What was and what could be by bentheslayer

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/04/2004
Last Updated: 28/05/2004
Status: Completed

It's just after the events of OotP and Harry is dealing with the changes in his life - but
he realises the biggest change is yet to happen . . .




1. Dark Times
-------------

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K.Rowling, I'm just borrowing them!**

**Pairings: Harry/Hermione**

**Rating: PG**

**Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fan fiction, I appreciate any comments or
suggestions but please be gentle with me! I hope you all enjoy the story.**

What was . . . and what could be

Chapter 1 - Dark Times

Outside Number Four, Privet Drive, it was raining, and it was raining hard. It fell in great
sweeping waves, tinted yellow by the soft glow of the street lamps, and spattered against the
window where Harry Potter sat and watched it quietly. Harry felt a great turbulent mixture of
emotions as he sat and watched the rain, every so often running one hand along the famous
lightning-bolt scar on his forehead absent-mindedly. So much had happened, so much was still
happening that he had no idea about, cut off here in the Muggle world, and he was still trying to
process it.

*Sirius is gone.*

On some level he had accepted that his godfather was dead, fallen into that dreadful veil of
death deep within the Department of Mysteries, but he often found himself forgetting. He would find
himself tempted to send Hedwig off to Grimmauld Place just for a reply berating him for making
contact, but then he would remember that he was gone and the hurt would come back anew. The hurt
was deep inside him, twisted around a great fire of anger that was directed at one man. One man who
was responsible for it all.

*Voldemort.*

The Dark Lord. You-Know-Who. He Who Must Not Be Named. The one who was responsible for causing
all of the pain in Harry's life: killing his parents and robbing him of a normal childhood,
plotting and executing several attempts to kill Harry himself, causing the pain, suffering and
death of his friends and those he cared for the most . . . and what hurt and scared Harry the most,
marking him as his nemesis and condemning him to a prophecy where only one of them can survive.

This fact had been weighing heavily on Harry's mind ever since the night Dumbledore had
explained it all to him, promoting intense feelings of rage and fear inside him. He was fifteen
years old, almost sixteen, and it was very possible that he would not see out his teenage years.
Harry was a brave young boy and had faced many dangers - had even duelled with Lord Voldemort
himself - but this was something altogether different. He had always believed that, no matter how
strange and often dangerous his wizarding life had been, he would at least have a long and
interesting life to look forward to. Now he was forced to face the brutal fact that there was a
good chance this was not so.

There was a sick, hollow feeling in his stomach and he sighed loudly. Hedwig hooted softly from
her cage and Harry smiled, raising his arm out to her. She flew over to him and he stroked her soft
white plumage.

"Don't worry Hedwig," he said. "I won't let anything happen to you. At
least I can make sure of that."

He turned back to the window to watch the rain again as he continued to stroke Hedwig. It was
three o'clock in the morning and the only sounds in the house were the rumbling snores of
Vernon and Dudley Dursley, but Harry didn't hear them. He was too occupied with his
thoughts.

He had not told Ron and Hermione about the prophecy.

He wasn't even sure how he was going to tell them. He would have to, and soon, as he
couldn't keep this from his two best friends for long. They deserved to know. They had been
through so much together, were such a huge part of each other's lives, that they had to be told
that he might not be around much longer. He could picture the look of horror on Ron's face when
he told him, so pale he might be mistaken for one of Hogwart's resident ghosts, but Harry did
not want to think about what Hermione's reaction might be. It hurt him too much. Sitting next
to his window at three in the morning, watching the rain and thinking about all the changes in his
life the past year had brought, Harry was beginning to acknowledge that the biggest change was
still happening. It was something that he had hidden even from himself, telling himself that it
couldn't be right and pushing it aside as he concentrated on Voldemort and the work of the
Order of the Phoenix. Somewhere along the line, he had stopped wanting to be just Hermione's
friend.

The feeling now was so strong that he felt somewhat guilty with himself that it overrode what he
supposed he should consider to be more important - the prophecy, Voldemort, the possibility that an
attack could come from any time - and instead he found his thoughts and feelings coming constantly
back to her. He couldn't think of how or when it had started. He thought that perhaps it might
have been around Valentines Day, and his disastrous time with Cho Chang. It had been little things
at first: noticing when she tried something new with her hair (and he and Ron had had to laugh when
it soon returned to it's normal bushy state after a matter of hours). How her smile would
always seem to lift him from whatever dark thoughts he was troubled by. How incredibly brown her
eyes were. But then it was other things . . . noticing just how beautiful Hermione really was . . .
how her robes could no longer conceal the curves of her body . . . how she made him laugh . . . her
honesty, bravery and confidence in her friends . . . and most of all, as the months had passed and
his feelings had increased, he had realised how just being around her made him, well, happy. Even
during those final weeks of the school term, and the horrific showdown within the Ministry of
Magic, where all of Harry's feelings of anger had taken centre stage, those other feelings had
been there. Pushed to one side as usual, but they were there. He would not forget the terror and
gut-wrenching despair he had felt when the Death Eater had sliced blue fire across her chest and
sent Hermione crumpling to the ground. In that instant his feelings for her took over, and his need
to escape the Department of Mysteries had seemed unimportant. When Neville had told him she was
alive, well . . . Harry couldn't think of any other time in his life when he had been so
relieved. There were some things that came close, but nothing that could touch upon that
moment.

The final few days at Hogwarts had been so hard. Not only were his grief and rage running high,
but realisation had dawned on him and he knew at that moment what he knew now. Every time they had
been alone together he had had butterflies in his stomach and found it hard to speak to her - he
was sure she had thought this was because of what they'd just been through - and other times
when they hadn't been alone their hands had brushed together by accident and Harry had felt
something like electricity run up through him. He was sure that he had blushed fiercely, and
didn't know if Hermione had noticed or not. On the platform at King's Cross, after
promising that they'd both see Harry soon, she had hugged him. He had savoured every moment of
it, the feel of him against her, the smell of her hair, the way that holding her like that had just
seemed so right . . .

He sighed once again and Hedwig flew back to her cage. Harry continued to watch the rain, which
was now accompanied by the odd flicker of lightning. Soon enough the thunder began to rumble. He
thought about it all, and about the feeling that tingled in his heart whenever he thought of her.
And then he was sure.

He was in love with Hermione Granger.

Harry scratched his head thoughtfully. Even though he yawned with tiredness he knew he could not
sleep. His back was beginning to ache from sitting at the window though, so he crossed to the bed
and lay down. This, he thought, wasn't something that a boy his age should be expected to deal
with. He shouldn't have to deal with Dark Wizards that wanted to kill him, but he had to. And,
Harry thought to himself, he probably shouldn't have to deal with changing feelings for a girl
that was one of his best friends. But he had to. As he lay on the bed and the thoughts whirled
round his head, he realised something else though. He did not want to deal with Voldemort, or the
Order, or the loss of his godfather, or the horrible fact that he was destined to duel to the death
with the most powerful Dark Wizard in history. He wished he could make all that go away. But when
it came to Hermione, that was something he certainly did want to deal with, no matter how nervous
he felt about it. Harry had done a lot more growing up during the last few months than even he
realised, and he was sure of one thing. He was in love, with a girl who was his best friend, and
there might be the possibility of the two of them being something very special. And if, as
Harry's worst fears told him, he was not going to live a very long life, then he was determined
to take that chance while he could.

He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall. Thinking about her had made one thing very
clear.

"How in Merlin's name am I going to tell her?" he whispered to himself.

How exactly did you go about telling your best friend that you wanted to be her boyfriend? Harry
considered himself hopeless when it came to girls anyway . . . he hadn't known what to say to
Cho at all, mostly lots of "Ers" and looking at the ground which wouldn't be much use
with Hermione either. She'd probably just give him a concerned look and ask if he was feeling
ill. And what if . . . what if he came out with it, and it ruined everything? What if it confused
and upset her, and made her not want to be friends anymore? He needed his friends at Hogwarts and
felt sure he would need them even more this coming year, so was it really worth risking that for
the chance that she might . . .

Harry rolled over onto his other side and realised, miserably, that there was no-one he could
turn to for advice. This is something, Harry thought, that I could have talked to Sirius about, he
would have helped . . . but Sirius wasn't around anymore, and Harry pushed away fresh hurt at
the thought. He couldn't think of anyone he could talk to about this. He had seen his cousin
kissing a girl once, but Harry would rather eat slugs before asking Dudley for advice about girls.
He couldn't ask any of the other boys in Gryffindor, as they'd gossip about it and then the
whole school would know, Hermione included. There was Hagrid, he supposed, but Harry could just
picture them in Care Of Magical Creatures, Hagrid winking at him and nudging him, saying "You
tole 'er yet Harry?" in his whisper that was loud enough for the whole class to hear. He
wouldn't mean any harm by it, but Hermione was the cleverest witch in the school by far and it
wouldn't take her long to figure it out.

Then of course, there was Ron.

Ron should be the one talked to about this, Harry supposed. He was, after all, his best friend.
They were supposed to tell each other stuff like this. Ron was the only one Harry had divulged
everything to - there were some things he hadn't told Hermione - and in turn Ron had told him a
lot of things Harry knew he wouldn't want the rest of the school to know. They were best
friends, that was how it worked. And, Harry thought, something as important as falling in love with
someone should be something you discussed right away. The only problem was the fact that it was
Hermione. It was the one thing they had never discussed, and the one thing Harry had not asked Ron
about, and that was how Ron felt about Hermione. Harry was sure that Ron liked her, *had*
liked her for a very long time. He was probably in love with her too. There were things that Harry
had picked up on from the both of them that made him realise it, and he hadn't wanted to press
Ron about it. Now though . . . well, he might have to. A small part of him was sure that Hermione
felt something for Ron as well (and he hoped, guiltily, that it wasn't that strong) but he had
a feeling that there might be something there for him, too. He hoped that he was right, and that
when he told her how he felt she would return those feelings . . . but he would have to tell Ron
first. Assuming that everything went as Harry hoped it would, he knew that he and Hermione would
both be hurting Ron. But he would be hurting Ron the most, and he would hurt him even more if he
didn't tell Ron first. If he told Ron what he was planning to do Ron might still get upset or
angry with him, but at least he wouldn't have gone behind his friend's back.

Despite knowing that this was the right thing to do, it didn't make Harry feel any better.
His feelings for Hermione were going to change everything, and he realised that he was about to
risk the friendships of the two most important people in his life. Troubled, scared, alone, and in
love, the Boy Who Lived eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep that was haunted by whispering
voices from behind the veil.



