron asked.
Harry shrugged and rearranged his face into what he hoped was casual unconcern. "No hurry. She's-" but the words died on his lips as the kitchen door opened again and there she was. And suddenly it was as if someone had muted the volume in the room and Harry was aware only of the girl standing in the doorway across from him.
Merlin, she was beautiful. She was tanned, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of Italian slogan written across it. But Great son of Scott, she was lovely! Had her lips always been that full, that rosy or was that another effect of her Italian holiday? Her eyes were alive and shining; his best friend. His love.
So intent was his observation, his awe that he didn't notice the knowing looks being exchanged by the adults around him. He missed Ginny's small sigh of resignation, missed the deep frown of suspicion on Ron's face.
"Did you want to have lunch, Harry, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her voice oddly misty.
Harry tore his eyes from Hermione's. "Uh, no thanks." He turned back but found himself staring at an empty spot and frowned.
"Harry?" Ron asked.
Without looking at him, Harry stood up. "I'll be right back," he said as he rushed out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He wasn't quite sure where he was going, he just went, and was nevertheless unsurprised when he found himself standing outside Buckbeak's room.
Of course. This was where he'd realized how he felt about her and of course Hermione would remember. Taking deep gulps of air, he pushed open the door and glanced quickly around the room. Buckbeak was lying on the floor in the farthest corner, fast asleep. And there she was by the window, standing with her back to him.
Harry closed the door behind him and she spun around. What felt like gigantic moths erupted in his stomach and went berserk as they stared at each other for a long, silent moment and Harry tried and failed to think of something to say.
And then she smiled. A shy, tentative smile that shattered the awkward moment and suddenly he was being propelled forward as if he'd been expelled from an enormous catapult and she was in his arms. She was in his arms and it was the most glorious feeling, beyond anything he'd ever experienced. He felt like his heart was going to burst as they clung to each other and Harry had never been more aware of her. Her hair, she smelled so good, she felt so good-
The blood was pounding a continuous rhythm in his ears so loudly that it took him a while to realize that she was murmuring his name over and over again. "Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry.."
He pulled away and looked into her eyes. They were so full of depth and feeling that he couldn't have held back the words if he'd tried. "I love you."
She beamed him a beautiful smile. "I love you, too."
Harry touched her face, marveling at how soft her skin was. "Hermione." Was this real? Was this really happening? Was she really here in his arms, gazing up at him so adoringly?
The questions were answered when she stood up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. For the scantest half-second, Harry froze, then his arms went around her again, pulling her closer and he pressed back. Her lips opened slightly and Harry followed her lead before turning his head to suck her bottom lip into his mouth. She made the softest of sounds as the kiss deepened before they broke apart, gasping.
Hermione's eyes were bright, her cheeks slightly flushed and Harry's lips tingled as he stared at her. Then she raised an eyebrow. "I was right," she said in a superior tone.
"About what?"
"You're not a bad kisser," she grinned.
Harry grinned back. Well, that had certainly been much better than kissing Cho Chang! The hairs on the backs of his arms were still upright and his head felt strangely huge and wobbly. "Of course, you're right," he murmured before he was kissing her again. Then they hugged each other tight before pulling apart.
"How're you?" he asked, whispering for some reason.
"I"m wonderful," she whispered back, gazing up into his eyes. "Oh, Harry, I'm so happy to be here! Like this. With you."
He grinned. "You sure? It wasn't hard leaving behind all your suave and sexy Italian studs?"
She sighed dramatically. "Well, now that you mention it.."
They just stood there grinning at each other and Harry reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, feeling his heart swelling at the simple fact that he could. He opened his mouth to ask about her holiday just as one of the twins' voices echoed up from downstairs. And with it came the reminder of one potentially unpleasant blight on their newfound happiness.
"How're we going to tell Ron?" Hermione asked, demonstrating once again just how mentally in tune with him she was.
Harry sighed. "I don't know. Ever since I sent you that first letter I've been feeling really guilty around him. Like I was doing something wrong."
"I think we'll just have to be honest with him, and let him be the first to know, you know?" She bit her lip anxiously.
Harry hung his head. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For complicating this, our friendship."
She touched his face. "It was bound to happen. A girl can't be such close friends with two guys without hormones coming into play sooner or later. And don't forget, I fell in love with you too."
He looked up and smiled and instinctively, they leaned forward. They were soon lost in the kiss, their tongues tentatively exploring each other's mouth when the door of the room banged open and they jumped apart. His heart sinking, Harry took in the sight of their best friend who was staring at them with a look of mingled hurt and anger on his face. But, Harry noted, interestingly enough, no shock.
