It's Been Awhile

A/N: Hi folks. This fic came to me as I listened to Staind's "It's Been Awhile" over and over again the other day. That song is so awesome, but warning: do not listen to it if you're feeling depressed, because it just might convince you to commit suicide. My first songfic. Please review. Thanks!



It's Been Awhile



And it's been awhile
Since I could hold my head up high
And it's been awhile since I first saw you
And it's been awhile
Since I could stand up on my own two feet again
And it's been awhile since I could call you


August 10, 1996


Dear Hermione,


How're you doing? How are things in Rome now? Been seeing the sights and badgering the tour guides while you scribble away furiously, no doubt. Yeah, yeah, I know you. Don't bother trying to deny it.

Thank you for your last letter and for the birthday present. It was great to receive them. I'd never heard of some of the spells in that Defense book you sent, and I'm thinking of practicing them when we get back to Hogwarts. Maybe if we start up the DA again, we can all try them out. They would definitely come in handy, I'm sure.

Everyone is fine. All the Weasleys are here again, and the members of the Order. It's really strange being back here at Grimmauld Place. Everyone was kinda tiptoeing around me for the first few days or so. Professor Lupin keeps glancing at me like he wants to say something but then he just looks away again with this unbelievably sad look on his face.

And everytime that happens, something inside me dies.

I can understand your parents not wanting you to come back here for all of this summer again. I imagine they miss you a lot, since you're away at Hogwarts so much of the year. I feel bad for them, actually; we've been totally monopolizing you. Because of me, you didn't even spend last Christmas with them! So don't apologize for not being here. We'll see you on August 31 and we'll have you all year at Hogwarts. Your folks deserve some time with their only child.

Hermione, I've been doing a lot of thinking - especially about what happened at the Department of Mysteries this summer. You might want to skip to the signature because I'm about to tell you things that will probably make you uneasy or uncomfortable. I assure you that this is really me, Harry Potter, writing this letter. I know I've never written anything like this before, to anyone, and it might come as a shock to you.

But I have to say these things. I feel like my head will explode if I don't get it out, and I don't trust anyone else enough. I realize this is the coward's way of doing this - sending you a long letter when you are safely away in another country, but I've been the bloody, brave Boy-Who-Lived for so long.

Even I deserve a moment of cowardice?

I miss you.

I mean, of course, I missed Ron and the Weasleys and everyone else before I came here but, Hermione, I miss you in a different way. I miss you.

I miss you in a way that makes some little thing in back of my head scream "Warning! Inappropriate!" complete with flashing red light and siren. I never thought about it before, you know? But when I did, I was surprised that I hadn't until then. And once I made that one little realization, everything just dropped splat into place in some kind of bizarre domino effect. (I wonder, is there an equivalent to dominoes in the wizard world? Imagine trying to teach Mr. Weasley to play dominoes.)

Please, please forgive me if I've overstepped any boundaries so far, but I feel that if I can't at least be brutally honest on paper, I might as well not bother at all.

You know, when I look back on my life these past years, my life since I entered Hogwarts, I can scarcely think of an instance that hasn't been saturated, lightly misted or just simply touched by you. You have been everywhere to me. If someone were to Obliviate me (and I can hardly think of anyone who would want to do that. To sweet, innocent moi?!) everything else would leave me except for the memory of you. Because I'm quite certain that you have invaded even the smallest of my molecules.

Heck, I've been hearing your voice in my head for the past two years, though it was only recently that I realized that it was yours.

You uncomfortable yet?



And everything I can't remember
As fucked up as it all may seem



And yet, Hermione, there is so much about you that I can't remember, or just plain don't know. Which pisses me off, for some strange reason. After all the things we've been through together, even without Ron, after all the time we've spent in each other's company, there's still so much I don't know about you.

I don't even know what kind of wand you have.

Have I been so selfish, so caught up in the entire tale of woe that is my existence that even as I've come to expect you beside me, I never have really looked at you? I never have attempted to delve beneath your obsessive, brainy exterior? I never have, even once, asked about your secret dreams, your deepest fears?

There's only one answer to all those questions, isn't there, Hermione?

And, for that alone, I am ashamed and angry at myself. You have been a friend to the fullest extent of the word, and beyond, and what have you gotten in return?



The consequences that I've rendered



After all the things that my actions have caused, the results of my choices, I am surprised that you're still friends with me. No, I take that back. I'm not surprised. Because you are a better person than I could ever hope to be. If the tables had been turned and I was instead the friend in someone else's fucked up existence, I honestly would have "severed ties", as Percy so eloquently put it, a long time ago.

Who needs so much danger? Have you even had two consecutive months' peace since you've been my friend? If it wasn't Death Eaters, it was dementors. If it wasn't Basilisks, it was letters filled with bubotuber pus and malicious lies. It was the disdain of the entire school. It was humiliation at the hand of our best friend (and I haven't forgiven Ron for that, either. Has he even apologized to you?)

I put you in danger, Hermione. I almost got you killed. My heart as good as stopped, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think when I saw you fall. I forgot where we were, I was deaf except for a steady whine of panic in my skull as the image of you collapsing replayed itself behind my eyes. Even now the memory is terrifying as I recall it.

