Come Back to Me

Hermione Granger was awakened early on the cool September morning by a muffled tapping sound. She tried her best to drown out the sound by rolling over onto her stomach, pulling her head under her pale pink flannel sheets, and pressing her two pillows firmly against her ears. However, all her efforts were in vain because the tapping just grew louder. She groaned indignantly and threw one of her pillows at the window where that infernal tapping was coming from. The impatient owl outside of the window jumped from the ledge outside, frightened by the huge pink mass that had just been hurled at the window. Hermione smiled to herself at her success in silencing the bird. She rolled over again with the intent of going back to sleep. After all, it was about 7:30 on a Saturday morning. No witch or wizard would ever consider voluntarily getting up that early on the weekend.

Hermione had mellowed some since her school days. Her job as the assistant editor of the Daily Prophet had kind of forced her to. She had come to terms with the fact that there were very few people who were like her and had the ambition (or obsessive compulsiveness as Ron preferred to call it) to get their articles in on time. Her first few weeks as the assistant editor had been extremely stressful. Of the twenty-two articles she assigned, she received three by the deadline she had given. Needless to say, she went ballistic and tracked down every last one of the writers she had assigned articles to and demanded to know why they hadn't given them to her yet. It was only her first week on the job; she didn't want to lose her well-deserved promotion from Goblin correspondent to editor already! A few ignored her and most made excuses, while one of the other assistant editors informed her that it wasn't a big deal that the writers hadn't turned in their articles on time. He advised that in the future she needed to make the deadline at least two weeks before she actually needed the article. She followed his advice, and ever since her life has been much less stressful. The advice had helped, but also she hadn't let the journalists think that it was okay to not hand in their articles on time. She'd had talks with quite a few of them, explaining herself and telling them what would happen to them and their jobs if they didn't submit their articles on time. Now she received most of the articles long before the deadline. She'd become one of the most successful editors, not to mention the youngest. At twenty, she was at least fifteen years younger than the other assistant editors. It was a stressful position to be in, but she's learned to manage. Needless to say, she'd learned to relax and enjoy the small things in life. Things like sleeping in late on the weekends.

She'd just about dosed off again when that God-awful tapping started up again, this time coming from the window on the opposite side of the room. She grumbled in frustration and decided to just let the bloody bird in. She tore off her covers and instantly regretted it as soon as the cool air of her room hit her warm body. She shivered as she swung her legs to the side of the bed at sat up. She stretched her back and arms before finally standing up. She really hadn't grown much since she was in fifth year at Hogwarts; she remained a petite five foot three.

“Oh alright, I'm coming. I'm coming,” she grumbled as if the owl could hear her. She stumbled over to the window, eyes half closed. She stubbed her toe against an enormous volume of her wizarding encyclopedia she now regretted leaving on the floor. She cursed softly to herself and continued to limp to the window. She unlocked it and pushed it open to allow the large, brown barn owl into her room. She tried to push her hair out of her face so she could take the post from the owl. Her hair was still bushy like it had been in school. She'd learned a few tricks to keep the frizz down, but they seldom worked. After a few attempts, she successfully untied the parchment from the owl's leg. Before she had the opportunity to give it some water, the owl flew away. She decided she needed to brew some tea before she even thought about reading what the parchment said. She was pretty sure it was a note from one of her writers giving an excuse as to why he won't be able to submit his article in time. She got at least three owls from writers the weekend before a Monday deadline, giving excuses.

She walked down the stairs, through the spacious living room, and into the cozy kitchen she'd grown to love. She had bought this house right after leaving Hogwarts. It was right off of the main street in Hogsmeade. She knew she wouldn't have been able to move far away from Hogwarts. It was a small house, but she loved it and was proud of the work she'd put into it to make it her own. She began boiling the water, and she walked outside to her huge wrap-around porch, leaving the screen door open. She sat in her favorite rocking chair and just gazed around at the neighborhood, allowing her chocolate brown eyes to take in everything. There were a few others up and about, and she waved to her elderly neighbor as she walked by.

“Good morning, Mrs. Harthington,” Hermione greeted her.

“Good morning, dear,” the old woman replied. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, thank you. How about you?”