Dammit, this was not the way they had wanted him to find out.
"What's going on here?" Ron asked sharply, his eyes darting back and forth between them.
Hermione stepped forward and reached out a hand. "Ron. Come in; there's something we need to tell you."
"Now that just might take the award for understatement of the century," Ron retorted, the tips of his ears slowly reddening. He kicked the door shut behind him and leaned back against it, folding his arms across his chest. "Go ahead. I'd really like to hear this."
In the face of such an aggressive stance, Hermione hesitated and looked back at Harry. He stepped forward and took her hand, squeezing it slightly in reassurance. "The thing is, Ron, we're not exactly sure when it happened, but Hermione and I have-" he stopped, unsure of how to continue and glanced at her.
"-we've obviously always cared about each other, but our feelings have deepened. Beyond friendship, I mean," Hermione added in a rush.
"How long has this been going on?" Ron demanded.
"I realized how I felt about her over the summer and wrote to her. She wrote back and told me she felt the same way. This is the first time we've seen each other since June, obviously," Harry explained.
"Obviously," Ron said in a strange voice, his eyes glued on their joined hands.
For a long moment, there was an awkward silence as their best friend stared at Harry and Hermione's hands and they stared anxiously back at him.
Finally, Harry couldn't stand it anymore. "Ron?"
Ron jerked as if coming out of a trance. His eyes rose slowly to look into their faces and he grinned, though it seemed more like a grimace. "Well, can't say that I'm surprised." His gaze fixed on Hermione. "I mean, you've always liked him more than me."
"That's not true-" Hermione began.
"You know it is, Hermione. Don't deny it," Ron interrupted. "You two were always sharing your knowing looks, your reading each other's minds. When the three of us were together, your attention was always on him. Even when it was just the two of us, like last summer, everything was 'Harry this' and 'Harry that'.
"Why do you think I picked so many fights with you?" he continued. "When you were mad or irritated, it was with me that you were mad or irritated. It was me that had your whole attention. For once or twice a day, you were looking at me."
Harry gaped. He had no idea Ron felt that way and from the way he was talking, it was obvious that Ron had been biting his tongue about those things for a long while now. Hermione's mouth was open in shock and tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks. Her grip on Harry's hand was almost painful but he didn't let go.
"Ron," he said.
Ron held up his hand. "Don't. Just let me say this, Harry. You've been a good friend, both of you. And I know you haven't had an easy life and I hope we'll still be friends. But I don't like this. We're supposed to be best friends, the three of us. We're supposed to be Harry, Ron, Hermione, not Harry and Hermione with Ron on the side."
"But we won't be!" Hermione cried, looking aghast. "You'll still be our best friend. You still are our best friend!"
"Am I?" Ron snapped and Harry was suddenly very irritated. He had figured there would be problems but he hadn't counted on Ron actually questioning his value, his worth to them. What the heck- how could he even-
But before he could say anything, Ron continued. "You get everything, don't you, Harry? A vault full of gold, brand-new broom, Seeker your first year at Hogwarts. Triwizard champion. One of the prettiest girls in school as your girlfriend. And you just have to have Hermione too, eh? Nevermind that I might want her. Nevermind that I might like her for myself."
Hermione stiffened beside him and a wave of anger rippled down Harry's spine. Forcing himself to stay calm, to speak slowly, he asked "What're you saying, Ron? You like Hermione?"
Ron shrugged, apparently trying to appear nonchalant but his ears were still crimson. "Not that way. But what if I had? Would you have even stopped to consider my feelings, Harry, before you moved in on her?"
"Excuse me, I'm still right here, you know," Hermione's voice shook with emotion. "And I would appreciate it if you stopped talking about me like I'm some piece of property to be claimed by the highest bidder!"
"But that was never an issue, was it?" Ron spat coldly. "Harry was always the 'highest' with you. You were merely tolerating me, weren't you? I was never as good as the two of you. I couldn't compete. I'm just Ron, just another poor, red-headed Weasley." He turned to look at Harry, his voice heavy with bitterness. "You're Harry Potter; it goes without saying.
"And you're Hermione Granger, smartest witch in the history of Hogwarts, champion of the low and the downtrodden. Well, that's funny, because one of your best friends was low and downtrodden, but were you championing him? Were you championing me?"