What would I have done if you had died? If any one of our friends had been killed because of my own stubborn hot-headness? I nearly fainted with relief when Neville pointed out that you still had a pulse. And that spurred me back into action. I needed to get you out of there and to safety. Away from me.

And I knew you would be alright, because you're strong. You are fierce and stubborn when you need to be, and besides if you had died, who would watch out for me? Who would be the only person unafraid to tell me not what I want to hear, but what I need to - even if it irritates me to no end?



I've stretched myself beyond my means



You balance me.

You are the ying to my yang - doesn't that sound unbearably cosmpolitan? I heard it on the telly this summer. But in regards to us, it's true. Where I'm fast, you are slow. Where I'm rash, you are cautious. Where I want to charge head-first without a thought or a care to the consequences, you are the one trying your darndest to make me see the possible end results before I act.

It is very frustrating, Hermione, when I get like that and you get like that. I don't want you to oppose me even as I need you to. I don't want to hear why I should look at the alternatives, other scenarios even as I need you to tell me why.

I need you. Badly.

I am so tired, Hermione. When I heard that I was a wizard and that I would be leaving these miserable imbeciles I have to call relatives... I can't even articulate to you the range of emotions that overwhelmed me but, suffice it to say, I was pretty damn elated! Finally, finally my salvation had come. I was leaving my life of obscure drudgery and carefully-camouflaged abuse for a world where nobody knew me - yet were exactly like me - and I could start afresh.

Do you see anything wrong with that picture?

And near five years later, I am told that I am the only one who can release this world I've come to love, in spite of its greedy, fickle, ungrateful demands, from the blanket of evil that looms over it. Or die trying.

Why me? Why couldn't it have been somebody else, Hermione? I am so tired; I am weak. I am worn. If it were not for you and Ron and everyone else, I would have collapsed a long time ago. But out of all of them, I can recognize that you are the one constant. I knew, even as I'd never questioned it, that when my last clump of endurance is crumbling, I would need only reach out a hand and you would be right there to recharge me. You would be right there to be my Pepper-Up Potion. My chocolate.



And it's been awhile
Since I could say that I wasn't addicted
And it's been awhile
Since I could say I love myself as well



And yet, even as I know you (however flawed and incomplete that knowledge may be), even as your qualities continue to astound me now that I've taken the time to think about them, I am still putting you in danger. Most days, that's simply by being your friend. But then there are the times when it's my actions, my choices and decisions that lead you into mortal peril and for that I hate myself. I haven't loved myself in a long time. I'm not as wonderful a person as the wizarding world on-again/off-again believes that I am. I am a selfish idiot who couldn't even open his eyes to what he knew was right. An impetuous fool who led his friends face-to-face with some of the most heartless criminals to befoul the earth.

You tried. You tried so hard to tell me, to get me to really think before I acted. I was pleading with you to see what I saw, to let me go and save Sirius's life. The closest thing to my parents I had left. He was in danger. Voldemort had him.

Why didn't you just let me go, Hermione?

Because you were too busy pleading for another life. Mine. And that pissed me off tremendously because my life is nothing. You should have been worrying about Sirius's life. You see, I couldn't worry about me because I don't love me. I love Sirius. No, I loved Sirius, God help me. And because I loved him, he's gone.

I killed him.



And it's been awhile
Since I've gone and fucked things up just like I always do



Six weeks. That's how long it's been since Sirius died. Because of me. If I had listened to you; if only I had listened! Now when I think about it, that fight we had before we went to Umbridge's office, everything you said makes sense. Fucking hindsight. Why couldn't I see it then? Because I was once again blinded by my own emotions, exactly as Voldemort wanted. My brain had been flooded and was drowning, was incapable of coming up with a shred of logic and equally incapable of absorbing any of the logic you were desperately trying to impart.

My relatives would probably tell you differently but it's been six weeks since I've messed anything up. What a long time to have gone without ruining someone's life, without wrecking someone's office, without killing someone, heh?

This must be so depressing for you, isn't it? But look on the bright side (yes, there actually is one!), at least I'm letting some things out?

I tried to fight it at first. For the longest time I have viewed expressing emotion, any sort really, as some kind of weakness. Do you know what form a Boggart takes for me? A dementor. Professor Lupin said that what I feared was fear itself. But I've realized that it's not only fear. I've learned, from living with the Dursleys, not to show emotion if I can help it because chances are it'll be the wrong one and will earn me either a nasty look/word or a smack upside the head.

I think before this year I did a pretty good job of seeming bland and composed, which was why everybody was so shocked by the hot, bubbling cauldron of irascibility that was me. But even my ever-simmering temper was not so bad, not on the "manly emotions" scale. You can rant and rave and nobody'll think any worse of you. You are, afterall, just being a man. Now, tears, on the other hand...

But, yesterday I cried.

I broke down and I cried as I've never cried before. I cried until my throat was raw and my head ached. I cried until I couldn't anymore. I was buried away in Buckbeak's room and I think Mad-Eye Moody knew and placed a Silencing Charm on the room so I could be as vocal as I needed to be. And, boy, I made good use of it. Poor Buckbeak.

