The next couple of days were spent in silent hell for Harry, his insides churning with the thought of what would happen when he and Hermione finally met, after all the confessions they had made to each other. Admittedly, he was in ecstasy at the prospect of Hermione actually loving him, and he her, but he wondered whether or not she would actually go out with him as he had timidly asked in his previous letter. He knew she would have no time to reply before she arrived, so she would have to answer him face to face, and that thought terrified Harry.
On the eve of Hermione's arrival, he sat wearily in his room, wondering what it would be like the next day. Would they be awkward? What if all this turned out to be a big mistake? He knew that when he saw her, none of his previous feelings would change. He'd still love her, no matter how awkwardly. Yet, would she still feel the same? He lay there silently on his lumpy four poster bed, a powerful kind of ache inside him, half excitement, half terror. Questions were running through his mind, questions that he knew not to ask, he had promised Hermione he wouldn't think about all this, but he couldn't help himself.
For some reason, he kept thinking about Sirius. He knew he really shouldn't, but Harry could not stop this horrible sunken feeling he had in the pit of his stomach, one that nagged away at him whenever he felt happy, or whenever he thought of Hermione and smiled that wonderful goofy smile that could only come when thoughts of her lovely face swam about in his head . It told him he shouldn't be happy, not now. He was supposed to be in mourning. Had he gotten over Sirius' death that quickly? It made him feel dirty with guilt.
He spent half the evening contemplating, his thoughts mingled into a kind of mixed-up feeling that he himself could not really understand. At about half past eight, Ron charged into the room with a loud energy that Harry knew he should have. Ron was more excited about tomorrow than he was, for Harry's sake. He was surprisingly taking the whole thing well, averse to what Harry's suspicions were before. Harry had assumed that Ron was only putting on the good face, only pretending to be happy for he and Hermione. To be honest, Harry hadn't really expected him to be ready to deal with it quite so soon. It just wasn't Ron to be grown up about the whole thing, and take it like an adult. However, Ron had managed to assure Harry that he was truly over it. He claimed that he didn't really think he 'liked' liked Hermione at all, and only said he did because he felt like otherwise, he'd be a third wheel of the trio as he saw that Harry and Hermione were better suited.
Ron flumped onto his bed opposite Harry's with a loud exuberant groan, running a hand through his flaming red hair as he sank into the lumpy depths of his four poster. Harry suppressed a laugh whenever he did this. Ever since his trip into Snape's memories last year, he was forcibly reminded of his father whenever Ron ruffled his hair. He supposed it was just the fact that seeing anyone ruffle their hair would remind him of it.
"So, excited about tomorrow then, Harry?"
Harry sighed, his head heavy with the conflicting happy and nervous thoughts of tomorrow and flopped backwards onto his own bed, ruffling a hand through his own jet-black hair.
"I don't really know, Ron. I'm kind of confused to be honest."
"What?" Ron sat up, his face in a kind of confused grin, as if teasing. "How can you be confused? You've both admitted that you like each other… oh wait, LOVE each other…"
Harry rolled his eyes with a half amused, half exasperated smile. Ron seemed to take great fun of the fact that they didn't just like each other, the word 'love' was involved.
"Har Har, Ron, try a different joke, that one's getting old."
"Yeah, well, anyways," he said, regaining his teasing manner, "You've both admitted it, hell she admitted it first. So what's the problem?"
Harry considered whether to tell him what was really troubling him. He knew Ron would understand, he certainly wouldn't laugh, but somehow he felt that he would feel slightly… pathetic… talking about it. He had just considered not telling him when the small part of his brain that sounded like Hermione kicked in.
'She said not to bottle it all up. You told her not to bottle things up. Being slightly hypocritical, aren't you?'
If he could have kicked himself without attracting too much attention he would.
"I suppose, it's… well… it's two things. First is that I'm worried that she might change her mind when we meet face to face. You know, it's the first time we'll have met where we both know how we feel about each other, I'm afraid it'll be awkward…"
"Naw, you don't have to worry about that, Harry…" Ron laid back against his pillows, folding his arms lazily behind his head as he surveyed Harry. "She'll be fine with it. You're best friends, as well as… you know…"
He held two fingers up on each hand as he 'quoted' the next word.
"LOVERS"
Harry picked up one of his pillows and threw it at him, failing to stifle a gruff laugh. He merely knocked it professionally to the floor.