2. A Talk With Tonks
--------------------

Chapter 2 - A Talk With Tonks

The days passed incredibly slowly for Harry, cooped up inside his bedroom. Despite having the
window open the room felt constantly stuffy from the intense summer heat coming in from outside,
where Muggles were enjoying cool drinks and barbecues. Harry had no desire to leave his room or
indeed Privet Drive; he was sure that he was still under surveillance by the Order but it did not
allay his fear of another attack by Dementors or something much worse. Inside the house he was
safe. Uncomfortably warm and bored out of his mind, yes, but safe from Voldemort and his followers
nonetheless. Even the Dursleys weren't bothering him; Aunt Petunia pushed three meals a day
through the flap in his door and that suited him just fine. He didn't think he'd be able to
stand their withering looks or nasty comments, which they seemed to have been storing up over the
past year ready for his return.

The boredom was beginning to drive him mad though. He had nothing to do. No television or
computer like Dudley. He couldn't practise Quidditch (although the thought of the look on the
faces of the stuffy residents of Privet Drive if they saw him zooming around on his Firebolt
brought a smile to Harry's face), and he didn't even have any school work to occupy himself
with seeing as they'd just finished their OWL's. Not even his (now slightly battered) copy
of *Quidditch Through The Ages* could get his interest at the moment. The one thing he really
wanted was the company of his friends, and that too was unavailable.

Ron was at Grimmauld Place along with Ginny: Harry had gotten a letter from Ron not long after
he'd returned to Privet Drive telling him that Mrs Weasley had banned them from any of the
Order's meetings.

*The bloody woman won't budge!* Ron had written, apologetically. *Wish I could give
you some news mate, but we're being kept in the dark just like last time.*

As the house had been de-contaminated the previous year it seemed Ron had little to do, just
like Harry. He did get to play Quidditch at least, which Harry was quite jealous of. The
enchantments concealing Grimmauld Place also covered it's rather overgrown back garden, so Ron
and Ginny were able to spend some time practising. Ron wrote that he spent the rest of his time
avoiding Kreacher (who, now that Sirius was gone, obeyed only the mad portrait of Mrs Black) and
trying to get Ginny to tell him exactly when and why she'd chosen Dean Thomas, with little
success.

Hermione was spending the summer with her parents, as she'd felt she'd been neglecting
them slightly over the last year. They had gone on holiday to America and Harry had received a
letter from her (his heart had jumped slightly when he recognised her neat handwriting on the
front). She seemed to be having a good time and Harry was glad, as he felt that they all needed as
many good times as they could get at the moment. Hermione had sent the letter from the Salem
Witches Academy which she had visited:

*It's fantastic here, Harry! They only accept the brightest witches from the USA, and
there's a very deep sense of tradition here. Not that Hogwarts doesn't have tradition, but
you know what I mean. The owl bringing you this letter is amazing, they're bred by the witches
here to perform transatlantic flights! I wish you could see them all . . .*

The owl had indeed been impressive. It was larger than Hedwig and looked very strong and
powerful; Hedwig herself had taken a disliking to it immediately and given Harry a reproachful look
as he'd offered her food and water bowl to it. The rest of Hermione's letter just told
about the other things she and her parents had been doing (mostly Muggle activities like theme
parks and water slides) and Harry thought she was trying to take his mind off the horrible events
they'd experienced. Harry was grateful for the attempt, although it hadn't worked.

And so the days had worn on. Dumbledore had warned Harry that he was going to have to spend the
entire summer at Privet Drive, but Harry had not realised how excruciatingly boring it was going to
be. It made him feel useless too; the Order was out there, doing who knows what to try and stop
Voldemort, whilst he was cooped up, unable to be of any help at all. The arrival of his birthday
brought a brief respite; five cards were now arranged next to Harry's bed: one from Ron, one
from Ginny, one from Hagrid, one signed by various members of the Order (including Mr and Mrs
Weasley, Mad Eye Moody, Lupin and Tonks) and the most important one, of course, from Hermione,
which Harry had placed in the middle. Even though the message inside was a short one, he found
himself re-reading it often because it ended with three words that brought him great joy:

*Love from Hermione*

It was, Harry thought, those three words that kept him going. Finally on the 30th August he
received news from the wizarding world, just when he was beginning to feel like he was going to be
confined to Privet Drive forever. An owl had arrived with two letters for him just as he was
finishing breakfast. He discarded his toast immediately and looked at them both. One bore the
official Hogwarts crest and unsurprisingly contained the list of books he would need for his sixth
year. The other was from Arthur Weasley, and this interested Harry far more. Mr Weasley apologised
for Harry not being able to come to Grimmauld Place to be with Ron and Ginny, re-iterating the fact
that it was Dumbledore's orders. He told Harry to have his things packed and ready by tomorrow
morning: some members of the Order would be coming to escort Harry to Diagon Alley to buy his
school things, and then to Kings Cross station the following day. Harry felt the happiest he had
been all summer upon reading these words and had to restrain himself for dancing around the room in
joy.

*I'm finally going back!* he thought happily. *I'll finally get to go back to
Hogwarts and to see Ron and to see Hermione . . .*

Upon thinking this he suddenly felt very nervous again. While he was determined to tell Hermione
how he felt, he had no idea how to do it and he would be seeing her very soon. He felt a surge of
panic and looked around.

"Hedwig," he said, "I think I'm in trouble."

When the doorbell rang at ten o'clock the next morning Harry was more than ready to go. He
had slept badly, all of his worries (not just about Hermione) keeping him awake until late in the
night. All of his possessions were packed away inside his trunk and Hedwig was sleeping inside her
cage. Looking around the room you would not have believed that Harry had been there at all. Which
was, he thought, exactly the way the Dursleys liked it. The sound of the doorbell made him leap to
his feet and he crept out onto the landing. He heard Uncle Vernon answer the door, and then after a
few moments . . .

"BOY!"

Uncle Vernon's voice came roaring up the stairs. Harry went cautiously down the stairs and
then smiled warmly. Tonks was standing in the doorway, beaming at him.

"Wotcher Harry!" she said.

"Hi Tonks," he replied, coming down to the foot of the stairs. Uncle Vernon had been
watching Harry every step of the way down, and Harry now grinned as while Uncle Vernon was looking
at him Tonks changed her hair from long and blonde to her short, bubble-gum pink look.

"All ready to go?" she asked, starting to take a step inside.

Vernon Dursley turned back to her, perhaps to try and stop her from coming in, but stepped back
in shock at the sudden change in her appearance. A mixture of fear and puzzlement overlapped his
look of anger and Harry had to fight to prevent himself laughing.

"Yeah, my trunk's upstairs. I'll bring it down."

"I'll come and help you . . ."

"DON'T EVEN THINK of setting one foot in this house," Vernon Dursley hissed.
"It's bad enough having the boy in here without having another one of you . . . you . .
."

"Wizards?" Tonks said brightly.

"Yes, wizards," Vernon said, sounding like it was the most disgusting word he'd
ever heard. "Boy, hurry up and get your things."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He felt a particularly strong surge of hatred for his
uncle as he dragged his trunk downstairs. There had been no need to speak to Tonks like that. She
didn't seem to mind though, instead she continued to stand in the doorway and mess with his
uncle's mind as every time he turned away for a moment she changed her hair again. When Harry
brought down Hedwig she had waist-length ginger hair and could easily have passed as one of the
Weasleys. This time Harry did laugh at the look on Uncle Vernon's face as it was purple with
rage and beginning to do an odd kind of gurning - he'd cottoned on to what Tonks was doing.

"Stop doing that!" he shouted. "The neighbours might see!"

"Stop doing what?" Tonks asked innocently.

"I . . . well I never . . . just . . . well . . ." Uncle Vernon spluttered
angrily.

"See you next year," Harry said as he passed, not particularly caring whether he saw
his uncle again or not. Vernon Dursley did not reply, continuing to splutter in rage as Harry and
Tonks walked up the pathway and then heaved Harry's trunk into the boot of a waiting car. Harry
glanced over as the door slammed shut.

"I'm glad to be out of there," he said.

"I bet you are," Tonks said. "Here, get in and let's get out of here.
It's a Ministry car, there's plenty of room inside."

"Is it just us?" Harry asked, looking around. "I thought there might be . .
."

"More of us? Well, after you had half the Order escorting you last year I'm not
surprised. There are two other Aurors here, they're on brooms and under Disillusionment Charms.
They're hovering above us, somewhere . . . ah, there we go, see there's one by the
lamp-post over there?"

Harry looked to where Tonks was pointing and after a few moments he saw it, what looked like the
imprint of a wizard on a broomstick up near the top of the lamp-post. If he hadn't known to
look he realised he never would have spotted it at all.

"Handy charm, that" said Tonks. "They're going to follow us by air. Well, get
in Harry. We've got a bit of a drive to London."

They were soon speeding their way towards London. Inside the car (which looked like a normal
Muggle hatchback on the outside) there was rather spacious seating arranged like a limousine,
complete with glass separating them from the driver. Harry noticed that, like the other Ministry
car he'd been in in the past, this one seemed to be able to squeeze through non-existent gaps
in traffic. They were definitely making much better time than they would in a normal Muggle
car.

"So how come we have a Ministry car?" Harry asked. "Why did they only send you to
come get me? Not that I think you're rubbish or anything," he added hastily. Tonks
laughed.

"That's all right, Harry. I don't really know how much I can tell you, Dumbledore
said you'd be full of questions and he said to tell you that he'll be speaking to you when
you're back at Hogwarts. I think you're better off hearing our news from him anyway"
she said sheepishly.

"So there is news then?" Harry said eagerly.

"Of course there's news, it's been two whole months. Whether you'll think
it's good or bad news, well, I dunno. Anyway, I think it'd be all right if I answered those
questions though. The reason there's just me and our flying friends out there is because
we're stretched pretty thin at the moment."

Tonks was sitting on the seat opposite Harry. She opened a compartment in the armrest and pulled
out two bottles of butterbeer.

"Want one? I always loved this stuff . . ."

Harry accepted the bottle gratefully. He'd begun to forget how good butterbeer tasted . .
.

"Well, the Ministry's on our side now see? Fudge apologised to Dumbledore for not
seeing the truth about You-Know-Who and now they're working together."

Harry frowned.

"Oh don't worry," said Tonks, "Dumbledore's not about to leave Hogwarts
to start running the Ministry. Let's just say that he's now offering advice that Fudge is
taking seriously. The Aurors have been completely mobilised, they're got us spread out all over
the country looking for You-Know-Who, so they could only really spare me and Jenkins and Seeves out
there. We reckoned if there's any Death Eaters watching out for you at the moment they'll
be expecting you to be travelling by floo powder or portkey, so we thought it'd be safer this
way."

