Finding Halves by Ramoning Along

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 12/07/2004
Last Updated: 12/07/2004
Status: In Progress

Finding your "Other Half" has never been harder. Especially if your Hermione
Granger.




1. Bayes And Crane Reunite
--------------------------

**Author’s Note(s):** *Yes, I am aware of the fact that I’ve made the characters somewhat
not themselves. I’m just writing them the way I feel they would respond to certain events that take
place (book five), as well as adding a bit of myself to them (which is normal considering I‘m the
person writing this and all). I’m also aware of the fact that Harry may seem somewhat of a jerk,
but I happen to like “jerky” boys (i.e. Jess from Gilmore Girls, whom I’m slightly-ok mostly-basing
Harry on…because he’s just awesome like that!). By the way, sorry for any grammatical errors. I’ve
looked over the story a few times, but I highly doubt I found every one. Please enjoy and leave a
review. Criticism is not only greatly encouraged, but accepted (Although, sometimes too
personally). One last note, there’s going to be lots of “Muggle” references because-let’s face
it-I’m a Muggle and know squat about the wizarding world Harry lives in (Music, entertainment, etc.
wise).*

**Disclaimer(s):** *Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Norman Bates and Marion Crane are
from Hitchcock’s Psycho, and obviously are not mine. The song “Clouds” is by Joni Mitchell, and the
song “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” is by Wang Chung. I make no prophet what so ever from this. If I
did, I’d have started writing long ago.*

**Summary:** *Finding your "Other Half" has never been harder. Especially if your
Hermione Granger.*

**Finding** *Halves*

**T**he sun beat down heavily on Hermione’s skin as she lay on the bright green grass of her
backyard. Overhead fluffy white clouds in shapes of bunnies and ice-cream cones floated about
lazily, each glittering with silver linings. Hermione shut her eyes and rolled onto her back, thin
arms coming to rest over her face to block out the sun. It was strange, really, the way the
neighborhood buzzed with life around her. A sinking feeling nestled itself in her stomach, slowly
expanding all over her being as she pondered over the years pasts events.

A light breeze blew by, making the overgrown grass tickle her bare legs. Reaching down she
quickly scratched her knee before turning onto her side. From here she had a clear view of the back
porch. Through the sliding glass doors she could see her mom vacuuming around the sofa, strains of
Wang Chung’s “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” floating through the thin windows. Hermione sighed, and
began to pick at a small patch of clovers. What was Wang Chung talking about when they said
“everybody Wang Chung tonight“? What was Wang Chunging anyway? Hermione quickly pushed the thought
aside and resumed her picking.

Since school had ended she had often wondered what would happen if Death Eaters were to storm
her house at any moment. She knew it was a terrible thing to think, but she couldn’t help it. At
night-when sleep was hard to find, and counting sheep just didn’t cut it -she’d lie and think about
surprise attacks and the night she’d spent at the Ministry of Magic. She’d estimated how many Death
Eaters she could take down before she, too, was taken down. The thought of what they would do to
her, or her parents, made her stomach turn.

“Hermione,” Her mother called out the window, phone pressed close to her ear. “Can you come in
and give me a hand?”

Hermione lazily raised her hand in response. She knew that now that her life was in danger she
was suppose to change her outlook on life, but she didn’t feel up to it. Rising slowly she lazily
made her way towards the house. The short trudge up the back steps seemed to take an eternity, and
by the time she’d entered the house her mother was nowhere to be found. Falling heavily onto the
overstuffed cream couch Hermione let out a long and tired sigh. The days of Summer were dragging by
too slowly for her taste, and worry over Harry was steadily increasing with each unanswered
letter.

Running a frustrated hand through her hair Hermione mentally cursed Harry for not responding to
her letters. She knew he needed time, but she would think that after a month of being out of touch
with his friends that he’d just write a quick *Hello*, or *I’m thinking of flinging myself
off a bridge*. At least then she’d know he was alive and well (Albeit, not for a long period of
time, but *still*). Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard much from Ron either. Except, of
course, for a mention of him here and there from the many letters she received a week from Ginny.
However, those were always short and were more along the lines of *Ron the git*, or *Can’t
believe that prat brother of mine.*

“Hermione,” Her father called from the kitchen. “Come here please.”

Pushing herself off the couch she quickly walked into the gleaming white kitchen. Her gaze
quickly landed on her parents, both sitting at the rectangular dinning table looking determined.
Her mother’s hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and when she caught Hermione’s eyes she smiled
tightly. Sitting herself opposite her father she looked oddly at her parents.