But I think he cried too, in his own, unique hippogriff way.



And it's been awhile
But all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you



And in those moments when I finally let go, I was never more acutely aware of your absence than then.

Do you remember in first year when we went down the trapdoor to try to stop Snape (we thought) from getting the Stone? You hugged me just before I went though that last door and I don't think you had any idea what that meant to me. It was the first hug I can ever recall receiving. Ever. I'm sure my parents hugged me and all that, but I can't remember. I was too young.

But your words, your hug, your touch bolstered me and I was able to push open that door and do what I needed to do. And over the years, you've been the only person - besides Mrs. Weasley, perhaps - who has hugged me on a consistent basis. Your last greeting took the cake, that's for sure. You nearly knocked me down! But a glow began in my chest when your arms went around me, though I never stopped to think about what that meant until recently.

But now I have. I mean, I've thought about it and I've realized that being with you, being in your presence helps me tremendously. I don't know if it's because you make me think about other things - like homework, for instance, haha - or just because it's you, Hermione. But you make the bad stuff go away. Even in my dreams, your voice more than once last term pervented me from going any further down that corridor I kept dreaming about.



Why must I feel this way
Just make this go away
Just one more peaceful day



This is the longest letter I've ever written to anyone and a part of me is terrified that I've busted gaping holes into our friendship. But I'm hoping that what we have is strong enough to withstand any awkwardness.

A part of me wishes that I hadn't examined my feelings, that I'd gone on living in ignorant bliss, although that would just be continuing the unfairness to you. It was wrong of me for taking you for granted for so long, so long that it required almost losing you to make me open my eyes to just how much you mean to me. This will compound our friendship, for sure - between the two of us and between us and Ron.

I don't know how you feel deep down, but I hope you don't feel pressured in any way. That was not my intention at all. But I'd like to know what you think, your thoughts and feelings and whatever you tell me, I will accept. Because I need you too much to let our friendship fall apart. See, I'm being selfish again. As much as I hate myself and my circumstances, Hermione, as much as I hate these unwanted responsibilities that fate has unsympathetically foisted onto me, I want to live.

And I couldn't have survived up to this point without you. I couldn't have, and I can't, live without your hand, your influence in my life. This dependence on you puts you in even more danger because if Voldemort found out just how much I need you... What's to stop him from harming you, from hurting you, to get at me?

And that's the thing that scares the piss out of me about being so dependent on you. It wasn't so bad before but now that I know how I feel, now that I know that I need you-



And it's been awhile
Since I could look at myself straight
And it's been awhile
Since I said I'm sorry



I'm sorry, Hermoine.

I am so sorry for everything. I'm sorry that you had to be the one to be locked out of Gryffindor Tower that night in first year when you were scolding Ron and I about going to duel with Malfoy. I'm sorry that you had to overhear Ron's comment that hurt you enough to make you lock yourself up and cry all afternoon. I'm sorry for all the pain, all the evil that you've had to face just because you've been my friend. I'm sorry for taking you for granted, for not listening to you as you pleaded to the point of tears for my life.

I'm sorry for possibly endangering our friendship by sending you this letter. I am really and truly sorry for so many things, Hermione.

But I'm not, and I never will be sorry that I know you. I'm not, and I never will be sorry that you're my friend.

And I'm not, and I never will be sorry that I love you.


Always,
Harry

A/N: Whoa!! What a response!! Great galloping balls of hippogriff dung!!! Thank you guys so much for all those reviews... honestly! It is sooooooooooooo much appreciated. Your reviews were an inspiration and spurred me on to write more and better. I hope you like this one, and please let me know! I'll be writing one more chapter, when they finally meet up again. Rock on!


II


Rome, Italy

August 18, 1996



Dear Harry,

I must confess that after I wrote the above two words in salutation, I simply sat here and stared at them for a pathetically long time in awe at how perfectly they summed up my feelings.

Dear Harry.

Oh, I can't articulate to you how I've been these past few days! Words fail me - which, as you can attest, is no mean feat. The sights and sounds of Rome that used to so captivate me (and I've learned some truly fascinating wizard history here too. Did you know that the ceiling of the Pantheon isn't actually as high as it seems? It's just been enchanted to appear that way.) seem almost trivial since I received your letter. My parents have been exchanging concerned glances, which is no wonder as my emotions have been all over the place. One minute I might be hopping around the hotel room clutching your letter and the next I'm sitting with my bemused parentals in some fancy Italian restaurant blinking back tears as excerpts float through my brain.

Because, of course, I've memorized it.

To say I was blown away by your letter would be a gross understatement. I had no idea you could write like that, Harry Potter! If you hadn't reassured me that it was really you who wrote it, I would have thought it a cruel prank. Don't get me wrong, I've always known you are smart, you are intelligent but, honestly, it's easy to forget just how much when I have to constantly harp on you just to get you to do your homework.

Where have you been hiding this side of you? Because I would certainly have welcomed a glimpse of him before now!