Harry nodded. Tonks answered his other questions as best she could; the most important thing
Harry got out of her was that everyone was alive and well, there had been no attacks since
Voldemort's appearance at the Ministry of Magic. This relieved him somewhat and eventually they
fell silent. Harry stared out of the window for a while and soon Tonks began to read the latest
edition of *The Quibbler*. Harry's thoughts returned to Hermione, and once again the
jittery, nervous feeling began to grip him. What would he say to her? How would he tell her? What
was he going to do if he couldn't even say hello when he saw her again?

Perhaps, Harry thought, what he needed was a female perspective . . .

"Um, Tonks?"

"What's up Harry?"

"I was wondering . . . I was hoping . . . I wanted to ask you something . . ."

"Sure," said Tonks.

"Well, I wanted to ask your advice about something . . ."

Harry had started to go red.

"Don't be embarrassed," Tonks told him brightly. "I'm here to help, after
all!"

"Well, OK . . . um . . . I wanted to ask your advice about . . . girls."

Harry blushed a deeper red and Tonks grinned at him.

"Girls eh? Do you mean girls in general, or are we talking about one girl in particular
here?"

"Someone in particular," Harry answered cautiously.

"Someone at school?"

"You could say that, yeah . . ."

Harry was feeling extremely embarrassed and could feel the heat coming off his face. Tonks was
still grinning at him which wasn't helping much, be he decided that seeing as he'd gone
this far he'd might as well carry on.

"I . . . really like someone," he said, realising how lame it sounded. "And I
don’t know how to tell her."

"Ah, we've all been through that, Harry. I have too. There was a boy back in the fourth
year that I had a major crush on, but everytime we were alone I'd get so scared that I'd
change to look like someone else and he'd wander off because he'd thought I'd gone. Not
many people knew I was a Metamorphmagus back then, see."

"This isn't quite the same," Harry said. "I don't really know what to say
to girls anyway and, well, this girl . . . we're already really good friends."

Tonks raised an eyebrow at him.

"All right, I'll tell you," Harry told her, "but promise me you won't
breath a word to anyone else, or all your Auror training won't save you from the hex I'll
put on you!"

Tonks laughed but then took on a serious look.

"Harry, I promise that your secret will be safe with me."

Harry was silent for a moment, as if considering the look on Tonks' heart-shaped face, and
then nodded.

"It's Hermione."

Tonks grinned again.

"Thought so," she said. "She's a very pretty girl, Harry."

"I know she is," Harry said. "She's beautiful. And that's one of things I
want to tell her. But how do I tell her without freaking her out? What if she doesn't want to
be my friend anymore?"

"That's a risk you'll have to take," Tonks said, shaking her head sadly.
"I wish it weren't Harry, I really do - Merlin's Beard, you kids could do with some
happiness in your lives. But there's no guarantee that telling Hermione you want to be more
than her friend won't scare her."

Harry looked down at the floor of the car.

"But hey," Tonks said, "one thing I can tell you about girls, being one myself,
is that we're mysterious and often not what you think. Could be that if you tell her, she might
say the same thing back to you."

"I'd really like that," Harry said, smiling. "But there's another thing .
. . I don't even know what to say to her! The last few times I was with her I couldn't put
two words together, just like with Cho . . ."

"Cho?"

"Forget about it."

"So you're worried that if you actually get the courage to tell her, you won't be
able to say what you want to say?"

"Exactly . . . wow Tonks, you're really good at this you know?"

"Nah, I'm not, I'm just a good guesser."

They sat in silence again for a while, but this time Tonks sat in deep concentration. Harry felt
a little bit better now that he had told someone.

"Maybe," Tonks said finally, "what you need is a bit of practice."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"A bit of practise in saying what you want to say *actually to* Hermione."

"Tonks, I can't just say to Hermione 'can you listen to this but not think about
it, as I'm just practising for when I'm really going to tell you'".

"Harry, I thought you were smarter than that. I meant practise talking to Hermione
*now.*"

With that she screwed up her face in concentration, and then Harry gasped. Hermione was sitting
opposite him. Of course it wasn't really Hermione - it was the same beautiful face, those same
brown eyes, the same rather bushy brown hair, but the impish grin she wore made it clear that Tonks
was in there really. When she spoke it was with Hermione's voice, and even though he knew it
wasn't her that voice still made him feel rather, well, tingly.

"Just say what you want to say, Harry."

Harry licked his now rather dry lips and swallowed nervously. It wasn't Hermione sitting
across from him, so close he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to, it was really Tonks,
but the appearance was so realistic it was almost unreal. He swallowed again and forced himself to
look directly into her eyes. He still felt a bit foolish, but he began to speak.

"Um . . . Hermione . . . there's something that I have to tell you. Something that
I've wanted to tell you for a long time now . . ."

Hermione-Tonks continued to watch him with the same impish grin. Harry began to feel more and
more ridiculous . . . this wasn't right, it wasn't really her . . .

"I've been wanting to say something to you and . . . well . . . um . . . it's hard
and . . . um . . ."

He was faltering, and the grin from Hermione-Tonks' face was replaced by a genuine smile of
encouragement.

"Come on Harry, you can do it," she said. "Just say what you feel . . ."

"I . . . um . . . I really . . . *really* . . . oh, I can't do this! I'm sorry
Tonks, but I just can't. It's not the same. You're not . . . *her*."

Hermione-Tonks smiled again, then screwed up her face and she was just Tonks once more.

"Ah, never mind Harry," she said. "It was worth a try, anyway. I'd actually
look on it as a good thing."

"Really?" Harry asked, puzzled. "I wouldn't. If I can't say it to you,
how am I going to say it to her?"

"I think," said Tonks, "that it shows you really care about her. The fact that
you couldn't say anything because you knew it wasn't really her - you obviously only want
to say it to her herself. You have a good heart, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said, looking at the floor once again. He felt embarrassed once more,
and could feel the blush returning to his cheeks.

"I'm sure that when the moment comes you'll do fine," said Tonks.

"You promise you won't tell anyone?"

"I promise, Harry."

Harry spent the rest of the trip looking out of the window, buried in his thoughts. He was
finally brought back by the rumble of his stomach. He hoped they would get there soon. As if in
reply, the drivers window rolled down and the driver called back to them.

"We'll be at Diagon Alley in five minutes, Miss Tonks."

"All set, Harry?" she asked.

"Think so," he said. It was quite possible that he was going to see Hermione there. He
swallowed nervously once more. No matter how nervous he was or how confused he might be, he knew
one thing - it was going to be wonderful to see her.



3. Reunion
----------

Chapter 3 - Reunion

To both Harry's disappointment and relief, he was not to see Hermione that day. Nor Ron
either; there was no sign of them anywhere as Tonks escorted him to Diagon Alley to purchase his
new schoolbooks. Harry felt a little annoyed that they hadn't arranged to meet him, as was
their usual custom, but he told himself that then again, neither had he so he should not be cross
with them. There were hundreds of reasons why they might not be there today.

Harry enjoyed shopping with Tonks, who seemed to take a great interest in every shop they
entered ("I'm usually too busy to go shopping," she told him sadly). Soon enough he
was carrying several bags and packages: his new schoolbooks, re-supplies for Potions, new robes (as
he'd grown a bit in the short time away from Hogwarts) and some owl treats for Hedwig. He saw a
few of his schoolmates and was pleased to see them all looking well, Neville particularly looked
enthusiastic to see Harry. His nose was all fixed, as he was keen to point out.

"That's great Neville," Harry said. "Um . . . have you happened to see
Hermione today? Or Ron?"

"No, sorry Harry. I've only seen Draco Malfoy and his mum over in Madam
Malkin's."

Harry's brow furrowed in anger.

"I'm surprised he's even showing his face."

"He did look a bit . . . angry," said Neville. "But then again, he always does.
But he didn't look half as bad as his mum."

Harry tried to imagine what life must be like for Narcissa Malfoy at the moment. Then he
realised he didn't care.

"Sod the Malfoys."

"Yeah!"

Harry laughed at that. He was glad to see Neville more confident, even if it was only in
speaking ill of the Malfoy family. But at that moment he felt an intense pity and sympathy for
Neville; there was, Harry thought, a good chance that he would have been a naturally confident and
happy boy had his parents not suffered such a horrible fate.

"Me and Tonks are heading back to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, do you want to come?"
Harry asked.

"I can't, my Gran's waiting for me! Thanks for the offer though Harry . . .
I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure Neville, see you later."

Harry spent the rest of the day at the Leaky Cauldron with Tonks, chatting about all sorts of
things. She didn't bring their conversation about Hermione back up, which he was very glad of
indeed. It took him even longer to get to sleep that night.

*I'll definitely see her tomorrow, there's no way I can't . . . she has to be on
the train back to school . . .*

The sick, nervous feeling in his stomach was right with him up until when he finally dropped off
to sleep. However he was to find no comfort in his dreams, as he was haunted by the agonising sight
of his godfather falling into the mysterious veil again and again; each time it happened he would
run to stop it, pelting down the stone steps and flinging out his arms, each time growing closer
and closer but to no avail, Sirius' eyes would meet Harry's with a look of terror and then
he would be gone, disappearing behind the veil and gone forever. Then it wasn't Sirius falling
into the veil anymore, it was Hermione - and she was screaming in fear, yelling his name and
clutching for his outstretched hands, and for one tantalising moment their fingertips touched but
then she too was gone and all that remained was the veil, floating in some unseen breeze . . . and
then laughter, high, cold, cruel laughter that could only belong to one person . . .

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

He sat up suddenly in his bed, wide awake and clutching at his scar which burned with a terrible
agony. He was covered in cold sweat and the sick feeling had seemed to have doubled and spread
throughout his entire body. His scar had hurt so often but he would never be able to get used to
the pain of it, which was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. He realised he was crying,
sobbing wretchedly as he clutched at his forehead; the pain was leaving, but slowly. He shuddered
in fear as he got control of himself. Seeing Hermione fall like that . . . to think that he might
lose her . . .

*No,* he told himself shakily. *I won't let it happen.*

The door burst open then and Tonks came in, fully dressed and brandishing her wand.

"You all right Harry?" she said anxiously.

"Yeah," he replied, still shaky. "Yeah, I'm all right . . . just a nightmare
. . ."

He blinked away his tears and then found his glasses on the nightstand. It was very dark in the
room, and he looked at the window in wonder.

"What time is it?"

"It's just gone nine o'clock, I was just coming to wake you up when I heard you cry
out. You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay now . . . nine o'clock?"

"Yep," said Tonks. "Awful weather outside. Haven't seen clouds this black for
a good while now. You can't even see the sun!"

That was why it was so dark, Harry thought. He ran one hand through his hair sleepily and
stretched with the other.

"Well, as long as everything's okay," said Tonks. "I'll go tell them to
get some breakfast ready."