“Is there anything wrong?” Hermione asked slowly, unsure if she should ask anything at all. Her
father sighed and drummed his fingers on the table, sending an expectant glance at her mother.

“Not *really*,” Her mother answered, hands resting together on the table. “We just wanted
to talk to you, is all.”

“Oh.”

“You see,” Her father stated in his low baritone. “We’ve noticed a steady change in you since
you’ve started Hogwarts. Each year you become more and more distant. You come back a wreck, and
often wake your mother and I up at night with your screaming. Is there something going on at this
school of yours that we should know about?”

“No,” Hermione answered quickly, shaking her head to emphasize. *No, only an evil wizard out
to kill your best friend,* a nasty voice whispered harshly in the back of her mind. *And maybe
you, too.*

Her mother sighed and reached across the table to take her hand. “You know you can tell us
anything, right?”

“I know,” Hermione forcefully grinned. *No, I can’t.* “It’s just that Harry’s had such a
hard life and this past year has been really hard for him. Everyone, really.”

“Hermione,” Her father growled, somewhat annoyed. “We asked how you were, *not* Harry. I’m
tired of hearing about him. For once, I’d like to hear about how my *daughter* is doing.”

“Dad,” Hermione snapped, pulling her hand from her mother’s grasp and crossing her arms across
her chest. “Harry happens to be my best friend. It’s only natural that the problems he has become
mine.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want his name mentioned under this roof again. Do you
*understand*?”

Hermione stood up quickly, her chair falling back onto the tiled floor with a clatter. No, she
didn’t understand. Her mother’s eyes darted between Hermione and her father, and it took all of
Hermione’s strength to not explode at her father right then.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, tight lipped. “But I’m afraid I don’t understand. Now, if you’ll
excuse me, I’m going to my room.” And with that she quickly turned on her heels and dashed up the
stair and down the hall to her bedroom, ignoring her father’s angry yells. With a soft and
resounding click she locked her door and fell onto her bed. A dull numbness had overtaken most her
body, and she jerked up awkwardly when there was a tentative knock on the door.

“Pumpkin?” Her mother’s timid voice asked. “Can I come in?”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and glared at the door. “No.”

“Hermione Jane,” Her mother said forcefully, jiggling the doorknob. “Open this door right now,
or so help me God…”

“No,” Hermione repeated. The rational side of her knew this was wrong. That she should open the
door, apologize to both her parents, and tell them everything. However, being the stubborn witch
she was, Hermione only placed her desk chair against the door-just in case. With that she quickly
stripped down to her undergarments and climbed into bed, only to be plagued by nightmares.

The next few days passed by uneventfully. Neither Hermione nor her parents mentioned the
argument regarding Harry, and settled on dancing around one another tight lipped and awkward. The
tension in the house continued to build, and Hermione-more out of curiosity than anything-often
wandered into the kitchen and stared at her fathers cutting knives, knowing that one day she’d
actually try to cut the tension even though she knew it was just a figure of speech.

On this particular day; however, both her parents had to work late, and the house was ghostly
quiet. Hermione quickly gathered her hair into a ponytail and set about packing for Hogwarts. The
new school year didn’t start for two more weeks, but Hermione was particularly eager to reach
King’s Cross station this year. After all her clothes was neatly stacked in the corners, and books
shoved tight together, Hermione shut her trunk and wandered down the stairs. The kitchen light
shinned brightly overhead as Hermione made her way towards the refrigerator. From the corner of her
eye the phone caught her attention and Hermione slowly walked towards it, feet heavy.

The padded numbers felt slippery under her fingers as she dialed the number she’d permanently
burned to memory. Butterflies quickly found their way inside her stomach, and it took all the
courage she had not to hang up after two rings. Suddenly, there was a soft click and Hermione’s
breath caught in her throat as a familiar voice filled her senses.

“Dursley’s Escort Service. We’ve got birds for every occasion. Blondes, brunettes, and-for you
*brave* adventurers-red heads.”

“BOY!”

Hermione could almost hear the smirk on Harry’s lips as the phone was ripped from his hands, and
Vernon sent him up the stairs to his room. Without realizing it, Hermione slowly relaxed, her hold
on the phone loosening. A wave of relief washed over her, making her dizzy with delight. Harry was
ok. He was safe, and she knew it because she’d heard his voice. A shaky grin broke across her face
as her knees gave out, and she slid to the floor. She barely noticed the distant calls of
*Hello?* from the phone as she reached up and placed it on the counter.