I'm sorry for not responding right away. I hope I haven't caused you any unnecessary worry? But I needed time to assimilate what I had read. And re-read. And re-read. I needed time to better, more thoroughly examine my own feelings and be as honest with myself as you so eloquently were. Then, I needed to decide if I was willing to take the risk. Did I want to be as honest with you as you were with me? Did I want to open myself up so vulnerably?

And after much thought, much agonizing, I've decided 'yes' to all those things. Yes, I am willing to take this risk. Yes, I want to be even half as honest as you've been with me in your letter. I know I would regret it horribly for the rest of my life if I let this opportunity slip away.

And yes, I'm very glad that I'm safely away in Rome! I think the fact that we're physically so far away from each other helped me greatly in my decision, though, of course, we'll inevitably have to see each other again.

But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, as the Muggles so niftily say.

Oh, Harry, that was the most wondrous thing I have ever received in my entire life, and that includes my Hogwarts letter! I wept as I read it the first time and probably every time afterwards. The depth of emotion, the depth of honesty! Thank you for doing that for me. Thank you for writing it, for sending it. I cannot tell you how much it means that you chose me to open up your heart to, to have you acknowledge me as not just Hermione Granger, your bookworm gal-pal.

I had no idea what I was getting into by being best friends with two boys, especially when one of them was the most famous of our generation. I certainly didn't plan or intend for that to happen. I'd read about you, of course, and from the dates provided, I figured you would be at Hogwarts the same time as I was. I figured I'd probably bump into you every now and then, but the whole concept of The-Boy-Who-Lived didn't penetrate. I think you had to have grown up in the wizarding world, grown up hearing the story to develop the right type and level of awe.

It's very fortunate for us that I'm Muggle-born, isn't it? I didn't meet you already suckled and weaned on stories of your greatness so I could treat you like any other new person in this strange new world. And I think that's the stepping stone of our friendship - we started out on equal footing. After our initial meeting on the train, you were just another first year to me, which was why I had no qualms about letting you know when I thought you were acting out of order.

It probably didn't seem that way but I was terrified my entire first year at Hogwarts. I had always felt strange before I received my letter; I knew I was different but I didn't know how or why. And then I discovered I was a witch and suddenly, everything made sense and I was off, practically, to the wonderful land of Oz.

But I'd also always been a lonely child, a loner, frequently buried behind a book for lack of anything more corporeal to be consumed by. I wanted so badly to make a good impression, to prove myself. Unfortunately, I chose one of the worst ways of going about it and stopped any potential friendships dead in their tracks. I had wasted that enormous opportunity I had been given to change the social trajectory of my first decade of life, and the day that I overheard Ron's comment was the day that I admitted to myself that nobody liked me - as usual and once again - and I was doomed to forever be an outcast, even among my own kind.

I was utterly and thoroughly devastated.

And then, you saved my life.

Bear with me here, Harry, but it was the first time I had glimpsed something of the legend, The-Boy-Who-Lived. You didn't have to go back. You didn't have to risk your life to help a girl whom you didn't even like, a girl who thrust her nose into your business more than once (I'm embarrassed for myself at the memory. What a little busybody I was!). You didn't have to convince Ron to go along.

But you did. You did, Harry. And another first - it was the first time someone unrelated to me had gone out of their way, so far out of their way, on my behalf. And I opened my eyes and my heart to you, as a friend. I could see myself in you, the fierce hunger to prove yourself, the thirst for companionship, the fear of this new world. Near everything I felt seemed amplified in you - and with good reason.

And the more time I spent with you, the better I got to know you, the more I admired you. The more I respected you. The more I was astounded that you even saw fit to count me among your friends.

Because even though you refuse to see it in yourself, Harry, you are an exemplary human being. You had qualities - and in such quantities! - as an eleven year old that grown men labor fruitlessly for. Even after the horrors of your childhood, you have such an astonishing capacity to love. You see people, beyond labels, beyond backgrounds.

I'm trying to be painfully honest here, ok? So I would be lying if I said I've never questioned exactly why I'm still friends with you. I am admitting that, yes, I have sometimes regretted that we're friends, although that hasn't happened for a while. I knew you never did it intentionally but you and Ron have hurt my feelings a few times.

Please don't beat yourself up about that; it was just you being a typical boy. As "not normal" as you are, Harry, in some ways you are very normal for a guy your age. Paradoxical, huh?

And, you know, the times when I've questioned my friendship with you almost always had something to do with Ron. In the beginning of our friendship, you and Ron were much closer than you and I or Ron and I. I guess it was because you're both guys and at those ages, another guy needed to be your closest friend. A little part of me was jealous, but deep down I understood. And I tried my very best to support you in every way I could - even if that support sometimes included tactics that you didn't like very much.

But sometimes I felt like I was merely the third wheel to your friendship with Ron. I was just the one you turned to when you needed information. When the chips were down, it was Ron you would go to first and it especially hurt in fourth year when Ron was selected as what you would miss most, for the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

But every time I tried to list the negatives of being friends with you, I infallibly ended up listing the positives. You and Ron were the best things to ever happen to me. You have taught me to really live life, that life is so much more than books and cleverness. You, Harry, have taught me to look beyond myself - in second year when you freed Dobby. I never told you how proud I was of you, that you - a mere 12 year old - brought so much positive change, so much joy to another creature's life. Dobby's reaction everytime he sees you speaks volumes and I wanted to do something too.