“Oh, I'm fine, dear. Just fine,” she said with a smile and a wink and continued on her way. Over the past three years, Mrs. Harthington had become like another grandmother to Hermione. Hermione went over to her house a few times a week to check up on her and chat for a while. Mrs. Harthington's husband had been killed years ago by a Death Eater, but she didn't like to talk about it. She had two daughters, but one was off in Romania working with dragons, like Ron's brother, and the other lived with her husband and three children in Scotland. Her three grandchildren go to Hogwarts, so Mrs. Harthington gets to see them from time to time. However, mostly she is alone, so Hermione likes to keep her company.

Hermione went back in her house to check on the tea. The water was finally boiling, so she poured herself a cup, dipped her tea bag in the steaming water, and took a long sip. She sighed as the tea warmed her from the inside, and she turned and grabbed the parchment the owl had brought. She was right; it was an excuse letter. It was the first of the weekend, but there were bound to be more. She finished up her tea and the biscuit she had grabbed for her breakfast. She went back upstairs, got dressed in a pair of faded jeans and her favorite bright red sweater, brushed her hair and teeth, came back downstairs, and plopped into the new overstuffed chair she'd just bought for her living room. She looked around the room, at the bookshelves and the photos of her and her friends from school waving happily at her from their frames. She was just reveling in the fact that there was nothing that needed to get done today. She enjoyed the novelty of being allowed to choose what she wanted to do for the day. Almost every weekend for the past few months she's had a lot of work to do for the Daily Prophet. However, she was now caught up and didn't have to think about work until Monday. She picked up the book she'd been reading from the table next to her chair and curled up for a nice morning of reading. However, just as she read the first sentence, that awful tapping started again. She sighed regretfully while putting her bookmark back in her book, walked over to the window, and opened it.

“Pig,” she said happily as she recognized Ron's owl. The bird had grown considerably since it had been given to Ron. Pig hooted in delight as Hermione stroked his head and took the parchment from his leg. He flitted around the living room happily as Hermione read Ron's note:

Mione-

I was going to head over to Diagon Alley for the day and was wondering if you'd like to join me. There's something I need to tell you, but I would rather do it in person. Hope to see you then.

Ron

Well, it looked like Hermione now had plans for the day. She always enjoyed hanging out with Ron. Their years at Hogwarts had been a little tough, because they fought constantly. They thought it was because they had feelings for each other, and they tried dating in sixth year. It wasn't working so they both decided to break it off so they wouldn't lose their friendship. Since they graduated, Ron and Hermione had become a lot closer. Ron only lived a few blocks away and he worked for his father at the Ministry of Magic. They frequently met for lunch because the office for the Daily Prophet wasn't far from the Ministry. They'd gotten closer because they were both trying desperately to deal with Harry. Thinking about Harry made Hermione's heart ache.

Ever since Sirius's death, Harry vowed that he wouldn't rest until he killed Voldemort and as many Death Eaters as he could get his hands on. Harry had successfully become an auror, hoping that the job would allow him to hunt Voldemort full time. However, the new Minister of Magic, Percy Weasley (who had redeemed himself and reconciled with his family), and Dumbledore both agreed that it was too dangerous for Harry to constantly be hunting Voldemort. That Voldemort would strike Harry at his absolute weakest, which wouldn't be difficult if Harry spent all of his time and energy perusing Voldemort. Anyway, Voldemort hadn't been seen in at least three years, and no one knew where he could possibly be. So Percy Weasley and Dumbledore forbade Harry to search for Voldemort until there had been a sighting. In the mean time, he was given the easiest and most mind-numbingly boring cases to take care of so he would be ready when the time came to finally go after Voldemort. Needless to say, Harry was not quick to obey his orders, but after some very heated arguments between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Harry finally realized that he would just have to wait for his revenge.

Hermione had been the one to finally convince Harry that he would have to wait to go after Voldemort. She pleaded with him so many times she'd lost count. Occasionally she would break down into tears during her pleading. She hated looking so vulnerable in front of Harry. She knew that she needed to be the strong one. She was supposed to be the one to convince Harry to stay safe. She wasn't supposed to act like some blubbering idiot in front of him. Still, she couldn't bear the thought of losing Harry to Voldemort. She was really good friends with Ron, but her relationship with Harry was completely different. He'd often told her she was like a sister to him. She knew she should have been glad to hear that Harry cared about her so much, but somehow she was disappointed. She hadn't been sure of the cause of this disappointment until she'd had a dream that she and Harry were engaged, and he kept telling her how much he loved her. It was then she realized why being thought of as a sister to Harry had been such a disappointment. It was because she was in love with him. Of course, she had never told anyone about her feelings for HarryH. Mrs. Harthington had accused her of being in love with Harry a few times when Hermione talked about him with her. Hermione always denied it, but the old, wise woman would just smile a knowing smile and change the subject.