She left, and Harry tried to get himself together as best he could while he dressed. The
nightmare had chilled him deeply and he realised, with a sharp stab of pain in his heart, that
seeing Hermione fall into the veil - the thought of losing her - grieved him more than losing
Sirius ever would . . .

The Hogwarts Express gave a shrill blast of its whistle and a great jet of steam issued from the
scarlet engine's funnel. The stragglers were boarding the train as Harry and Tonks materialised
through the barrier and quickly made their way over to the train, dragging Harry's trunk behind
them.

"Damn this weather!" Tonks said, exasperated. "We almost missed it . . . how do
Muggles cope with rain like this?"

She and Harry were both soaked from the torrential downpour. She used her wand to blast hot air
out and quickly dried him out, before helping him lug his trunk to the nearest carriage. The porter
was walking down the platform, signalling the 'all aboard'.

"Listen Harry," she said. "You're safe at Hogwarts, and things are a bit
different from last year, but you still take care all right? We all need to keep our guard up . .
."

"I will Tonks, don't worry, and thanks for everything . . ."

"Oh, no problem Harry, my pleasure. I'll try to come and visit you all if I can, no
promises though."

"That'd be great, Tonks."

He was about to close the carriage door when she stopped him, holding it open.

"One more thing, Harry."

"What's that?"

Tonks grinned at him.

"Tell her!"

Harry blushed and, with a grin, shut the door. The train had begun to move and he offered a
final wave to her. Tonks waved back and then with a small *crack* she Disapparated.

He began to drag his trunk along, searching for a space among the carriages. They were packed
full to bursting, and he was forced all the way to very last carriage before finding room. The
weather was so bleak it felt like night-time still and the lamps on the train had been lit, giving
the compartments a cosy feeling. Harry came to the last compartment and found Lavender, Parvarti
and Padma Patil.

"Room for me?" he asked them, smiling.

"Hi Harry," Pavarti and Lavender chorused. Padma smiled friendily at him and he took
their response for a yes, so he heaved his trunk up onto the rack above and set Hedwig's cage
down on the seat next to him carefully. Parvarti and Padma had already begun a game of Exploding
Snap.

"How have you been, Harry?" Lavender asked.

"I've . . . been better, to be honest, Lavender."

She looked at him sympathetically. Harry wondered how much they knew . . . of course the
wizarding community was now well aware of Voldemort's return, and the three girls had all been
members of the DA and proved they had believed in Voldemort's return long ago, but he wondered
if any of his fellow students knew the exact details of what happened at the Ministry of Magic that
night . . . what had happened, who had been hurt, and who had been lost . . .

He could tell that they wanted to ask him loads of questions. Their game of Exploding Snap had
already been abandoned, and each of the girls were now watching him intently. He felt very awkward
indeed.

"Harry-" Parvarti began, but he cut her off.

"Listen," he told them, "I know you must want to ask loads of questions . . . I
don't blame you either, as I'd want to know what happened too, but I'm sure Dumbledore
will talk to the school about it and I'd rather you'd hear it from him. He'll be able
to tell you about it much better than me . . . and to be honest, I don't really want to talk
about it."

He expected some resentment at this, but to his surprise there was none.

"That's all right, Harry," said Lavender. "It's all been in the *Daily
Prophet* anyway but, well, it's not the same as hearing it from someone who was there, is
it?"

"Sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. This wasn't the usual irritating gossip that
Lavender and Pavarti seemed to thrive on, which he would normally be keen to ignore, but actually
really important stuff that he thought, really, that everyone should have a right to know. But he
had no desire to talk about it with them at that moment. The events re-played themselves in his
mind so often that he would rather avoid them as much as he could.

He was wondering just how he was going to steer the conversation around to something more
neutral when suddenly all the lamps in the compartment went out, plunging them into pitch darkness.
The three girls yelped, more in surprise than fear.

"What's going on?" Parvarti said.

"Well, I'd have thought it was quite obvious, but the lamps seem to have gone
out," said Padma.

"Very funny, sis."

It was so dark outside the window that they couldn't see anything, but Harry could still
feel the swaying and rattling of the carriage so it was obvious they hadn't stopped. He pulled
out his wand.

*"Lumos."*

The light from the tip of his wand illuminated Parvarti and Lavender's worried faces.

"Relax," Harry told them. "We've not long left the station, it can't be
anything serious. I'll go have a look."

He stepped out of the compartment, holding his wand high so that the light pierced as much of
the darkness as possible. He could hear a confused babble of voices; some sounded scared, others
laughing, some just plain puzzled. He could see other compartments lit with wand-light, and a few
heads were popping out of compartment doors to see what was going on. Behind him Lavender stuck her
head out, holding her own lit wand.

"Be careful, Harry!"

"It's only the lights, Lavender . . ."

"It could be . . . it could be You-Know-Who!"

Harry rolled his eyes and set off down the carriage; he greeted those people he knew who were
looking out of their compartments, and walked past others whose occupants didn't seem to care
about what was going on. He decided he'd better head towards the front of the train, as maybe
the driver or the witch who pushed the trolley might know what was going on. He entered the next
carriage and here there were no heads sticking out, all the compartments were filled with
wand-light and chatting voices - except one which was still pitch black. He opened the door of the
compartment and his wand's light immediately revealed a group of terrified looking first years,
who all shrank back from him in fear.

"It's all right," said Harry, "no-one's going to hurt you, they must be
just having a problem with the lamps . . . why are you sitting in the dark anyway?"

They didn't answer, so afraid were they.

"Oh of course, you won't even have learned *lumos* yet . . . well, stay here,
I'll go and find someone . . ."

He carried on and entered the third carriage; here there were more heads sticking out of
compartment doors.

"Heya Harry!" called Seamus Finnigan. "What d'ya reckon's happening
then?"

"Hi Seamus," Harry said as he passed. "I don't know, I'm off to find out
. . . all right, Neville?"

Neville's head had appeared next to Seamus's and he smiled weakly at Harry.

"It's a bit spooky, this," he said to Seamus as Harry moved on. "Last time
all the lights went out there were Dementors . . ."

Harry silently thanked Neville for giving him the thought of Dementors on board the train again
and pushed it out of his mind. He'd got a bit further down when he saw someone else approaching
but he couldn't see who it was as the light coming from their wand-tip was very bright and it
hurt his eyes slightly. He stopped and raised his free arm to shield his eyes, wondering who it
could be, and then a voice floated down the corridor to him . . . a voice that could only belong to
one person, a voice that made his stomach turn over and his heart flutter at the same time . . .
*her* voice.

*Hermione!*

"It's all right, everyone," Hermione was calling out as she passed each
compartment, "just a bit of a problem with the lamps, nothing to worry about . . ."

As she got closer she moved her wand and the light was no longer shining in his eyes; he could
see her now, peering in at each compartment she passed. She wore her Hogwarts robes, her silver
Prefect's badge twinkling in the wand-light, and her hair (still as bushy as ever) looked a
little longer perhaps, but it was the same Hermione. He grinned as he stood there watching her
approach.

*Of course it's the same Hermione,* he thought, *she won't have changed much in
two months . . . weird how it feels like it's been so much longer than that . . .*

Hermione turned away from the compartment nearest to her, apparently satisfied that everyone in
there was all right, and finally caught sight of him standing there with a huge grin on his
face.

"HARRY!"

Harry's heart leapt as she flat-out ran down the corridor and launched herself into his
arms. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight to him. There was no need for
either of them to say anything; Harry felt her arms round his neck and he revelled in her embrace,
feeling the warmth and softness of her body against his, smelling the faint flowery smell of
whatever shampoo she had used on her hair, marvelling at the sheer pleasure that the simple feeling
of her cheek against as own brought as they hugged.

"I've missed you," he said.

"I've missed you too," she told him, and then gave him a kiss on the cheek as they
broke apart. He took her in; her brown eyes seemed to sparkle in the wand-light and she looked even
more beautiful than he remembered, if that was possible. She was beaming with pleasure, and Harry
felt a touch of pride (and hope) that it was meeting him that had brought her such delight.

"How was Privet Drive?" she asked, becoming more serious.

"Awful, but I wouldn't expect it be anything other than that."

"I'm *so* sorry that I didn't write you more than I did, I felt awful with you
all there on your own and Ron wrote and told me that you weren't allowed to go and see him and
Ginny, that was really bad but I'm sure there's a good reason for it Harry, and-"

"It's all right, Hermione, don't worry about it!" he told her, smiling.

*Why was I so worried about talking to her?* he thought to himself. *Where have all those
nerves gone?*

"It was boring mostly, to tell the truth. I basically just sat in my bedroom for two
months."

"Oh, Harry . . ."

"Bet you weren't as bored as me," said another familiar voice, and Harry broke out
into another smile as Ron came up behind Hermione carrying his own lit wand. He and Harry clapped
each other on the back good-naturedly in way of greeting. Ron had grown again, as he always seemed
to do over the summer, and now he was positively lanky. He couldn't outgrow his freckles
though. His trademark Weasley red hair had been cropped quite short which, Ron informed him later,
was "all the rage".

"I bet you I was," Harry said. "At least you got to play Quidditch!"

"Yeah, well . . . couldn't go much higher than ten feet though could I? Really puts a
dampener on your game."

"Not to mention Ginny scoring past you all the time," Hermione said teasingly.

"Shut up, Hermione."

Harry laughed. He was so glad to be back in the company of his friends.

"So what's going on with the lamps?"

"Oh, well, it's quite embarrassing actually," said Hermione. "The lamps
aren't magical, you see? They run off normal Muggle gas."

"And the berks only forgot to fill up didn't they?" Ron finished.
"There's none left on the train, so until they come up with something we're supposed
to go and check that everyone's all right and . . oh Merlin, the first years!"

Realisation seemed to have dawned on his face.

"We're supposed to find all the first years, see, 'cause they won't have any
way of making light."

"But they're all over the place," said Hermione. "There's no organisation
to this train, honestly . . ."

"We've found all but one group of them," said Ron.

"They're back down there," Harry told him. "In the next carriage. They looked
a bit . . ."

"Scared?"

"Terrified."

Ron swore.

"Bloody pests, we're already having to look after them . . . sometimes I don't like
being a Prefect."

He stomped off down the corridor. As he passed one compartment a grinning Seamus stuck his head
out again:

"Hey Ron! You're a Prefect, come here and tell Ginny and Dean to stop snogging in front
of us!"

Harry and Hermione both laughed at Ron's roar of rage, but he carried on into the next
carriage towards the scared first years. Harry turned back to her and found himself content to just
look at her. All of the panic and nervousness he had been feeling for the last few days seemed to
have gone and he couldn't figure out why, but then a voice inside his head spoke to him. It was
what he had grown to think of as his voice of reason and it had often spoke to him in
Hermione's voice. It sounded just like his own this time, but there was no denying it was the
same one.