I wanted to be like you.

And I still do. Oh Harry, if I can claim to have even half your qualities, half your ability to love, half your loyalty!

And here, I must disagree with something you said in your letter. You said if you were instead the friend in someone else's.. erm.. (Ok, I'm paraphrasing here. Wipe that smirk off your face, Potter!) complicated existence, you would have severed ties a long time ago. Objection, Your Honor. I have staggering and overwhelming evidence that when Harry Potter acquires someone's friendship, that person has a friend for life. I don't think you even know how to be disloyal.

And every person who gets to know you, who is a friend of yours can't help but stay by your side. You command love, Harry, and the command cannot be ignored or denied.

No wonder Voldemort is threatened by you!

I, for one, certainly could not ignore the command. I'm not exactly sure when it was that my feelings began to change. Because they did. It was all so gradual, there was no major 'lightbulb moment' so to speak; though if I had to guess, I would say it started during that first time you snuck into Hogsmeade during third year. Remember? Probably not, but I was in a near hysteria, worrying that you would get caught, that something bad would happen. You and Ron were trying to calm me down and then you said something like "Are you going to report me?" and you grinned.

A sweet, boyish, lop-sided grin.

And I remember becoming flustered, my train of thought derailed in the face of that grin and I could only stammer like a stupefied fangirl. Imagine that - Hermione Granger, dumbstruck and stuttering.

But I didn't stop to think about it. Not for a while. If I had, especially in addition to all that developed later, I would surely have figured it out a lot sooner than I did.

Because steadily, you were the last thing on my mind before I fell asleep. Steadily, you were the first thing I thought of when I awoke. Steadily, that thought of you sent ever-strengthening shivers of delight and anticipation down my spine as I bounded down the stairs, eager to be in your presence again.

I found myself observing you, watching the way you frown at a difficult assignment, the way you dunk your sausages in way too much ketchup, the way your eyes twinkle when you're trying not to laugh. I found ways of inserting you into nearly every conversation I had. I found myself excited to show you something, to tell you something first, wondering energetically what your reaction would be when I did.

Yet, still I didn't look at it. I didn't analyze this curious phenomenon. I was very confused, even as I didn't know why I was confused. They say there is none so blind as those that won't see, but I think it's actually those who won't even look. Perhaps I was afraid to really look. And, you can imagine how very frustrating that was for me. I don't like not knowing things. Even my books, usually an omniscient, omnipresent help in my times of need, proved useless. There was no book available to tell me what to do about my confusion, because I didn't know what I was confused about.

All I knew was that I couldn't stop talking about you, Harry; I couldn't stand being away from you; I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you, which translated into my doing everything I could to arm you, to keep you safe, to help you deal with these monstrous responsibilities.

Funnily enough, it was Viktor Krum, of all people, who opened my eyes to it all. Poor Viktor. He was so nice, so sweet. He was exactly what I needed at that point in time. Viktor was the first person of the opposite sex to really pay attention to me as Hermione - the girl, the young woman. And he treated me wonderfully - especially compared to the way Ron did at the Yule Ball (and no, he hasn't apologized). He genuinely liked me and was unafraid to let me know it, and what did he get in return?

A confused young woman who couldn't stop prattling on and on about her best friend. I didn't even realize just how much I was talking about you, Harry; I just couldn't help myself. And Viktor is no fool. If I had talked about Ron even half as much as I did about you, he probably wouldn't have gotten suspicious.

But as it was, he was the one who called me on it, who made me really think and just as in your case, it was a domino effect (I don't know if there's a wizard equivalent of dominoes. I might look it up when we get back to school).

And the truth was undeniable and startling in its brilliance.

Which was why this year was so difficult. I felt your pain; your every ache reverberated in my soul, and even fiercer now that I knew how I felt about you. Oh Harry, so many times I wanted to take you in my arms and just hold you and tell you everyting would be alright! So many times I wanted to kiss your anguished forehead and that infernal scar that I both love and hate.

But I didn't dare. The last thing you needed was one more complication, and I convinced myself that you needed our friendship to remain more or less uncomplicated. In all honesty, though, I was scared. And besides, you were enamored with the lovely Miss Cho Chang. Why would you even look at me? It killed me but I was determined that you get some of the happiness you so deserve, and if Cho Chang was what made you happy, then so be it.

Because you do deserve to be happy. You are so busy looking out for others that you forget about yourself. And exactly how you can even consider yourself selfish, Harry, is beyond even my realm of comprehension. From the moment you stepped back into the wizarding world, you have been giving and giving of yourself. You have been sacrificing your childhood, your youth for a world that changes loyalties almost daily. You have shouldered responsibilities that any other person would likely have buckled under a long time ago.