"And anyways, I'm sure she'll feel just the same as you do. You two were meant to be together, even if you just act normal that would be fine. Everyone in Hogwarts thought you two were a couple anyway…"
"What?!"
Ron chuckled, lifting his flaming head a little higher.
"So, what else is eatin' ya?"
Harry lowered his gaze and stared fixedly at the small moth-eaten hole in his woolly blanket. This was the part he'd hoped Ron would forget to ask him about. As he felt Ron's gaze on him, he sighed deeply, the nervous and gloomy thoughts winning the war against the happy in his head.
"Sirius."
He felt rather than saw Ron grow tense, like anyone did whenever Sirius's name was brought up in conversation. He knew Ron would rather he not talk about this, it was a painful subject for everyone. Even Ron, who had only been his friend, still missed him dearly.
"W-What about Sirius?"
"I… just feel like I shouldn't be doing all this right now… you know? I'm supposed to be in mourning, or whatever… I just don't think that it's very respectful to him to be asking people out and dating while he's just--"
He began to fiddle absent-mindedly with the small hole in the moth-eaten blanket, his heat heavy with gloom and sadness. He hated to burden Ron with all this, but, well, he did ask.
"Oh… Well, you did read what I put in my letter, didn't you?
"Er--"
He hadn't. As soon as he saw Sirius' name on the scrap of untidy parchment he had skim-read all of it, ignoring anything to do with Sirius. The only person who actually got through to him was Hermione.
Ron seemed to sense his answer, but surprisingly did not mind.
"Never mind, I knew you'd probably ignore it."
"What? Am I that predictable? Even Hermione said I'd probably skim read through it!"
Ron laughed and the sound brought back a little peace to the raging war in his head. Happiness seemed to have struck a good blow.
"Anyway, what I said was; Sirius was a good fun-loving guy, he really wouldn't have wanted to you shut yourself in and mourn over him for ages. Sure you've done your fair share of mourning, no one can say that his death hasn't affected you. Hell, everyone knows how you felt about him Harry, there's no need to prove yourself."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. He knew Ron was right, he just didn't like that evil-sounding past tense ringing in his already raging ears. However, this time, it did sound right. This time it sounded to Harry like the right words to say, the right tense to use.
"So, if I were you, Harry, I'd let it go. Let him go. I'm sure he'll understand, wherever he is. He's still there, Harry… like… your mum and dad…"
Harry looked up at Ron, his face twisted into a sort of gloomy surprise and found him looking awkwardly at his own mouldy blanket, his face and ears turning a deep shade of crimson.
Harry knew it was time to face the truth. Sirius was dead. It sounded right in his head now, however much he loathed it. However, this loathing was not something he felt he should base his life on anymore. He needed to go on living. Ron was right, he was still there, still watching over him, like his parents, as Ron had pointed out.
Harry sighed. It appeared he had gotten over his grief after all.
* * * *
When Harry woke up that morning, he sat up dazedly ruffling a hand through his hair, trying to remember what was so special about today. As he rubbed his sleepy eyes, it clicked. Hermione.
With the force of a baby elephant Harry energetically tried to jump out of his bed, only to get caught by the musty old green blanket. He did a sort of funny turn in mid air and came straight back to earth, with a loud bump.
"Oooowwww…"
"Whassamatter, Harry?"
"Fell out of bed."
"Oh, ok."
Ron turned over sleepily as Harry desperately tried to disentangle himself from the blankets dusty clutches. As soon as he succeeded, he jumped up again, careful to stay away from any hidden blankets, and practically threw his clothes on in his rush to get up. As he was pulling his jeans on however, he tripped up accidentally and added another large bump to the one he had gained from the blanket. The noise finally woke Ron up.
He sat up and yawned widely, his red hair standing up in all directions. It was like watching a redheaded Harry. He rumpled his hair tiredly, rubbing his eyes, and began to get out of his bed when he saw Harry, in a heap on the floor. His face was absolutely priceless.
"Harry… what are you doing down there?"
Harry threw him an evil look.
"I'm painting a picture. Help me up."
As Ron grabbed him by the arm and dragged him bodily upwards, he began to chuckle amusedly. Harry threw him a questioning look.
"I know why you're so clumsy today…"
"Really? Well done, Ron, gold star for observation."