*Because it's Hermione,* the voice told him. *She's one of your best friends, and
there's no need for you to feel nervous around her.*

Of course there wasn't, Harry thought to himself. Why had he got himself so worked up?

"Harry, are you all right?"

She was looking at him with concern, although there was still a small, somewhat shy-looking
smile on her face. He'd obviously drifted off in his thoughts for a moment.

"Sorry Hermione, I'm fine, I was just thinking that's all."

He found himself wanting very badly to tell her how he felt at that moment, while the nerves
were still nowhere to be found. But no, he thought, this isn't the time or place. Not in a
dark, rattling train carriage with all his schoolmates near them and Ron no doubt about to
re-appear at any moment. He didn't know when the perfect opportunity would present itself, if
it would at all, but this definitely wasn't it.

"Shall we find somewhere to sit down?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, good idea, you can tell me all about America! Can we go into the Prefect's
carriage? I've always wondered what that's like."

"Um, that's not such a good idea," she said.

"Why? I'm not allowed?"

"No, it's not that, we're allowed to invite other students in, it's just . .
."

"What, Hermione?"

"Malfoy's in there."

Harry's brow creased in anger.

"The little weasel isn't lifting a finger to help, either," Hermione said
crossly.

"We'll go back to my compartment then, I'm in there with Pavarti and Lavender and
Padma Patil."

"Okay then, let's go find Ron. I hope he hasn't frightened those first years even
more . . ."



4. Ron
------

Chapter 4 - Ron's Reaction

Hermione and Ron stayed with them for most of the journey to Hogwarts; they had to leave
occasionally to patrol the carriages but even Hermione didn't seem very eager to do so (much to
Harry's surprise), so they were only gone a few minutes each time. The cheery witch who pushed
the trolley came round passing out small magical lanterns and apologies for the darkness. None of
them minded much, particularly Harry. He was enjoying being back in the company of his friends far
too much. He was glad that no-one mentioned Voldemort or what had happened, instead they talked
mostly about their OWL results and what subjects they would be taking at NEWT level. Harry had
almost forgotten about his results, which he had read and accepted rather on automatic pilot during
his second week at Privet Drive. He could remember sending Hedwig off with his reply to the school
now, but his thoughts had been elsewhere . . .

"But that's brilliant, Harry!" Hermione was saying. "Mostly 'E's is
fantastic, you can pretty much pick any subject you want . . ."

"What did you get in yours, Hermione?" he asked, although he was pretty sure he could
guess the answer.

"Here's a clue," said Ron, opening his mouth in a wide 'O' shape like a
fish. Hermione hit him on the arm but her cheeks had gone quite pink.

"Almost all 'O's" she said, looking both proud and embarrassed at the same
time. "I did get an 'E' in Astronomy, though."

"Oh no," said Ron, mock-disappointed.

"We got 'O's in Astronomy," said Parvarti.

"Yeah," agreed Lavender. "It goes hand in hand with Divination, so we knew we had
to work hard at it."

"That's a point," said Ron. "Harry, what did you get in Divination
mate?"

"Um . . . I got a 'P' . . ." he said with a grin, and Ron gave him a nod that
was unmistakably "me too".

"You shouldn't really be proud of it," said Hermione, rather crossly.

Her stern look only made them grin even more.

"Hey, it's not like we didn't try," said Ron. "We even managed to get
some 'O's too - well, I only got one for Care Of Magical Creatures, but I bet Harry got one
for Defence Against The Dark Arts too?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "And, um, I got one in Charms too."

"Really? Well done mate!"

"Thanks."

Harry could feel the blush rising on his cheeks now too. Hermione was looking particularly
pleased at this news and her smile was making him feel all tingly again. He sat back in his chair
and was happy enough to listen for a while as his friends chatted: Hermione was asking Padma what
she thought their Arithmancy course would be like, and Ron was happily telling Parvarti and
Lavender about how he and Harry were planning on becoming Aurors. Harry's gaze kept coming back
to rest on Hermione, watching as she happily talked with Padma, seeing the twinkle in her eyes that
shone whenever she was excited about something. He knew he had to be careful not to stare too much
as, after all, he was sharing a carriage with Hogwarts' two biggest gossips. He thought he was
doing quite well; no-one seemed to find his quietness strange, and he happily spoke to them when
they addressed him, but then just after he been speaking with Hermione about the fantastic owl
she'd used to send him the letter from Salem he happened to glance at Padma and she gave him a
rather knowing smile. Harry at once felt a jolt of panic and it must have showed; her smile
softened and then he understood. She wasn't going to say anything.

*Padma knows*, Harry thought. *I hardly ever see her to talk to her, but in the time
we've been in the carriage together she's figured it out. How long have I got before Ron
figures it out? Before Hermione does?*

The train sped on, bringing them closer to Hogwarts and their sixth year of magical learning.
Harry stared out of the window into the darkness for a while, watching the rain as it splattered
against the glass. His mind was a turmoil once more. This year was going to bring so much change,
he could feel it. Voldemort wouldn't stay dormant for much longer. Even if it wasn't an
attack against Harry himself, he would strike somewhere and make his presence felt soon. It would
be hard to concentrate on his NEWT studies, knowing that he was out there somewhere, growing
stronger by the day. And then of course, there was Hermione . . . telling her how he felt would be
risking it all. She might, as his heart hoped beyond all hope, return his feelings. On the other
hand, it could shock and scare her. Could their friendship survive such a blow? Was it worth that
risk?

He looked away from the window and was surprised to see Hermione quickly look away from him, her
cheeks turning pink again. Harry was shocked.

*Was she just . . ?*

She had been staring at him. And now she was embarrassed at being caught. Harry felt a surge of
joy and hope - maybe there was a chance after all, that she might feel something for him . . .

He knew then that it was worth the risk.

"We'd better go check on those first years again, Hermione," Ron said, sounding
like it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Okay."

She gave Harry a rather shy, quick smile as she left the compartment. Ron followed her, and as
Harry watched his friends red hair vanish through the door he felt a stab of guilt. He would have
to tell Ron, and it would have to be soon.

Two weeks passed before Harry was finally able to take the plunge and talk to Ron. For the first
few days he was kept occupied with the task of adjusting to the new school year: there was no
denying that his NEWT subjects were harder than ever, and there were additional things consuming
his time - they had begun studying Apparition, something which Harry was keen to learn but was
dismayed to find out would take the entire year to cover, and there was something else which caught
him completely by surprise. He was summoned to Professor McGonagall's office on the second day
of term, and after inviting him to sit down she handed him a small, golden pin which featured a
Golden Snitch in front of two crossed broomsticks.

"This is an additional responsibility that Professor Dumbledore and I both agreed you might
enjoy," she told him with a warm smile. Harry kept looking from the pin to McGonagall and back
to the pin again, not knowing quite what to say.

"Professor, I . . . thank you . . ."

*Quidditch Captain.*

"You're welcome, Mr Potter. I trust that the Quidditch Cup will be remaining in my
office for another year?"

Harry smiled.

"You can count on it."

Ron had slapped him on the back admirably when he'd shown it to him ("Knew you'd
get it mate!") and Hermione had treated him to another hug which he was reluctant to end.
Being Quidditch Captain had filled him with pride, but it also came with a lot of time-consuming
responsibility. He had to start planning their training sessions, and with the departure of Fred,
George and Angelina the Gryffindor team was two Beaters and one Chaser short, so he would have to
organise tryouts as well . . .

And then there was his talk with Professor Dumbledore. Almost a week after their return to
Hogwarts Harry was summoned to the Headmaster's office in the evening. Dumbledore inclined his
head in a slow nod as Harry entered his office and sat down.

"Ah, Harry . . . I expect you have been waiting for this moment?"

"Well, yes Professor, I can't say that I haven't - there's so much I need to
ask you . . ."

"And I shall answer your questions Harry, as best as I can. But first I must ask that you
listen to what I have to say . . . I know that you are still hurting from Sirius's death, and
are still angry with me for the burden I have laid upon you with the prophecy, and because of that
the time you spent at Privet Drive this summer must have been a trying one. I will try to explain
to you why I requested that you remain there for the entire summer period, and why you were unable
to meet your friends."

Harry listened expectantly.

"Have you been continuing your efforts at Occlumency?" Dumbledore asked.

"No."

"I see," Dumbledore said rather sadly. "Well Harry, I am sorry to tell you that
you must resume your lessons with Professor Snape. It is imperative that you learn to close your
mind from Voldemort."

"But Professor, there hasn't been anything! I haven't felt a twinge from Voldemort
since-"

"Since the night he possessed you in the Department of Mysteries?"

Dumbledore's words stopped the anger that had been rising in Harry.

"I daresay that since that night Voldemort has been busy with other matters . . . now that
the wizarding world is aware of his return, I am sure he is concentrating on building up his
forces. However, he will turn his attention back to you Harry. It is inevitable. If you cannot
learn Occlumency Voldemort will be able to possess you again, and he will learn everything about
you. He will use any means to get to you, including those who you hold dearest."

Dumbledore's eyes were piercing over his half-moon spectacles as he stared at Harry
intently, and Harry felt a sense of understanding between them. *Those he held dearest . .
.*

"He will use any means to destroy you, Harry. He will hurt or kill those that you care for
. . . those that you love . . . and if he cannot hurt you physically, well . . . there are other
ways to destroy a wizard. Do you remember what it felt like when he possessed you, Harry?"

Harry shuddered and spoke quietly.

"I couldn't do anything . . . he wanted to kill you, and because he wanted to it felt
like *I* wanted to as well . . . I wouldn't have been able to stop him."

"Can you imagine what you would feel like if you were again possessed by Voldemort and he
made you kill someone you care for? If he made you kill Mr Weasley? Or Miss Granger?"

Harry visibly flinched at the thought of hurting Hermione.

"You see why you could not see your friends over the summer, Harry," Dumbledore said
with a sigh of regret. "Here at Hogwarts it is, at least, a bit safer as there are many around
who would be able to stop you should something happen. But if you had stayed with them during the
summer, with hardly anyone around to protect you . . ."

"It might've happened," Harry said, scared to the very soul. "He might've
made me kill Hermione . . . or Ron."

"You have every right to still be angry with me, Harry. I will answer any questions that
you have now, but first let me tell you one more thing. Now, more than ever, is the time for us all
to be truthful with one another. Secrets are weapons that can be used against us and against those
we love. Tell your friends about the Prophecy, Harry. Let those you know, *and those you
love,* know exactly what they mean to you."

He rested back in his chair with his hands folded together. Harry was silent, awash with the
turmoil Dumbledore's words had brought. He was right, as he always was. He didn't have any
questions anymore.