I know you'll say you had no choice. But you did and you do. You could choose not to stand up to the Dark side. You could choose to stand back and let scum like Malfoy insult and mistreat whomever he pleases, unmolested. But you've time and time again chosen to do what is right instead of what is easy.

I am so proud of you, Harry! And I would rather have died than let anything happen to you. I would rather have been expelled than let you venture out alone. I would rather be reviled by the whole of civilization than entrust anyone else with your care. That's why I disliked Professor Trelawney from the very first time I met her. Anybody who can be that cavalier about the millstones of your existence, to the point of casually throwing the danger in your face at every opportunity, doesn't deserve an ounce of my respect.

I am so sorry about Sirius. And his death was not your fault, Harry Potter! I should have tried harder. I should have been clearer in demonstrating that it was all a trap. Oh, how I loathe Voldemort! I hate him for what he's done to you, what his existence has forced you to endure. I am hungry for his vanquishment, if only so you can be free of him and these flagitious burdens.

But as long as I draw breath, I will do everything I can to sustain you. I want to be by your side; the thought of anywhere else is unbearable. Because, Harry, you see, I need you. I need you as much as, if not more, than you need me. You have been such a pivotal influence in defining who I am. What was my life before Hogwarts, before you? Was it even worthy of being called a life?

You have taught me the value of friendship. You have taught me that somebody can care so much for another person that the mere thought, the mere sight of that person becomes a sweet-smelling elixir of life. Who needs the Sorcerer's Stone-

Have you figured it out yet?

Because I don't know exactly when it happened, Harry, but sometime during the past five years, I fell in love with you too. And everything I've done, everything I've become, every time I've scolded, nagged or just plain harassed you, I've done it with the blessed weight of that love resting on my head, leaning on my shoulders, caressing my heart. And that awareness of you, that love has become so intertwined in my existence, in who I am as Hermione Granger that, you know, if I were ever to lose it, I might as well just perish.

And oh God, I am terrified of the changes that are inevitable in our relationship, now that we've blasted the blinders, the shutters, the boundaries to smithereens. I am frightened of how Ron will react when he finds out how you and I feel about each other, even as I'm hoping that he'll surprise us with a show of maturity. I'm scared of how the world, how Voldemort will try to take advantage of this strange new thing that we've discovered.

But the song that erupted in my head and my heart when I read your letter won't let me dwell on my fears for too long. I am so happy, Harry! I can't wait to see you again. I can't wait to finally give in to that urge to hold you longer than a friend reasonably should; to look into your eyes and say what I've wanted to say for so long, with the beautiful and terrifying knowledge that you feel the same way!

Just a little time.. just a few more days...

But until then-

I love you. I love you, Harry, always. And forever.


Yours,
Hermione

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.

A/N: Once again, thanks so much for all the lovely reviews! I'm so happy that my writing can touch someone, and it feels REALLY good to receive such niceness back. I had a lot of fun (and admittedly some trouble) writing this story. And as with my other stories (with the exception of the outtake from SIH), this one swelled beyond what I originally intended. But, sadly, this is the last chapter for this story. Thanks so much again, and hopefully inspiration will strike again sometime and I'll have a new story for y'all. Rock on!


IV


The first quarter of the journey aboard the Hogwarts Express the next day was unnaturally subdued for Harry. For the first half hour of the trip, he sat with Neville, Ginny and Luna while Ron and Hermione attended the mandatory Prefect meeting.

It was the first time that either he or Hermione had been in close proximity with Ron since the day before. Ron hadn't come down to dinner - a vivid warning signal - and had been already packed and downstairs when Harry woke up.

Harry's heart had sunk with that realization because it felt like Halloween night of fourth year all over again - the night his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire and Ron had more or less called him an attention-seeking liar. Ron had avoided him in the morning that time too, and because that first opportunity for communication had been lost, the wound had deepened and festered, and it'd been at least a month before they'd reconciled.

God, he hoped this wouldn't be a repeat occurrence. It was the worst possible time to have a falling out with one of his best friends.

Before he'd had too much time to agonize, however, there had been a knock on his door.

"Come in," he said softly and his heart leapt when he saw who it was.

"Morning," she said, smiling as she closed the door behind her.

Harry straightened up from packing his trunk and gathered her into his arms. "Morning."

They held each other desperately for a long moment, both because they could and because they were attempting to postpone the inevitable moment when they would have to go downstairs. Downstairs to face not only the curious and concerned questions of the other occupants of 12G, but also the undoubtedly pointed cold shoulder from their best friend.

Finally, they pulled apart slowly, though Harry still held her close.

Hermione stared up into his eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked, stroking his cheek.

He nodded. "I'm ok. You?"

"I'm ok too, but I'm so confused," she sighed. "A part of me is so happy because we're together, you know, and I love you so much. But then there's this other part that is so scared and hurt." Her brown eyes filled up. "We never meant to hurt him, Harry. How could he say those things? How could he think-"

Harry hugged her to him fiercely, wishing he could take away her pain, her fear but knowing he couldn't because he was filled to overflowing with the exact same emotions. He loved her, he cared for her so much and he hated that the real start of their relationship had to have such unpleasant connotations looming over it.