¤•¤•¤•¤•¤•¤

**H**ermione sat cross-legged on the over stuffed couch, a lukewarm cup of coffee held firmly
between her hands. The Weasleys would arrive in an hours time to pick her up and take her to the
Burrow. Until then, she was left to entertain herself in front of the tv. Currently, some women was
running around on screen, her blonde hair bouncing to and fro. Hermione sighed and looked down at
the cup in her hands. Earlier she’d gotten into an argument with her mother for not being
completely honest with her parents.

Her mother, being the concerned women she was, had gone through Hermione’s belongings (Not so
discreetly may I add, which resulted in lots of yelling.) and found a lengthy letter Ginny had
written her at the beginning of the year. Ginny had included her feelings towards Sirius’ death,
and various feelings she’d felt while at the Ministry of Magic. Hermione had been forced to tell
her mother about Sirius’ death and her adventures at the Ministry; although, she did dance around
important details-such as her near death experience. In the end, her mother had lectured her none
too nicely, and Hermione could only glare at her retreating back once she had finished and
left.

Reaching up a tentative hand, Hermione ran her fingers through her now shoulder length hair. It
hadn’t turned out exactly how she’d liked, and when she’d come downstairs her mother had a right
fit. Her mother had always loved her hair, and it made Hermione all the much happier to know that
the scissors and excess hair was still in the sink of the guest bathroom. *Take that,*
Hermione thought sourly, a small grin gracing her tired face. A large crash from her parents room
startled Hermione. Her coffee fell to the floor, slowly seeping into the light carpet.

“Oh dear,” Hermione murmured softly, as heavy footsteps made their way downstairs. She turned
just in time to see a small red headed girl launching herself towards her. “Ginny!”

The hug was tight, and Ginny babbled nonstop about what she’d done so far during the Summer.
Hermione only smiled back and nodded every so often. She heard an impatient sigh as Ginny began the
retelling of Luna’s latest letter, and looked up to see a bleary eyed Ron. He simply grinned at her
and shook his head.

“Ron,” She said, somewhat breathless. He’d grown several inches over the Summer. His hair-still
bright-had taken on a life of its own, and his freckles had faded somewhat. He was still
unbelievably lanky, and as he pulled Hermione into a hug she couldn’t help but fight back tears.
She hadn’t really realized until now how much she’d missed her friends this Summer.

“Don’t cry,” Ron winced as he pulled away from her. “You know I can’t handle girls crying.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione answered, choking on a sob. “It’s just that I’ve missed you so much. Both
of you.” With that, fresh tears sprung forth and she continued to wipe at them fruitlessly.

The floo back to the Burrow was slightly unpleasant, as Hermione had banged her elbow when she’d
tumbled out of the fire place. Once she’d arrived Mrs. Weasley had hurriedly ushered her into the
kitchen for a “chat”; Ginny tagging along. Once all three women had taken their seats Molly set
about preparing tea and making idle conversation.

“Great Wizards, Dear!” She exclaimed halfway through Ginny’s Quidditch tale. “What have you done
to your hair?”

“Oh, *that*,” Hermione grinned shakily. “I got into an argument with my mum, see? And the
thing is, she really loved my hair. So…” She trailed off uncertainly, and instead finished lamely
by snapping her middle and index finger together in a scissor motion.

“Well, no worries,” Molly smiled brightly, pulling out her wand. “I can have your hair back in a
jiffy.”

“NO! I mean, no. It’s ok, *really*. I’ve grown rather fond of it.”

Ginny snickered, Molly sighed, and Hermione quietly excused herself. She couldn’t hide her
irritation as she stormed into the living room and threw herself forcefully onto the sunken couch.
Sighing in frustration she ran a shaky hand through her wiry hair and crossed her arms against her
chest. So what if she wasn’t exactly attractive with her new hair cut? It wasn’t as if she was
trying to impress anyone; besides, she really did prefer her hair short.

“Hermione?” Ron asked uncertainly, chess game momentarily forgotten. “Knut?”

“What?” Hermione responded somewhat distracted. “Oh, nothing’s wrong. Just a little miffed is
all. Who’s winning?”

The night continued on uneventfully, and as Hermione tucked herself into the lumpy sleeping bag
on Ginny’s floor she couldn’t wait for morning to come. Arthur and the twins were to pick Harry up
at noon, and Hermione couldn’t be more nervous to see him. As she drifted off to an uneasy sleep
she couldn’t help a small smile from tugging at the corner of her lips.