A jumbled mass of thoughts and emotions were swirling through Harry's brain, rendering him speechless and immobile. All at the same time, he wanted to hug Ron, to punch him, to yell at him, to tell him that he was a good friend, a valuable person but all he could do was gape open-mouthed at his best friend.
"How can you say that?" Hermione said slowly, her voice cracking. "How can you say that to us, Ron? I know you've felt overshadowed by your brothers, by your circumstances but when have Harry or I ever given you reason to think that you are inferior to us? When have we ever not been supportive of you?"
"Hmm, let's see," Ron said sarcastically, tapping his chin. "How about when neither of you could even bother to stay and watch me play in the Quidditch final last term? I'm your best mate; surely it wasn't too much of me to expect a little support?"
The unfairness of what Ron had just said snapped Harry out of his paralysis. "What's wrong with you? You know that was because Hagrid needed us to-"
"Oh, that's right," Ron interrupted. "Hagrid needed you, so it didn't matter anymore that I did. See, that just proves my point!"
"Stop it, Ron!" Hermione sobbed, tears streaming down her face and once again anger swept over Harry.
Ron shook his head sadly. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? And now the two of you get together behind my back, but oh, I'm sure it doesn't matter. It's just Ron. Plain old, boring Ron with his hand-me-down robes, his lower level broom and his charity pet from Harry Potter's dead godfa-"
That was it.
Almost without knowing how he got there, Harry was right in front of Ron and gripping his best friend by the collar of his shirt. There was that now-familiar ringing in his ears, his heart was hammering as he stared at his best friend in fury.
"Shut up."
Ron's eyes widened in horror as comprehension of what he'd just said dawned on him and he had the good grace to look abashed. The silence in the room stretched for one long, tense eternity and then as suddenly as it had come, Harry's anger vanished, leaving him filled instead with a strange weariness. He dropped his hands and stepped back from Ron.
"You don't get it, do you," he said softly, more a statement than a question, his voice weighed down by a terrible sadness. "You don't get just how lucky you are - just how blessed. So you have to wear your brothers' robes? So you don't have a Firebolt, nevermind that you do have a brand-new broom? So Pigwidgeon was a gift from Si-" Harry's voice broke and he had to stop and swallow the enormous lump in his throat.
Hermione gave a soft sob behind him but Ron was silent, though looking extremely uncomfortable, his face pale.
"So what? So what, Ron? You have your family. You have your mum and dad, a sister, your brothers. You have all of them, and they love you. I would give almost anything to have my mum and dad back," he said fiercely. "I would give almost anything to just once hear my mum say she loves me, to have my dad hug me."
Harry's eyes had long since overflowed but this time, he ignored the tears. This time he had too much to say to be worried about such silly things as appearing unmanly and crying in front of his best friend. Perhaps Ron wasn't the only one who had been biting his tongue because as Harry spoke, a part of him wondered that he'd never voiced these feelings.
But as they say, there is a time for everything. And that time was here. It was now.
"Your family has made it so far pretty much unscratched, did you notice? Think of Neville. Think of Susan Bones, who had one of her uncles' entire family wiped out. But we're in a war again. Instead of being so damn superficial, maybe you should be embracing your family. Maybe you should be being proud of who you are. Because you are all in danger. You are in danger of losing every one of your family, Ron, but you don't see it because you are too busy coveting and whining about what you don't have."
Harry reached up and wearily wiped his eyes before he continued. "I love Hermione. I know I've never been in love before but somehow I know what this is. I know that it's true and it's real. I love her. And I won't let you ruin this. But you are my friend, Ron, and I need you. Now more than ever. You were the first friend I ever made and you are very important to me."
"To us," Hermione added as she stepped forward and slipped her hand into Harry's. Her face was awash with misery and he put his arm around her and hugged her close.
"I'm sorry we didn't tell you before, but we wanted to wait until we were all in the same place and this actually is the first time we've all been in the same place since June. I knew this would change things. But maybe a part of me didn't want to consider how you would really react, because I certainly didn't expect what happened tonight to happen. And I just hope that you won't throw away five years of friendship just because you can't see beyond what you don't have. My fame, my money, I would give it all to you if I could, Ron."
There was more, there was so much more he wanted to say but Harry found himself suddenly unable to continue, unable to stand here and look at his best friend who could, even now, be so blind.
"We love you, Ron. And that won't ever change," Hermione said softly as Harry took her hand and led her from the room.
Harry stared at Ron for a long moment before shutting the door behind him, leaving his friend standing as still as a statue in the middle of the room, Buckbeak asleep in the corner.