Hermione finally snapped out of her daydreams as Pig landed on her shoulder holding out his leg for her to tie on the note she had just written to Ron saying that she would meet him in front of his house in about an hour. She wondered what the information could be that couldn't be told to her in person. She hoped it wasn't anything too serious, but then again, she'd come to learn to expect the unexpected in the wizarding world.

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Hermione decided to walk over to Ron's house instead of apparating. Hermione didn't apparate as much as she used to. Because her job was so hectic, she was constantly on the go, moving from city to city or even country to country, apparating all over the place. So when she wasn't working, Hermione liked to take everything slowly and just enjoy the scenery, because she didn't know how much longer she would be able to enjoy it. Because no one had seen Voldemort in over three years, everyone was constantly on edge, waiting for his next attack. Hermione knew that she and Ron were both at risk because of their relationship with Harry. She knew that there was a great possibility that Voldemort would kidnap her or Ron or both of them, because Voldemort knew that Harry would ignore the warnings he had been given and go after Voldemort, falling into Voldemort's trap. Hermione knew she needed to be careful and always aware of her surroundings. She couldn't count how many times Dumbledore had told her of the danger she was in. She also knew it probably would be safer for her to apparate everywhere she went, but she just couldn't help herself. She didn't want to live in constant fear of the unknown. Besides, it was such a beautiful day, and she wanted to enjoy it. So she set out from her house on the short walk to Ron's. When she arrived at his house, Ron was just walking out the door.

“Hey,” he called over to her as he hopped down the steps of his front porch in khaki pants and a navy blue jacket. Ron hadn't changed much since Hogwarts. He was still tall, and he still had the same boyish face with bright blue eyes that were a little darker than they were when he first came to Hogwarts, reflecting all he had seen in his time there.

“Hey,” Hermione responded as she quickly hugged him.

“Ready to go?”

“Yup,” Hermione replied, and they both apparated to the lobby of the Leaky Cauldron. They pushed open the door and walked out to Diagon Alley. There were quite a few witches and wizards walking along and looking in the different store windows. There weren't many students around, however, because Hogwarts was back in session.

“So what was it you wanted to tell me?” Hermione asked as she and Ron started walking down the street.

“Not right now,” Ron said quietly, looking down at her with what looked like worry in his eyes. “So where do you want to go first?” Ron asked more loudly as if he wanted to make sure everyone around him heard what he said.

“Uh…how about Flourish and Blotts?” Hermione suggested with a questioning look on her face. She didn't understand why Ron couldn't just tell her what he needed to tell her right now, or why he was speaking the way he was.

“Sounds great,” Ron said as loudly as before. He grabbed Hermione's hand, and they were off. Ron was walking rather quickly, pulling Hermione along, while trying to act naturally. Hermione knew there was something amiss, because Ron wouldn't ever set foot in a book store unless he was forced to buy books for school.

“So how've you been?” he asked distractedly as he dodged a few older witches who were moving too slowly for him.

“Uh, since yesterday?” Hermione started, bewildered. Hermione had just seen Ron the day before at lunch. He was starting to worry her with his behavior. “Fine.”

“Good, good,” he answered obliviously upon hearing her give a response. Hermione just looked up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Me?” Ron asked as he looked over to her like that was the first thing he'd actually heard her say. “I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it's just that-”

“Here we are,” he interrupted her as he stopped right in front of the shop. Hermione hadn't expected his sudden stop and ran right into him.

“Should we go in?” he asked her, and then without waiting for her reply, he pushed open the door and walked in. Hermione was totally baffled by Ron's behavior. He was acting so strangely. She knew it must have something to do with what he needed to tell her. She figured he was acting this way for a reason, probably so nobody would think anything was wrong, even though it was obvious that something definitely was wrong. She tried not to think or worry about it and just pretended that nothing was wrong as well and followed him into the shop.

They browsed around for a while, looking at nothing in particular. Hermione usually loved shopping in Flourish and Blotts and looking at all of the titles of the different books and reading the first few pages of anything that looked interesting. However, today she didn't want to browse; she just wanted Ron to tell her what was going on. After a few minutes Hermione grabbed the first book that caught her eye that she didn't already own, a revised version of Hogwarts, A History, and bought it. She found Ron aimlessly wandering around the sports section, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door. They squinted in the bright sunlight as they emerged from the dimly lit shop.