Feeling utterly helpless, he could only hold her as she cried into his chest. Once she'd calmed down, Harry leaned forward and, somewhat shyly, pecked her quickly on the lips but Hermione clung to him and kissed him back hungrily. And suddenly the mood in the room shifted and they were no longer comforting and attempting to be comforted. Rather, they were fervertly expressing their love, their longing for each other. There was no room for any other emotion but the wonder and fierce joy of two people whose friendship, already remarkable in and of itself, had budded and blossomed into so much more.

And when they finally broke apart, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, Harry felt like he had swallowed a gallon of warm butterbeer. He felt like he could take on anything. He had Hermione on his side, and so help him, he would have Ron back too.

So help him.

******

"Harry?"

He looked up to see Neville, Ginny and Luna all staring at him quizzically.

"Uh, what?" he asked, looking between them and trying to fight his irritation. He'd just been trying to think of a way to talk to Ron while they were all still on the train and away from Hogwarts and its multiple distractions and places to hide.

"I asked what happened between you and Ron and Hermione?" Ginny repeated. "It seemed to me like Ron was avoiding the two of you all last night and this morning."

Harry shrugged. He really didn't want to talk about it, least of all with Ginny, Neville or Luna.

Ginny frowned. "Did it have anything to do with Sirius? Cause I know that the Ministry is planning on putting out a statement about that. Dad was talking about it this morning. But why would Ron be mad about that?"

Harry shrugged again, noncommittally.

"Oh come on, it's obvious something is wrong!" persisted Ginny.

"I'm not going to talk about it, Ginny, so just drop it," Harry snapped, his irritation getting the better of him.

She opened her mouth, no doubt to retort, but Neville shook his head at her and she leaned back in her seat instead, her frown deepening. Nobody spoke again until the door of their compartment slid open and Hermione came in. She shut the door, looking anxious and Harry stood up.

"What's wrong? Where's Ron?"

She headed straight for his arms and Harry buried his face in her hair, ignoring the avid stares of the other people in the compartment.

"He wouldn't talk to me," Hermione whispered, her voice choked. "And then he just walked away, telling Ernie MacMillan that he was going to sit with Dean and Seamus for a change."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the short, quick breaths Hermione was taking as she tried not to cry again. He'd been hoping that it wouldn't come to this but desperate times called for desperate measures and they had to talk to Ron before the train arrived at Hogwarts. He couldn't risk this dragging out, not now, not this time.

He pulled away gently and took Hermione's hand. "Let's go."

She looked startled. "What? Where?"

"To talk to Ron."

"What, now? Harry, I don't think we should," she said worriedly.

Harry stared down at her. "What're you talking about? The longer we let this go on, the harder it will be to work it out. Remember last time?"

She nodded, wringing her hands in despair. "Yes, I remember. But, Harry, I think we should let him come to it on his own terms. If we try to push him, that might make it worse and that's the last thing we want!"

Harry rubbed his head in frustration. She was right. But he hated sitting around doing nothing, not when there was a chance that they might get through to Ron. "Look-"

But just then the compartment door slid open again and standing in the doorway was the very person they'd been debating going to find. And now that they were in each other's presence, Harry found himself suddenly at a loss for what to say.

It was Ron who broke the silence. "Can I talk to you guys for a minute?" he muttered, glancing at Harry and Hermione.

"Of course," Hermione said quickly. She looked around at Neville, Ginny and Luna. "Could you excuse us for a bit?"

Neville and Luna stood up immediately. "Sure. I wanted to talk to Seamus about something, anyway," Neville said, heading for the door. He turned to look back at Ginny, who hadn't moved from her seat. "You coming or what?"

"No," she said flatly, crossing her arms and glaring up at the Trio.

Ron scowled. "I need to talk to Harry and Hermione. In private. This has nothing to do with you, so get out."

Ginny jumped up, the beginnings of one of the infamous Weasley rages evident on her face. "Do not talk to me like that, Ron Weasley! I have as much right to know-"

"No, you don't," Harry interrupted coldly.

"Ginny, please," Hermione said desperately, tears shining in her eyes.

The other girl's eyes flickered briefly, her face mutinous, before she spun around and flounced out of the compartment without another word.

"Good luck, Ronald," Luna said softly as she followed Neville out. The door slid shut with what Harry thought sounded like an eerie finality, or maybe that was just his anxiety talking.

"Let's sit down," Hermione chirped with a desperate cheerfulness, wiping her eyes, and despite the awkwardness, neither of the boys had the heart to disobey. They sat, tense and stiff-backed. "So you wanted to talk to us?"

Ron fidgeted, his ears crimson. "Uh, yeah. Listen... it's just- it- look, you guys just caught me by surprise, that's all. Even though I'd kinda been expecting it."

"Expecting it?"

"You guys to get together," Ron replied, gesturing between Harry and Hermione. Upon seeing their identically puzzled faces, he elaborated. "It was kind of obvious. I'm not the only one who noticed."

Hermione looked genuinely confused. "But I don't understand. Harry and I were just friends. What was there to notice?"