And so a week had passed since his talk with Dumbledore, and Harry had spent a great deal of
time quiet and absorbed in his thoughts. Ron and Hermione had both been worried about him and could
do nothing to make him tell them what was wrong; it hurt Harry to see his friends so concerned for
him, but he had to make sense of things properly before he could begin to tell them everything that
needed to be told. Everything was pressing down on him uncomfortably: his studies, organising
quidditch tryouts and training (which took a lot more work than Harry thought it would, and made
him wonder how Angelina and Oliver had managed it before), the prospect of more time in the company
of Snape renewing the Occlumency training . . . and of course, Hermione. She occupied his thoughts
more than anything. Even when she was there with him, he still thought about her. All the things he
wanted to do, all the things he wanted to say, all the feelings that he knew were going to drive
him crazy if he didn't reveal them soon. He thought he was doing a good job of hiding them
though; of the times they'd been alone together, mostly working in the library or sitting near
the fire in the common room, they'd talked, laughed and joked together as they had for the last
five years. There was no tension, no unease in being around her by himself . . . until something
happened, as it always would. It would be something small, such as his hand accidentally brushing
hers - something that had happened countless times in the past - and a jolt of what seemed like
electricity would run through him and all his nerves and worry would come flooding back. What if
she says no? What if it makes her hate me?

And so the night came when he could finally stand it no more. Harry knew that he needed to tell
Hermione how he felt, and that he needed to tell her soon. But before he could do that, he needed
to tell Ron. Outside the castle a storm was raging, and the common room was full of eager
Gryffindors letting off steam. Hermione had departed to the library - no surprise there.

"See you later, Harry," she said with a smile as she brushed past so close to him he
could smell the apple and cinnamon of her hair. He felt rather light-headed as he said goodbye and
turned to Ron, more resolved than ever. He managed to persuade him to a game of wizard's chess
up in their dormitory.

"Why not here?" asked Ron. "It's lovely and warm by the fire."

"Um . . . it's too crowded, and I need to concentrate. I've been working on my
game, see, and I think I'm finally going to beat you Weasley."

Ron gave him a broad grin.

"Oh is that right, Potter? Well, we'll see about that!"

They were on their third game. To Harry's dismay he had lost the first in record time and
Ron was all ready to go back to the common room before he could even begin to broach the subject of
Hermione, but he succumbed to the temptation of a second game and to Harry's own surprise he
almost fought Ron to a draw. Ron was so impressed that, despite winning, he went on for a third
game. Ron had been munching his way through a large box of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans
and throughout their games the boys had talked about a number of things: quidditch, hating Snape,
the amount of work NEWT levels required, hating Snape, whether they could actually try and break
the enchantment stopping anyone Apparating in the castle, and hating Snape. Harry also thought to
throw in some good-natured ribbing about Luna Lovegood, who had taken to joining them at the
Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and following Ron along the corridors. Ron's face had turned
almost the same colour of his hair and he told Harry to "Shut it"; Harry's laughter
brought him a handful of Every-Flavour Beans aimed at his face.

"Oi, watch it!" Harry said, holding up a green bean. "That was a sprout one, it
could have gone in my mouth!"

"That was the general idea, Captain," Ron replied with a grin, and concentrated on the
chessboard.

Harry's grin faded as he inwardly steeled himself.

"Um, listen, Ron . . . there's something I need to talk to you about."

"What's up, mate?" Ron didn't pick up on the tone of Harry's voice and
continued to frown at the chessboard as he took another handful of beans . . . Harry's King was
vulnerable, but he hadn't seemed to have noticed . . .

"Well . . . it's about Hermione."

Ron spat out a bean with a look of horror on his face. Harry gulped; how could he have known
just from that?

"Ergh, I swear that one was haggis!"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but then frowned in curiosity.

"When have you ever eaten haggis?"

"Dad persuaded Mum to do some Muggle cooking once, you know, like traditional Muggle
dishes? Of all the things he had to pick . . ."

Harry laughed at the thought of it.

"So what about Hermione?" Ron asked, sounding perfectly normal as he inspected the
other beans in his hand for suspicious-looking flavours. Harry's laughter died and he swallowed
nervously.

"Well . . . lately I've been . . . no, it's been a lot longer than just lately,
actually . . . I've been having, well, feelings for her."

Ron was now looking at Harry with one eyebrow raised, as if trying to work out some complex
Potions formula.

"What kind of . . . feelings?" he asked warily.

"More than friendly feelings," Harry answered, his eyes not leaving Ron's. Ron
held his gaze for a long time, and Harry was unable to work out what Ron was thinking. His
expression was unreadable.

"I see."

It wasn't the response Harry had been hoping for.

"Is that all you're going to say?" he asked.

"What else do you want me to say?" Ron replied, quite blunty.

"I don't know," Harry said, gesticulating with his arms, "how about whether
you think I have any chance with her? Or what you feel about it?"

Ron was looking down at the chessboard again. He moved one of his pieces thoughtfully.

"Ron?"

"Have you told her yet?" Ron asked.

"Um, no, I haven't . . ."

"And why haven't you?"

"I wanted to tell you first - I *needed* to tell you first, mate."

"Why?" Ron said, anger beginning to become audible in his voice. "So you could
ask for my *permission?*"

"Well . . . yes. And no."

Ron started, surprised by Harry's reply. The anger that had begun to rise quickly subsided
again.

"What do you mean?

Harry looked down at the chessboard and made his move; for some reason he felt that it would be
easier to keep Ron talking about this if they continued the game.

"There can't be anymore secrets between us, Ron. I think you like Hermione
too."

Harry watched his best friend carefully for his reaction. And there it was: Ron looked up at him
with unmistakable pain in his eyes.

"OK . . . I do like Hermione too. I've liked her for a long time."

"Then why haven't you told her that?"

"I don’t know," said Ron, looking at the chessboard once again. "I've been
too afraid, I suppose. I don't get girls."

He moved a piece.

"So you like her too?"

"It's more than that, Ron . . . I'm . . . in love with her."

Ron's eyes widened slightly and his intake of breath was sharp. The pain was evident in his
eyes again, but Harry could see the anger returning.

"In a way, I want to ask your permission. I want to know if you'll be okay with me
telling Hermione how I feel, and if you'll be okay with the possibility of her feeling
something in return for me."

Harry moved his rook.

"No. I'm not okay with it."

Ron got up from the bed and crossed over to the window. He stared out at the falling rain for a
moment, and Harry could see him visibly shaking. He instinctively knew what was coming, and braced
himself for his friend's rage.

"WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE HER, HARRY?"

"Ron, I-"

"JUST TELL ME! TELL ME WHY! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO SPOIL EVERYTHING FOR ME?"

Harry was worried that all of Gryffindor Tower would be able to hear Ron's bellowing.

"Ron, we can't help who we have feelings for, none of us can. We can't help who we
fall in love with!"

"But why Hermione?" Ron cried, not caring for Harry's explanation. "You could
have your pick of any of the girls in Hogwarts, you know you could! You have to go and fall for the
one girl that I care for! THE ONE GIRL THAT I'VE PICTURED MYSELF BEING HAPPY WITH!"

Harry had stood himself now and approached Ron slowly, holding his hands out in peace. Ron's
face had gone almost as red as his hair again.

"Ron, I would never intentionally hurt you, you know that . . ."

Harry braced himself for the brunt of Ron's next outburst, but it didn't come. He felt a
great sorrow wash over him as he saw Ron's anger fade into pure, exquisite pain. His eyes were
shiny, and Harry was pretty sure he was on the verge of tears.

*Please don't cry Ron,* he thought, *or I'm going to start too.*

"Well nice bloody try," Ron said emotionally.

He walked back over to the window and looked out at the rain again. Harry took another few
cautious steps towards him.

"Ron, please talk to me."

Lightning flickered outside the window, and was soon followed by a loud rumble of thunder.

"I really, *really* like her, Harry . . . I know we argue a lot. Merlin, there are
times when that girl annoys me more than even Umbridge used to . . ."

Harry took another step forward and now Ron turned to face him again. His face had gone quite
pale, but the shininess in his eyes was still there.

"But there are times, Harry, when I'm with her and she makes me feel so special . . .
she makes me feel important, Harry. I know that we could be good together. I know that she could be
the right girlfriend!"

"Ron . . ."

"Please don't take that away from me, Harry! I know that I've been jealous of you
in the past, for being famous and better at quidditch and stuff like that, stuff that you can't
help. I realised that, I know I've been stupid about it. But this is something you have a
choice in, Harry. Please . . . don't take her away from me."

Harry felt his heart break for his friend. He felt awful for he was about to say, but he knew he
had to say it.

"Ron . . . I can't take away something that you don't have."

Harry winced inwardly as Ron closed his eyes, looking as if he'd just taken a Bludger to the
chest.

"I know that's an awful thing to say, and I'm sorry, please believe me that I'm
sorry, but it's true. Hermione's not your girlfriend."

Harry now turned away himself and walked to the foot of his bed, where he stared at the
chessboard. Only a few pieces remained.

"I love her, Ron, and it's something that I can't suppress any longer. I have to
tell her how I feel, and I need to know if there's any chance she might feel something back for
me. It's my only chance . . ."

He spoke these last words quietly, but Ron heard them and approached him quietly.

"What do you mean, it's your only chance?"

Harry sighed and hung his head. He hadn't wanted it to come down to this; it would sound
like the most unfair excuse in history.

"Ron . . . the weapon that Voldemort was searching for in the Department of Mysteries was a
prophecy, one that was about me and him. It was in the crystal ball we found, but it got smashed
during the fight. I know what the prophecy said though, as Dumbledore is the one it was told
too."

He turned around and looked at his best friend. The hurt was still there, but now there was
puzzlement and curiosity as well.

*"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,"* Harry said,
speaking words that had been seemingly burnt into his memory. *"Born to those who have
thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his
equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the
other for neither can live while the other survives . . . the one with the power to vanquish the
Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."*

Ron's mouth was opening and closing like a fish.

"That means . . ."

"I have to kill him, Ron. If I don't kill him, he's going to kill me. *Neither
can live while the other survives."*

Harry removed his glasses for a moment and closed his eyes, rubbing one hand over his forehead
and tracing the familiar lightning-bolt shape of his scar.

"I don't know how much time I have. Sooner or later, Voldemort is going to come for me.
I'm supposed to be the only one who can stop him, but . . . I don't know. I've had to
face up to the fact that I may not be around for much longer."

He looked Ron straight in the eye as he spoke his next words.

"I love her, Ron, more than anything. Until I came to this world I didn't even know
that happiness even existed. I've found acceptance here."