“Well that was fun, wasn't it?” Ron asked as he started walking down the street again. “Where to next?”

“Ron, stop,” Hermione said as she grabbed his arm again and pulled him into an alley. She'd had enough of his stalling. He needed to tell her what was going on, and he needed to do it now. “Would you just tell me what's going on? You're acting so strangely.”

“How do you figure?” he asked, ignoring her first question.

“You're kidding right?” Hermione asked incredulously. She was losing her patience with him very quickly, and she was getting more worried by the minute that what he needed to tell her was really serious. “You, Ron Weasley, were actually happy to go into a book store and then commented that it was fun. You invited me to come with you here to tell me something, so would you just tell me?”

“Fine,” he answered in a hushed voice as he looked around them. “But I can't do it here.”

“Well then where can you do it?”

“Um…” he replied, continuing to look around him. “Come on,” he said as he grabbed her hand and pulled her to a small café that she'd never noticed before. There were small round tables spaced around a patio that opened to the street. Ron sat down at a table in the corner, farthest from the street and bordered by walls on two sides. Hermione joined him, and they quickly looked over the menus and ordered.

“So now can you tell me?” Hermione asked worriedly, sitting on the edge of her chair with her arms crossed and resting on the table.

“All right,” Ron answered, folding his hands and placing them on the table as well. “I heard my dad and Percy talking this morning when I was visiting, and they-” He was interrupted by the waitress who had come back with their drinks. They both thanked her, and she left. Ron drank a big gulp from his glass of butterbeer and took a deep breath before continuing. Hermione couldn't even touch her glass of water; she was too nervous. Ron was silent for a moment, and Hermione decided not to pester him into continuing.

“Anyway,” Ron continued gravely, staring at his hands. “They were in the basement, which I thought was odd because no one goes down there anymore because of the boggart that started living in the cupboard at the bottom of the stairs. So I snuck down there to see what they were talking about. It was really hard to hear them too, because they were talking so quietly. But anyway, I heard them talking about V-V-Voldemort,” he stumbled over the last word and then paused and looked up at Hermione whose face had considerably paled. However, she remained silent, and he continued. “He was seen in Bulgaria by some Muggles four days ago. The Ministry just found out about it today.”

Hermione couldn't move. She couldn't think. She couldn't even breathe. All she could do was stare blankly at Ron. He was seen. Voldemort's been sighted. Ron's last two sentences kept repeating over and over in her mind. All she could see was Harry's face. She felt like the whole world was caving in around her.

“Mione,” Ron began quietly, gently touching her hand. He couldn't read her expression. Her dark brown eyes were completely blank. He didn't know if she'd even heard what he'd said. The only evidence to affirm that she had was that her face was blanched and her hands were cold and clammy. “You know what this means, don't you?”

Hermione didn't respond at first. She just continued to stare blankly into space. Finally, she nodded slowly.

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely as if just finding her voice. “Harry's going to go after him once and for all.” Even as she said the words she couldn't believe them. Harry's going to fight Voldemort for the last time. This sentence now ran nonstop in her head. Part of her knew Harry was capable of killing Voldemort. The other part, however, was terrified, because she knew if Harry didn't kill him, no one else could. And if Harry didn't kill Voldemort, Voldemort would kill Harry. One of them would be dead at the end of the Final Battle, maybe even both of them. And Hermione didn't know what she would do if Harry wasn't victorious.

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Hermione didn't remember much of the rest of their walk through Diagon Alley. She knew Ron had been trying to cheer her up, and she tried to humor him with laughter. However, her laughter was weak and usually came out sounding more like a grunt. They ran into Mrs. Harthington who said she was shopping for her granddaughter, because her birthday was coming up. She probably sensed something was wrong, because Hermione gave only one word answers while Ron did most of the talking, but Mrs. Harthington didn't ask any questions.

After they finished talking to her, Ron suggested they call it a day, because it was obvious to him that Hermione just needed some space. They apparated to the entrance of Hogsmeade Village, and Ron walked Hermione home.

“Are you sure you're going to be all right, Hermione?” Ron asked when they'd reached Hermione's house. He'd already asked her this question a few times, but he hadn't believed her answer.