The morning came too soon in Hermione’s opinion as she begrudgingly climbed out of the sleeping
bag. Her hair stuck up in odd angles, and her vision was still a tad blurry as she made her way
downstairs and towards the smell of freshly cooked bacon. The table, half full of Weasleys, had
every breakfast dish imaginable, and it took all of Hermione’s self control not to drool on the
spot. As she sat down she quickly pulled a bowl of fresh fruit towards her, taking no notice of the
odd stares she received from the twins.

“What happened?” Fred asked bemused as Hermione bit into an apple. She looked at him, somewhat
startled, and shrugged.

“To what?” Was her reply as she scooped hash browns onto her mismatched plate.

“Your hair!” George answered, eyes wide. Hermione sighed and reached up to tug a protruding curl
back into place.

“Cut it after an argument with my Mum.”

Breakfast continued on quite normally after that, except for the odd glance every now and then
at Hermione’s new hairstyle. It was beginning to bug her, the way everyone was reacting to a simple
haircut. *You would think they had better things to do*, Hermione thought none too kindly as
Arthur announced his departure to Grimmauld Place. Being as stubborn as she was, Hermione ignored
Ginny for the rest of the day for the rude comment she’d made about her hair late last night, and
instead allowed herself to be defeated in chess numerous times. During her fifth game with Ron (Her
ego bruised beyond belief) there was a large commotion in the kitchen, startling all members of the
house. Ron, with Hermione hot on his heels, dashed to see what could be causing so much noise.

The kitchen door resounded with a loud BANG! as it swung unsteadily on its hinges. Arthur and a
few of The Order members stood around with grave expressions of their faces. Save for Fletcher, who
looked mildly surprised, and was nursing what was sure to be a black eye. Through the grime covered
window on the back door Hermione could scarcely make out a black haired figure stalking angrily to
the forest that lined the Weasley’s property. Without a moments hesitation she quickly passed the
startled crowd and ran after Harry. Ron made to follow, but his father held him back, shaking his
head.

“Harry!” Hermione yelled as she got closer. He didn’t bother to turn, and instead picked up his
pace. Giving a frustrated sigh, she too picked up the pace. He wasn’t making this easy, and if he
didn’t stop soon Hermione was just going to give up. Her body wasn’t up for anything this physical.
With a primal grunt Hermione launched herself at Harry with every once of adrenaline she had.
Unfortunately, she lost her footing once she’d neared Harry and sent them both tumbling to the
ground in a tangle of limbs and bruises.

“Ow,” Hermione moaned as she rolled off of Harry. Her head hit the ground with a soft thunk, and
Harry turned stone cold eye on her.

“Why’d you do that?” He growled. Hermione involuntarily shivered. This wasn’t her Harry.

“Do you think I liked it?” Hermione snapped back, worry over Harry momentarily forgotten. “I’ve
got a bruise the size of Lockhart’s ego. Thanks to you, might I add.”

“No one asked you to come after me, ok?” Harry retorted, slowly rising to stand up. He looked
down at Hermione, who was still lying on the ground, her heart trying to function normally and
failing. “Just leave me alone.”

She watched his retreating back as she sat up. Scowling as he turned to her, an impish smirk on
his face, and said “Nice hair.” before continuing on his way. *The little bugger,* Hermione
thought as she made her way towards the Weasley’s house. Who did Harry think he was? Certainly not
the Prime Minister! Still fuming, Hermione made her way into the now crowded kitchen.

“How is he?” Ron asked as Hermione slid into a lopsided chair beside him.

“He’s a right git, is what.”

Someone cleared their throat at the head of the table, and Hermione was surprised to see
Dumbledore standing there in pale blue robes looking somewhat solemn. He nodded to each person in
the room before asking all of them to give Harry room. *Not bloody likely,* Hermione’s mind
snapped. A look of determination crossed her face, going unnoticed by all members of the
kitchen.

It wasn’t until suppertime that Harry came back to the Burrow, and was ushered away by Molly to
see Dumbledore. Hermione could faintly hear yelling from her seat, and the adults-having realized
this-talked as loudly as they could about unimportant matters. Soon; however, there was no need as
Harry’s angry footsteps clonked heavily downstairs. There was a slight shuffle in the living room
before Harry burst into the kitchen, not bothering to acknowledge anyone, and headed straight for
the back door.

“Where are you going?” Dumbledore asked as he appeared in the kitchen entrance. Hermione’s head
swam as Harry glared at Dumbledore. She’d never seen that look on Harry’s face before, and it
scared her.