Ron laughed sleepily, and ruffled his hair distractedly.
"You're just jumpy cause your Sweethearts a'comin today!"
He laughed fully now, and Harry reached behind him for the nearest pillow. Before he could throw it though, a thought popped randomly into his head, and he thought he'd better not throw it in case Ron wouldn't answer him afterwards.
"You know your brothers said that they'd tell everyone..? Well… um… Did they?"
Ron laughed even harder and Harry gave an impatient sigh,
"No, my brothers are evil, but even they wouldn't go telling something like that to my mum without you saying so. You know what mum's like. As soon as she sees you two together, you'd better be ready for 'the talk'."
"The talk?"
"Oh yes, Harry," Ron smiled a wicked smile that highlighted his uncanny resemblance to his brothers. "The birds and the bees."
With that Ron stood up from his bed and yawned widely and falsely, inching nearer to the door. Harry gulped at the prospect of having 'the talk' from Mrs. Weasley and was too preoccupied with this thought to notice Ron edging nearer and nearer to the bathroom door. When he did notice however, it was too late. Ron speedily grabbed his towel and rocketed into the bathroom shouting; "Ha! I've got the bathroom!" leaving Harry to smack right into the door having raced for the bathroom himself.
* * * *
It was almost twenty minutes until she arrived, and Harry felt like his stomach was filling up with some kind of extra-wobbly jelly. He was sitting in the small dingy kitchen where candles were floating above his head, adding dim light to the dark room. Ron was sitting directly across from him, wolfing down the porridge Harry had made them for breakfast, Ron couldn't cook. They were up before anyone else that day, it was only half 9 in the morning and the inhabitants of Grimmauld place were well known for their adamant laziness.
Trying to occupy himself to pass time, Harry tried to eat the porridge that he had inattentively made for Ron and himself, but as he had not paid too much attention to his actions when making it, it was lumpy and cold, with a big dollop of blackberry Jam in the middle. Wrinkling his nose at it, he pushed it away.
"Don't you want that, Harry?"
Harry shook his head. He couldn't really trust himself to speak right now. With that, Ron swapped his own bowl of lumpy porridge for Harry's and began bolting it down with added fervour. Harry almost laughed.
From the door came a faint knock and the ringing of the soft dinging bell, which caused Harry to virtually fall out of his seat to answer it. Ron just sat at the table with an amused look on his face, to which Harry shot back with a evil look.
"I'll get it, shall I?"
Ron gave a small laugh, Harry could tell he was really trying to keep himself from bursting with teasing laughter. Muttering to himself under his breath about Ron and his 'damn bad jokes', Harry made his way timidly to the large oak front door. Taking a deep breath, his heart jumping straight into his throat, he opened the door.
There she was, more beautiful and breathtaking then he'd been imagining. Her face was lightly tanned from the sun and she was wearing a pretty white skirt and patterned top. She was beaming at him, her face tinged a slight red, but her eyes alight with happiness. Without waiting for a hello, she jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly and he wrapped his own arms around her, a giddy feeling of relief and happiness filling his head. He held her just as tightly back, wanting to hold her forever now that he was finally able to.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Harry, I've missed you so much!"
He laughed, the giddiness getting more and more prominent now that the strawberry scent of her hair had reached him. Pulling her backwards, he smiled the first proper wide smile for what seemed like years. She beamed back at him, showing off her beautifully white teeth.
"I've missed you too. You've no idea."
She giggled, and without warning, she threw herself on him once more as she pressed her lips to his own. Harry's eyes widened as he quickly got over the shock of Hermione kissing him, but soon relaxed and began to kiss her back, feeling as though they were flying. They continued to kiss in the dusty hallway of the mouldy and mildewed house, wrapping their arms tighter and tighter around each other.
A chorus of cat-calls and whistles interrupted them and they broke apart to cheers and clapping from Fred, George and Ron, all standing in the doorway to the kitchen, their faces alight with glee.
"Cor blimey! Giving off a bit of a show there, aren't you?"
"It was like he was eating her alive!"
They laughed nervously, their face glowing crimson. Harry looked across to Ron to see what sarky remark he would contribute to the situation. He was wearing a cheeky, amused face.
"Well, if that's going to be all you two do for the rest of the summer, then I'm outta here…"