“Yes, Ron,” Hermione answered with as much conviction as she could muster. “I'll be fine. I just think I need to lie down for a while.”

“Okay,” Ron replied, still not convinced by her response. “But if you need anything, let me know, okay?”

“Thanks,” she said sincerely and gave him a hug.

“All right…Well…I'll see you later,” Ron said, still unconvinced, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before he leaving.

“Bye, Ron,” she said, and then walked into her house.

She watched out the window as he took one last look at her house and walked away. As soon as he was out of view, Hermione leaned her back against the door, trying desperately to continue to hold in the tears she'd been holding in all day. But her efforts were in vain, because she couldn't control herself any longer. A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek before she let herself go completely. She let out a loud, desperate sob as she slowly slid down the door until she found herself seated on the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees and clutched them to her chest as she slowly rocked back and forth, sobbing inconsolably. Not Harry. Please not her Harry. She needed him. She didn't think she could live without him. He can't go now. Not now. Not yet. She hadn't told him how much she loved him. How much she really loved him. Not now. What would she do without him? Who would she turn to?

When she finally came out of her trance, she realized it was dark outside. She checked the clock and realized that she'd been carrying on for almost an hour and a half. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater and took a deep, shaky breath. “Come on, Hermione, pull yourself together,” she scolded herself. She slowly stood and stretched out her back which was screaming at her for sitting crouched in a ball like that for so long.

She didn't know what to do with herself now. The clock told her it was dinnertime, but she wasn't even a little bit hungry. She decided to make herself some tea anyway in hopes that it would either settle her stomach or clear her head, even though she knew it would do neither. As she started boiling the water she heard that execrable tapping at the window. She just ignored it. She really didn't want to deal with anything or anyone right now, let alone an owl that would most likely start nipping at her. She'd never been very good with owls. They never seemed to like her, although that was probably because she usually ignored them. She walked into her living room and collapsed on one of the overstuffed chairs, waiting for either the water to boil or the tapping to stop - whichever came first.

Thankfully, silence flooded her ears after only a few minutes, and she smiled for the first time that night, just in time to hear the tapping start up again at the door. “What is with these damn owls? They never let up!” Hermione mumbled indignantly as she stood and went over to the door just to humor the thing and make it go away.

“What?” she growled annoyed, upon opening the door. Now was definitely not the time for someone to be sending her excuses.

“Hello to you too,” Ginny Weasley greeted her, handing Hermione a pile of folded parchment. “I see you've been neglecting your owl post.”

“Ginny?” Hermione responded surprised as she took the parchment that was being shoved at her. Ginny worked at the Daily Prophet with Hermione, but in a different department. She'd gotten even closer to Ginny (as well as the entire Weasley family) since Hogwarts. Both Hermione and Harry went with Ron to the weekly dinners at the Burrow. Because all of the Weasley children were grown and on their own, Mrs. Weasley had arranged for all of them to return to the Burrow at least once a week, sometimes more, for dinner. Even Charlie came in from Romania most weeks. Over the years, Harry and Hermione had spent so much time with the Weasleys that Mrs. Weasley considered them part of the family too, so they were expected to come as well.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked. Ginny wasn't the type of person who just dropped in. She always sent an owl or something before she came, so Hermione was surprised to see her.

“Just wanted to check in on you,” she explained. “I sent you an owl earlier, but from the looks of the pile you've got there, you didn't get the message. Can I come in? It's getting pretty cold out here.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Hermione replied, finally remembering her manners and moving aside so her friend could enter.

“Thanks,” Ginny laughed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Hermione replied distractedly. “Do you want some tea? I was just boiling some water.”

“That would be great,” Ginny answered, unbuttoning her jacket. “Thanks.”

Hermione quickly glanced through the pile of parchment as she walked into the kitchen. She saw Ginny's note on top and noticed that the rest were from her writers, as expected. She tossed the pile on the counter, poured the water into two cups, added the tea bags, and brought them into the living room. Ginny thanked her as she handed her the cup, and they both sat on the new chairs, facing each other. Hermione took a long sip from her cup, and after realizing that, as she'd guessed, she didn't feel any better, she spoke.

“So what's up?” Hermione asked, trying to be as cheerful as possible. Hermione didn't know if Ginny knew about the Voldemort sighting, and she didn't want to be the one to have to tell her, so she tried to act as though nothing was wrong.