"The way you look at him," Ron answered simply. "The way you, more often than not, listen to her. She was the only person that you really listened to all last year," he said, glancing at Harry.

Harry didn't know what to say to that so he just nodded and Ron continued. "I think I started getting hints of it back in third year, but I didn't really look at it until fourth year when Rita Skeeter wrote those articles."

"What, don't tell me you believed any of that rubbish!" Hermione cried, looking aghast.

"Not all of it. But some of what she wrote rang true." Ron sighed, looking everywhere but at them. "You have to understand. The two of you can't see the way you act with each other. It's us on the outside that really see it, and it seemed to me that there was more than just friendship feelings there, even if neither of you had realized it yet." He sighed again. "Of course I didn't want to believe it at the time."

Harry thought that what Ron had just said showed remarkable, uncharacteristic insight but he had a question. "Why didn't you want to believe it?"

Ron went red and it took him a while to answer. "Cause for a while, I thought I liked Hermione."

Harry leaned back, stunned, but when he glanced at Hermione, she didn't seem the least bit surprised. "I thought as much. But it didn't ever seem to me that you really did. More like you just thought you should."

"Er, I think it was because I could see what was happening between you two, and I didn't want to be left out. So I kinda convinced myself that I liked you too." Ron's words came out in a rush, as if he was trying to get them all out before he lost his nerve. "That's why I reacted like that to Krum, though a part of it was jealousy. You were getting to hang out with my idol and add to that, both of you were in the spotlight at the Yule Ball," he added, managing somehow to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum.

"And then I went and made an arse out of myself and ruined your night. I'm ashamed that I never apologized and I'm sorry, Hermione. I never meant to hurt your feelings."

'Yes, you did,' Harry thought, recalling the look of mingled anger and satisfaction on Ron's face when Hermione had run out in tears. But in keeping with the conciliatory spirit of the situation, he decided to hold his tongue. He had to, at the very least, give Ron credit for being honest, even if it was only partially. It can't have been easy for him to admit what he just had.

"Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that," Hermione sniffled and Harry stroked her hand soothingly.

For a long moment, there was silence. It became quite obvious that Ron had said all he was going to say and Harry's conflicted feeling slowly increased. Because on the one hand, he was very relieved that Ron was already talking to them, that he was sharing things that he hadn't before. That was undoubtedly a step in the right direction, and Harry didn't want to do anything to mess that up. But what about all the things he had said the night before? What about Ron's insecurity, jealousy, inferiority complex? Wasn't he going to talk about that at all? Because as long as those things were left unsaid and uninvestigated on Ron's part, things were just going to flare up again.

"Ron?" Their friend looked up warily and Harry got the feeling that Ron knew what was coming. "Listen, I don't want to make things worse, but what about-"

Ron looked extremely uncomfortable. "Can we not talk about that right now? It's something I need to figure out on my own."

"We understand. Don't we, Harry?" Hermione said, staring at him imploringly and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded. "And we're here for you, Ron. You know that."

Ron looked away for a full minute before he spoke again, with a slightly pained expression. "I'm not saying it will be easy. It will take time for me to get used to this, but I'm willing to try, if you are."

"Of course," Hermione said fervertly. "Harry needs you, Ron. We both do. Especially now when everything is going to hell in a handbasket."

For an instant, things seemed perfectly normal among them as Ron stared at Hermione like she'd just sprouted gibberish. "What?"

Harry grinned uneasily. "It's a Muggle saying. Basically means everything is going wrong in the world."

"On second thought, maybe not everything," Hermione said softly, gazing at Harry tenderly and he smiled at her, feeling his heart da-dumping giddily. He looked up to see Ron watching them.

"And we're all friends again," Harry added quickly, noting the conflicted look in Ron's eyes. "Right?"

It took him a few seconds, but Ron managed a small smile. "Right."

And for the first time in twenty-four hours, all three members of the trio smiled at each other - shaky smiles, sure, but it was a beginning - and, in spite of himself, a speck of hope flared in Harry Potter's heart. He knew they hadn't talked about even half of what was really bothering Ron. He knew Ron couldn't possibly have, overnight, come fully to terms with the changes in their friendship. He knew that the pitch hadn't been cleared of every hurdle or bump, not by any means.

But he found that at this particular moment in time, he could overlook that. He had his best friend back, however fragmentedly, and that was a start. It was a start, wasn't it? They could work on it as they went along, and maybe one day soon Ron would finally really open up and they could help him. Right?

He had his other best friend hand in hand with him, she having stepped so far across the line, sunk so deeply into his soul, that he doubted they would ever be quite separate again. Hermione was on his side and he loved her: on those particular counts, he had no doubts, he had no fears about the density of or the truth in the claim.

And even though so many things had gone wrong in his life, so many things promising to go wrong, Voldemort back and salivating for his blood, Harry found that, nevertheless, some things were good. There was a storm bearing down on them all, the whirlwind had penetrated even the very tight-knit circle of his personal life. But he had love and he had friendship and maybe he was a fool for hoping, but that's what he was doing. That was what he was doing.

And sometimes, a speck of hope made all the difference.