He reached out and grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've found friendship here. You're the best friend I could ever have hoped for,
and you always will be."

A smile broke the corner of Ron's mouth.

"But most of all, I've found love. I've found someone that I know that I could be
happy with. You and Hermione are the most important things in my life, but I've realised now
that I need Hermione to be important for a different reason."

Ron walked over to stand next to him and looked down at the chessboard. Harry could see a
whirlwind of emotions running across his face, as he processed everything. He reached down and
moved his piece.

"I'm sorry if it's going to hurt you, Ron, but I'm going to tell Hermione how I
feel. I don't know what's going to happen. She might get scared and freaked out and not
want to be my friend anymore. But there may be a chance that she'll say the same thing back to
me."

Harry looked at Ron, who was still staring at the chessboard, and spoke with every bit of
emotion unhidden, finally freed.

"I may die soon . . . and if there's a chance for me to be happy before that happens,
then I'm going to take it."

Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he saw that Ron's eyes were shining with tears
once again. Ron closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment.

"I know you are, Harry," he said softly.

Head down, he left the room without another word. Harry sighed, feeling possibly the worst he
had ever felt in his life. He looked down at the chessboard and moved his rook once more; he
watched with no satisfaction as it clubbed Ron's king and the tiny little crown fell from
it's head and rolled away.

"Checkmate," Harry said sadly.



5. What Could Be
----------------

Chapter 5 - What Could Be

Harry was filled with dread as he dressed the next morning. He'd waited for Ron to return
but fallen asleep; Ron's bed was still empty that morning but it looked slept in so Harry
assumed he must have already gone to breakfast. It was Sunday; the room was filled by the sound of
Seamus, Dean and Neville's snores as Harry finished pulling on a sweatshirt and put on his
glasses. Normally he and Ron would both still be asleep at this time too but of course, things were
different now. Harry left the dormitory and made his way slowly down the stairs to the Common Room.
He wasn't worried about actually seeing Ron, but rather what Ron would be like when he saw him.
Would he even speak to him?

He entered the Common Room and found it empty, or so he thought at first - a figure rose from an
armchair near the fire and Harry smiled. He wasn't surprised to see her there.

"Harry, what's wrong with Ron?" Hermione asked as he walked over to her.

"What did he say?" Harry asked her back.

"Not a lot," said Hermione. She was looking at Harry not with anger but with concern.
"I was coming back from the Prefect's bathroom when I saw him, I was a bit surprised as
you're both normally still in bed at this time of the morning . . ."

She said this a bit teasingly and Harry offered her a sarcastic grin.

"He looked awful, Harry. I don't think I've ever seen him so upset, not even when,
well, when you two weren't speaking during the Triwizard Tournament. I asked him what was wrong
but he wouldn't even look me in the eye, he just mumbled something like 'ask Harry' and
vanished through the portrait hole. I would have followed him but, well, I was only in my dressing
gown and slippers so I couldn't go wandering down to the Great Hall like that . . ."

Harry blushed at the thought of Hermione only wearing her dressing gown but then quickly pushed
it away. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her rather sheepishly.

"Um, well . . . it's kind of my fault . . ."

"Oh, Harry, don't tell me you two have had another silly argument?"

"Well, yes . . . no . . . sort of."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed; she took Harry by the arm and he allowed himself to be
shepherded towards the portrait hole.

"You can tell me about it over breakfast," Hermione said. "I'm
starving."

Hermione nibbled at her toast and looked Harry in the eye questioningly; Harry felt very guilty
as he played with his bowl of porridge, feeling hungry but unable to eat.

"So what did you argue about?"

Harry took a few moments to answer, feeling even more guilty about the concern in her beautiful
brown eyes.

"It's . . . complicated, Hermione. And it wasn't really an argument, Ron did all
the shouting."

"But why?"

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I can't tell you."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me? It's *me,* Harry. You know you can tell
me anything."

"I know that, Hermione, I really do . . ." for a moment Harry started to reach out one
hand to cover her own but quickly stopped when he realised what he was doing, looking down at his
porridge again to hide his blush. He missed the quick smile that blossomed across Hermione's
face; her questioning look had returned when he met her gaze once more.

"It's just, well, I don't really know how to say it but it's kind of . . . guy
stuff."

Hermione raised both eyebrows at him and Harry nodded his head admittedly.

"I know, I know," Harry said. "Not exactly the usual topic of conversation
between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

"Not one that normally makes Ron upset at any rate," said Hermione, buttering another
slice of toast. Harry pushed his bowl of porridge away and curled his hands around his mug of
tea.

"I'm sorry that I can't tell you it all, Hermione. Let me just put it the best way
that I can."

He looked at her again, almost losing his control as he tried to stop himself becoming lost in
the two chocolately pools that stared back at him, and tried to think how best to explain what had
happened to her. He glanced down the Gryffindor table at Ron, who was sitting with Ginny and
pointedly avoiding looking at either of them.

"I spoke to Ron about something . . . personal, something that effects the both of us, and
he didn't like what I told him. I'm not angry at Ron at all, please believe me when I tell
you that. He's the one who's upset with me and I guess that I deserve it. I want to speak
to him but, well, it looks like he doesn’t want to talk to me at the moment."

He watched for Hermione's reaction. She held his gaze and he knew she was thinking about
what he'd just said; he thought he'd explained it as best he could without coming right out
and telling her the total truth.

"I'm sure he'll come around, Harry," she said finally. "I wish you'd
tell me why though."

"It's nothing personal Hermione, I promise. I just . . . can't tell you this.
Please don't be mad."

*Or at least, I can't tell you yet . . . not here, not now . . .*

"It's all right, Harry, I understand."

Harry still felt incredibly guilty as she turned the conversation to other matters as they
finished their breakfast. He kept glancing over at Ron now and again, trying to catch his other
best friend's eye, but to no avail.

"Harry?"

He started, coming back from his thoughts.

"Sorry."

She smiled at him, sending a rather pleasant tingly feeling along his spine.

"Come on, we've got that Transfiguration homework to get started on. Human
transfiguration is a lot more difficult than anything else we've done."

"I somehow doubt it'll be much of a problem for you," he said teasingly as they
got up to leave, earning him a playful slap on the arm.

"Then you're rather lucky to have me aren't you Mr Potter?"

He grinned at her, which earned him another tingle-inducing smile.

*More than you know, Hermione* he thought. *More than you know.*

Harry frowned for what seemed like the millionth time as he looked at another complex diagram in
his Transfiguration book; he was beginning to think that he would never understand human
transfiguration. Hermione had been right, it was indeed harder than anything they'd studied
before. Harry was also finding it quite hard to concentrate as Hermione had sat right next to him
at their usual table in the Common Room - he couldn't help but think that she was sitting a lot
closer than usual - and she kept leaning over to look at what he had written or to examine a part
of their shared textbook in detail. Every time she did this her hair would brush his hand and he
would be overwhelmed by the scent of her - he didn't know if she was wearing perfume or not but
there was vanilla in there somewhere - and most of all he would feel electrified by their
closeness.

"I'm not getting this," he said finally, rubbing one hand over his temple.
"It's too hard."

"Don't be silly," Hermione told him, her eyes not leaving the diagram as she
scribbled something on her parchment. "You can do this, Harry."

"I don't see why anyone would want to turn themselves into a giraffe anyway."

"I don't know, it could be great for fancy dress parties."

Harry smiled weakly when he realised a grinning Hermione had tried to make a joke. It was the
only thing apart from Wizard's Chess that she wasn't very good at. Her grin faded as she
saw the weary expression behind his smile, and she gave him a look of soft concern.

"What's wrong, Harry? And not just this thing with Ron, whatever that is, I know
it's something else too. You've been so quiet all week . . . is it . . . is it
Sirius?"

Harry smiled sadly at her.

"No, it's not Sirius . . . although I do miss him a lot. It still hurts to think about
him, but no, there's been something else on my mind a lot lately . . ."

He gulped inwardly. Was he about to tell her? Right here in the crowded Common Room?

"What is it?" Hermione asked sincerely.

He knew he should tell her. He knew she needed to know about the prophecy too. But not here.

"Will you come for a walk with me? To the lake? I promise I'll tell you what's been
on my mind. I'll tell you . . . everything."

*Everything. Yes, it's time.*

"Let's go," was all she said.

They started gathering up their things when Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry's arm.

"Oh, do you mind if I quickly speak to Ron first?" she asked, sounding rather guilty.
"I just want to check that he's OK . . ."

"Of course, I'll just take my books up to the dormitory."

Harry packed up slowly and watched as Hermione made her way over to Ron, who was sitting with
Ginny, Dean and Seamus and also looking quite bewildered at his Transfiguration book. When she
tapped him lightly on the shoulder Harry turned away and headed up to his dormitory to deposit his
books. The nervous fear that had plagued him during the summer was beginning to return, coupled
with a rather strange excitement at knowing he was finally going to tell her. He also felt a rather
mellow sort of sadness.

*If the worst happens when I tell her,* he thought, *that was probably our last moment of
true friendship.*

He pushed the thought away. He didn't want to think about that.

It was a peaceful day outside after the brutality of the storm the previous night. Pale sunlight
filtered down through watery clouds and a pleasant breeze blew in over the still lake; the Giant
Squid was nowhere to be seen but Harry could make out the distant yellow specks of the Hufflepuff
Quidditch team zooming around the far-away pitch. Hermione walked alongside him; they hadn't
spoken since leaving the Common Room, but they both knew where they were headed - a solitary tree
on the far side of the lake, not far from where Harry had once so spectacularly cast the Patronus
Charm, that they often stopped and sat under during their walks together. There were surprisingly
little other students out on the Hogwarts grounds, and for this Harry was grateful. He didn't
want any interruptions. This had to be a moment for just the two of them.

He finally spoke when they were nearing the tree.

"So . . . what did Ron say to you?"

"Not much," Hermione replied. "I get the feeling that he didn't really want
to talk to me, either."

Harry felt another pang of guilt at this.

"Sorry. That's probably my fault too."

"Of course it isn't, if Ron wants to take his feelings about you out on everyone else
that's his decision. I don't think he's told Ginny what's bothering him either
though, she looked rather exasperated with him."

"Moody git."

"Harry!"

"Sorry. Couldn't resist."

Hermione grinned but still chastised him.

"Yes he is a moody git," she said, "but apparently a certain Gryffindor Quidditch
Captain is the reason he's *being* a moody git at moment . . ."

Harry sighed and nodded.

"You're right, I shouldn't make a joke out of it. It's my fault."

He felt her hand brush his arm in sympathy. Her touch made him feel slightly giddy, like
he'd taken a Pepper-Up Potion.