“I know about Voldemort,” Ginny answered soberly as if reading Hermione's thoughts. Hermione just looked at her, not knowing what to say. Then she nodded sedately and looked down, no longer attempting to appear cheerful. “Are you all right?” Ginny asked, this time with more concern than before.

Hermione paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts and willing her voice not to break. “Yeah,” she answered softly.

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

Hermione laughed weakly when she heard the question. “Why do none of you Weasleys ever believe me anymore when I answer a question? You always did when we were at Hogwarts.” Ginny allowed herself to crack a smile as the rest of her face conveyed confusion.

“Ron kept asking me the same thing after he told me,” Hermione explained.

“Well, we worry about you,” Ginny responded with an indignant smile on her face upon being told that she was acting just like her brother. “We know how much Harry means to you.”

“Yeah…well…I'm fine,” Hermione replied slightly flustered. She hadn't told anyone about her feelings for Harry. Was it so obvious that Ginny and Ron knew? No, it couldn't be. Ginny just meant that Harry was a really good friend. At least that's what she hoped. “What about you?” Hermione asked, hoping to turn the attention from her. “Are you okay? I mean, I know you had feelings for Harry for a while.”

Ginny laughed. “Hermione! That was in like first year! I'm over him! You know that.”

“Right, okay,” Hermione answered, allowing herself to laugh. She was really glad Ginny had come over. Hermione was beginning to feel like herself again. “But seriously, are you okay?”

Ginny thought for a minute before answering. “When Dad first told me, I definitely wasn't okay. But after I thought about it for a while, I realized that Harry can beat Voldemort. He really can. I mean, he's done it before, right? So why wouldn't he be able to do it again?”

“You're right,” Hermione replied as if trying to convince herself that what Ginny said really was true. Hermione knew Harry could defeat Voldemort. As Ginny said, if he did it once, he could do it again. But the nagging “what ifs” always took over at this point. However, Ginny's voice broke through her thoughts before the “what ifs” had the chance to make her depressed again.

“Anyway, I had another reason for coming here, too,” she said, sitting forward in her chair. “Mum thought it would be a good idea to have some sort of going away party for Harry before he leaves. You know, kind of a last hurrah, and also to keep Harry's mind off of what's happening. It's going to be tomorrow night at the Three Broomsticks.”

“That's a great idea,” Hermione replied, but then she thought of something. “Wait, does Harry even know about Voldemort yet?”

“Yeah,” Ginny answered gravely. “Dad, Percy, and Dumbledore told him this morning before they released the information to the public.”

“Is he okay? How did he react?” Hermione asked anxiously. She hadn't even thought of how Harry would get the news.

“Dad said he took it well. He said he seemed determined to just go and get it over with. Harry didn't really want to wait, but they're going to make him wait until Monday to leave to make sure it really was Voldemort those Muggles saw.” Hermione just let the information sink in, then nodded.

“Well, I should get going,” Ginny said and stood up from her chair. “Thanks so much for the tea, and I'll see you tomorrow night for the party.” Hermione stood and hugged Ginny.

“Thanks for coming, Gin,” Hermione said, genuinely appreciative. Ginny's visit had really made her feel better.

“You're welcome,” Ginny replied as she gave Hermione one last squeeze before letting go. “He's going to be fine,” she assured Hermione, holding on to her hands.

“I know,” Hermione answered quietly so her voice wouldn't break.

“I'll see you tomorrow night,” Ginny said with a wink as she showed herself out the door.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked down at her teacup. She picked it up and gulped down the last bit of tea before roughly setting it back down on the table. She suddenly felt overly exhausted. She went up to her room without bothering to clean up the teacups or turn out the lights. She collapsed on her bed without getting changed, and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

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“That's no orangutan! That's my sister!” Scattered laughter could be heard in response to Seamus's joke among the din of other conversations in the crowded party room of the Three Broomsticks. There was an impressive turnout for Harry's going-away party. The entire Weasley family was present, along with all of Harry's friends from his years at Hogwarts, and most of the members of the Order. Hagrid was there as well, and even Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore stopped by for a few minutes to enjoy the festivities. Hermione was sitting between Harry and Ron at one of the two large, round tables that had been set up, eating dinner.

Hermione tried her best to put on a brave face and appear that she was having a good time. As long as she didn't think of the fact that this could be the last time she'll ever see Harry, she was able to enjoy herself. To her (and everyone else's) surprise, Harry seemed to be enjoying himself as well. He wasn't his usual morose self. It reminded Hermione of their early years at Hogwarts, when everyone was so much more carefree.