“Out,” Was his simple answer. Dumbledore sighed and repeated the question. “Out. Jeez, do you
want a bleeding map or something? How about I ring you every five minutes to let you know that I’m
not piss faced in some alleyway?”

Hermione brought her hands to rest in her lap, eyes prickling with tears as the door resounded
with another BANG! No, this wasn’t her Harry at all. Her Harry was nice, and kind. He cared for
others, and this boy she saw before her, well, he was just an imposter. And he scared her. He
seemed messy, mean, and horrible and he made Hermione want to run and hide.

¤•¤•¤•¤•¤•¤

**T**he train ride was tense and silent, and Hermione couldn’t take another minute of it.
Harry had left the compartment and hour ago claiming he “needed fresh air”. Luna had come in
shortly after saying she’d spotted Harry smoking near the boy’s washroom. This had only led to an
argument between Ginny and Ron, leaving her with a headache and he with the after affects of a
BatBogey Hex. Now, they both sat as far away from one another as possible in the small compartment,
neither one speaking to the other save for the occasional *Hermione, tell my brother he’s a
worthless pile of dragon droppings,* to which Ron would respond *Hermione, tell my puny, runt
of a sister that I’m cutting all ties with her.*

The compartment door slid open, and Hermione saw this as her chance to escape the choking
atmosphere that was Ginny and Ron. Poor Neville barely knew what hit him as Hermione dragged him
back into the hall to “look for the food trolly”, which had passed by their compartment ten minutes
ago. Needless to say, Hermione was forced to buy pumpkin pastries for Neville as a token of
forgiveness. Which he did rather eagerly as the pastries were his favorite.

They had walked up and down a few cars, making idle chitchat, and stopping every now and then
into someone’s compartment to say hello. Currently, they were being held against their will in a
compartment with whom Hermione had dubbed “Bott’s Brains”, as she really did believe their brains
were the size of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Hermione could only snicker at this,
interrupting a story Lavender was telling, and receiving nasty glares from the girls in the
compartment.

Her mind wandered towards Harry as Pavarti explained her latest hair styling technique, aimed
directly at Hermione (And her new hair cut, which the Bott’s Brains thought was the ugliest haircut
they had the misfortune to see). Hermione knew that Harry was mourning in his own way, but couldn’t
he have been more weepy about it? He’d blocked himself off from the world, and that was the last
thing he needed right now. Hermione knew that when push comes to shove Harry would eventually snap
from keeping his emotions bottled up so tightly. Standing rather quickly, and startling those
around her, Hermione excused herself and set on a hunt for Harry.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” Harry glared as Hermione fell into the seat opposite
him. She cocked her head to the side, brown eyes studying Harry as best she could without turning
as red as a tomato.

“I’m sure you know me better than that,” Hermione sighed, eyes never leaving Harry. “Why’d you
punch Fletcher?”

“I had momentum,” Harry answered, not bothering to look at her.

Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes heavenward at that. Typical boy answer. Sighing, she
leaned back in the seat, crossed her arms against her chest, and studied Harry. His hair had grown
somewhat, falling into dark green eyes. His face had lost all touches of childhood, and jutted out
in handsome looking sharp angles. As with all maturing young men he’d started to grow facial hair,
and Hermione wondered what it’d feel like pressed against her cheek.

“Norman Bates, will you knock it off already?” Harry snapped, obviously having noticed
Hermione’s intense staring. A small smile tugged at Hermione’s lips as she took in Harry’s somewhat
flustered appearance.

“If I’m Norman,” She grinned. “Who does that make you? Marion Crane?”

“So, you’ve caught me,” Harry smirked, hands held up in surrender. “I’m really the reincarnation
of Marion Crane inside an adolescent boy, fighting to get out. Did you know I dress drag, too?”

Laughter bubbled in Hermione’s mouth and for the first time in along time she felt herself
relaxing, her guard going down. Here he was. Maybe not exactly as she left him, but here was her
Harry.

***“Clouds” -* Joni Mitchell**

*Rows and flows of angel hair*

*And ice-cream castles in the air*

*And feather canyons everywhere*

*I've looked at clouds that way*

*Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels*

*The dizzy dancing way you feel*

*As every fairy tale comes real*

*I've looked at clouds that way*

*But now they only block the sun*

*They rain and snow on everyone*

*So, so many things I could've done*

*But clouds*

*…*

*I've looked at clouds from both sides now*

*From up and down, and still somehow*

*It's just illusions I recall*

¤•¤•¤•¤•¤•¤

*Just a quick reminder that a review would be nice, and encourage me to continue this. Thank
you.*