"I'm sure it can't be that bad," she offered, but Harry could detect the
uncertainty in her voice. He knew that for all Hermione knew it *could* be that bad.

They reached the tree. The grass was still a bit damp even now because of the pale sun, so Harry
conjured a thick woollen blanket with his wand for them to sit on. Once they were seated silence
depended on them once more. He knew that she was waiting for him to begin, but he was content to
wait a few moments and just enjoy being there with her. In the distance smoke was curling lazily
upwards from the chimney of Hagrid's hut; somewhere overhead a bird called, and the grass
whispered gently as the breeze blew through it. And she sat there, cross legged and waiting. Giving
him her full attention, those beautiful brown orbs locked on him and registering nothing else. He
decided that was another thing he loved about her.

Sighing once again, he turned to face her. All of the panic, all of the nervousness, all the
fear and worry and doubts had returned. The hollow sickness was floating around there somewhere
too. But he ignored them all when he looked into her eyes. This was his and Hermione's place,
his and Hermione's moment, and he had waited too long to be stopped by those awful
feelings.

"There's so much that I need to tell you. So much that I need to say. And to be honest,
I really don't know how to start."

Hermione's head tilted slightly as she smiled softly at him.

"Start however you'd like, Harry. I'm not going anywhere."

Harry smiled at that. It made him feel better. He looked out to the calm waters of the lake.

"I know that I haven't spoken to you or Ron about Sirius . . . I'm grateful that
neither of you have asked. I wouldn't have been able to give you an answer about any of it.
There was too much going on . . . too much hurt . . ."

He ran one hand through his hair.

"I didn't want to believe that he was gone at first . . . it's stupid, I know . .
."

"No it’s not," Hermione said. "Don't think that."

"Well, I felt stupid afterwards anyway. Sirius gave me this mirror and I forgot all about
it, it was supposed to let us both communicate with each other whenever we wanted. I only found it
after . . . he died. After it didn't work the first time I got upset and smashed it, that was
still here at Hogwarts. But I did a *reparo* charm not long after . . . I thought there might
be still be a chance for it to work. I think I spent most of the first weeks at Privet Drive saying
his name into that mirror. It only made things worse, looking back now."

Harry stole a glance at Hermione before going on.

"Most of those two weeks I don't know what I was doing . . . I cried a lot. It hurt so
much."

He stared fixedly across the lake.

"Sirius was the closest I could've ever got to my parents. I know that Remus is still
here, but it's not the same . . . and now he's gone. I just . . . I miss him,
Hermione."

He felt her hand close around his and he smiled gratefully at her. Her eyes expressed what
didn't need to be said - that she was there, that he had her support.

"I know you don't like people telling you how brave you are, Harry, but you really are.
You've done so well to get through this . . . I'm so sorry that I wasn't
there."

"Don't be, Hermione."

Speaking of Sirius brought back memories of his godfather, and they were both silent for a while
as he sat there reflecting. Hermione watched him dutifully. She sensed that he had more to tell
her, and she didn't want to rush him. He also hadn't made any attempt to remove her hand,
and she liked it that way . . . she would have been happy to sit that way all day, entranced by
those green eyes of his. Whilst they were no longer bright and shining like they once were, now too
clouded by the pain and grief he obviously still carried, they still made her knees go weak. They
would shine again one day, she knew . . .

"I have to kill him, Hermione."

His words brought her back sharply

"What?"

"Voldemort. I have to kill him. It's what it was all about."

"What *what* was all about, Harry? What do you mean you have to kill
V-Voldemort?"

Her hand had slipped from his in her surprise. Harry sighed deeply.

"It's what the Department of Mysteries was all about, Hermione. A prophecy. A prophecy
about Voldemort and me, that's what the weapon he was searching for was."

Harry told her everything that he had told Ron - the wording of the prophecy, what it meant and
what it entailed for him. When he'd finished Hermione had gone very pale, and he could see
tears beginning to form in her eyes. It made his heart ache terribly.

"Please don't cry, Hermione . . ."

"How can you expect me not to, Harry?" she said, her voice choked with emotion.
"You've just told me that you think you're going to die . . ."

"I honestly don't know, Hermione. I wish I did. I wish there was an better way to tell
you all this too, but there isn't. Voldemort's going to come for me, and if I don't
kill him he'll kill me. And I don't know when it's going to happen."

Tears were rolling down her face now. She flung herself onto him, curling her arms around his
neck and sobbing into his chest. Harry held her tightly and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"W-why are y-you s-sorry?" Hermione said, her voice muffled by sobs.

"I never wanted to upset you . . . I honestly didn't know how to tell you."

He held her in silence until she quietened, stroking her hair. It took some time. She looked up
at him finally, and they released each other.

"I never imagined . . . I never thought that it was that bad, Harry . . . no wonder
you've been so quiet . . ."

"I've had to do a lot of thinking this summer, Hermione. Even more so since my talk
with Dumbledore last week. He made me realise how important it is that I tell you - both of you. I
told Ron last night . . ."

"How did he take it?"

"I . . . honestly don't know. He left not long after."

Harry stood and walked slowly down to the shore of the lake, Hermione following close behind. He
crouched down near the water and gazed at his reflection, running one hand along his scar
thoughtfully. When he spoke he sounded resigned.

"I never wanted any of this."

His hand dropped to his side.

"I'd give anything to have a normal life. Not as a Muggle, but you know what I mean.
But I've done nothing but think for the last three months, and I've accepted what my life
is. Even if that means I won't have a very long one."

"Harry-"

"I've had so much to deal with, so much that needed thinking about, but it pales in
comparison to what's been consuming me the most."

He looked up at her.

"Do you want to know what Ron and I argued about, Hermione?"

She nodded ever so slightly. He stood up and looked her in the eyes.

"You."

A look of surprise crossed her face.

"Me? Why would you argue about me?"

"Like I said Hermione, we didn't really argue. I just told Ron something, and he
didn't like it."

He took a tentative step towards her. He was a whirling mixture of emotions. The words he had
waited so long to say were straining to be released.

"What . . . what did you tell him?" Hermione asked, her voice very soft. There was
hope dancing in her heart, but she dared not show it. Harry looked at her for a long time before
answering.

"That I'm in love with you."

She let out a little gasp of shock and raised one hand to her mouth. Harry felt all of the
nerves and fear and pressure leave him now that the words had been said, and it was easier to go
on. He took another step forward, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I started having feelings for you long ago, but I hid them even from myself. You're my
best friend, you know? You're not supposed to feel that way about your best friend . . .
"

"Harry-"

"Please, Hermione," he said, cutting her off. "I need to say this. I've
fallen in love with you, completely. You're all that I think about. I've never met anyone
so beautiful and so incredibly special as you. . . whenever I'm around you, everything seems
right. You've always been there for me, no matter what. Whenever we're together, I feel . .
. happy . . ."

Harry trailed off. He felt like he could go on describing how he felt forever. Her hand was
still at her mouth, now framed in a heartfelt smile. Her cheeks were flushed pink from his words,
and if anything it made her look more beautiful.

"You're the only girl that I want to be with, Hermione. I love you."

Her mouth opened slightly but no words came out. Harry's heart was hammering wildly in his
chest. He'd taken her smiling as a good sign, but there was no way of knowing for sure . .
.

"I understand if this changes things, Hermione. If you don't want to be friends anymore
. . ."

"I love you too, Harry."

He inhaled sharply. He'd heard the words, but his brain was refusing to register what
she'd said. His shock must have shown on his face as she giggled and took a step forward
herself so that they were now standing next to each other.

"W-what?"

"I said I love you too, Harry. It's always been you . . . always. You don't know
how long I've waited for you to say those words to me."

Instinct took him then, and he leaned into her. Their mouths met in the sweetest kiss either of
them would ever know; tentative and soft at first but soon deeper and more demanding as their
desire for each other overwhelmed them. Her arms were around his neck again; one of his hands held
her tightly to him by the waist whilst the other explored her silky hair. He revelled in her, in
her taste and the feel of her body against his. It seemed like they were fused together at the very
soul.

For the first time in his life, the Boy-Who-Lived was truly happy.

A week had passed. Harry had never known such happiness could exist until he was with Hermione.
His initial fear of being a hopeless boyfriend was quickly allayed not only by Hermione but himself
too - as it turned out it was very similar to being her best friend. Studying in the library,
chatting and joking with the other Gryffindors in the Common Room. Only now they held hands in the
corridors (Harry thought that the simple pleasure of holding someone's hand was very
underrated). Now they would stop whatever it is they were doing to kiss. Now Hermione would sit in
his lap and play with his hair as they sat by the fire and talked about everything they'd done
that day. The Gryffindor boys would take the mickey out of the goofy grin that would be plastered
on his face after a snogging session, whilst the girls frequently squealed over the seemingly
permanent glow in Hermione's face.

That night they were the last two in the Common Room. They sat in front of the crackling fire,
Harry in his favourite chair with Hermione curled up in his lap. It was very cosy; Hermione had
fallen asleep with her arms around him and he was content to sit and watch her, gently stroking her
hair. He would have to wake her soon, as he couldn't take her up to her dormitory himself, but
he would wait a few minutes longer. He wanted to enjoy this moment. It felt so good to hold her.
Her soft exhalations warmed his neck, and one of her hands was entwined with his own. His heart
swelled to think that this beautiful, incredible girl was his.

Despite his happiness he had not been shut-off to everything else that week. Ron was visibly in
pain whenever he was around them, which hadn't been often, and Harry felt very guilty. Hermione
had tried to talk to him but with no luck. They both wanted their other best friend back and hoped
that with time he would come around. Harry wasn't sure how long that would be, but he was sure
it wasn't the end for them and Ron.

The threat of Voldemort still lingered in his mind. It usually came to bear when he was alone,
but even with Hermione around it still continually lurked at the back of his mind. He'd had
another nightmare - he hadn't told Hermione about it - where he'd seen her fall into the
veil that had claimed Sirius, accompanied by Voldemort's mocking laughter. He'd woken with
his scar burning and rage running through him like no other. He felt a little of that anger now as
he looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms and brushed a strand of hair away from her
forehead. That Voldemort would dare try to take her away from him . . .

The anger quickly faded into resolve as he looked at his beautiful Hermione. He would not die.
He would not lose the incredible happiness that he had finally found. He would not let Voldemort
take Hermione away from him, nor he away from Hermione.

Yes, Voldemort would come. Sooner or later, he would come. And Harry would be ready.

*Let him come.*

* * * * *

**Author's Note: I'd like to thank everybody who's reviewed, I really appreciated
all your comments. I hope you've enjoyed the story - I apologise to anyone who hoped it was
going to be longer, but I'd always planned it to be five chapters.**

**Peace, love and Pumpkin-Pie**

**Ben N**