Hermione hadn't left Harry's side the entire night. She wanted to spend as much time with him as she could before he left. She'd also been battling with herself all night whether or not she should drop the bomb and tell Harry that she loved him. On one hand, she wanted him to know how she felt in case she never got the chance to tell him again. On the other hand, she was experiencing the most common fear in the world: rejection. What if he didn't feel the same way? She couldn't let him leave on an awkward note like that. She figured if the time was right she would tell him, but as of yet, they hadn't had any time alone, and Hermione wasn't about to confess her love to Harry in front of so many people.

The trio was fondly reminiscing about Hogwarts when Mr. Weasley stood and raised his glass.

“I'd like to propose a toast,” he began, and the room grew silent. “You can probably all guess who it is that I'm toasting, but I'm going to tell you about him anyway.” He looked right at Harry and smiled. Harry's face turned a light shade of red with all the attention he was getting, but Mr. Weasley continued anyway. “When I met Harry a few years ago, I remember being fascinated about all of the Muggle contraptions that he'd grown up using, and asked him all about them. He seemed like a nice boy, and I thought he would be a great friend for Ron. I eventually learned of the responsibility that rested on this young man's shoulders; that he would one day have to defeat the Dark Lord,” some people whispered to each other, but then got quiet again. “Harry, over these past eight years, you've become a part of our family. You're like a seventh son to me.” Hermione looked over at Harry at this point to see him smiling appreciatively and to see Ron lean over and whisper to him, “You really are, mate. He talks about you all the time. It gets rather annoying actually.” Harry chuckled and returned his gaze to Mr. Weasley. “Little did I know all those years ago, that when it came time for you to go off and finally defeat V-Voldemort, I would be worried about you as if you were one of my own.” Mr. Weasley's voice broke slightly, and he quickly swiped his eye with his hand. Hermione looked at Harry again and saw him trying to fight off his own tears. It warmed her heart to see such an outpouring of emotion from both Mr. Weasley and Harry. “But, Harry, I want you to know,” he continued, “that I have no doubt at all in your abilities as a wizard. None of us do. We have total confidence in you, and we know that you will make a hero out of yourself for, what, the hundredth time?” Everyone laughed as he referred to Harry's almost yearly battles with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. “So, I encourage everyone to raise their glass in honor of Harry Potter: the boy who lived and the man who will save us all...again.” Everyone raised their glass in response and shouted, “To Harry!” Harry's face turned an even deeper shade of red, but Hermione knew by the smile on his face and the mistiness of his eyes that he was genuinely touched.

“All right then,” Mr. Weasley continued, “Now that we're all through with that, back to the party!” The music started up again as everyone got up from their seats to either dance or continue their previous conversations. Harry stood and was suddenly surrounded by people patting him on the back and shaking his hand.

“I'm going to go get another Butterbeer. Do either of you want anything?” Ron asked Harry and Hermione when they were finally alone again.

“No thanks,” Harry replied, Hermione shook her head no, and Ron walked over to the bar.

“Some party, isn't it?” Harry asked Hermione looking around at all of the people in attendance.

“Yeah, must make you feel good, seeing all these people here for you,” Hermione responded looking up at Harry. He smiled sheepishly in return and answered, “Yeah.” They both stood in silence for a moment, just taking in everything. Their relationship hadn't changed much since they were at Hogwarts; it had only grown. They talked to each other about everything, including Harry's relationship with Cho Chang. They'd dated on and off over the past five years, but recently decided to break it off for good. Hermione had never particularly cared for Cho, but she tried to get along with her for Harry's sake, which wasn't always easy. It was obvious that Cho was jealous of Hermione and her relationship with Harry, which was why Harry and Cho constantly broke up. Cho usually became overcome with jealousy and broke it off. Harry would then assure Cho that there was nothing to be jealous of, and they would end up getting back together. Hermione grew to know the whole routine very well. Initially, Hermione didn't understand why Cho was so jealous of her. After all, she and Harry were just friends. But as time went on, Hermione started to realize that she did have feelings for Harry that were more than platonic. She started to get her hopes up each time Cho and Harry broke up, thinking maybe, just maybe, Harry did feel the same way she did. During one of the periods when Harry was single, Hermione tried to drop what she thought were obvious hints that she liked him as more than a friend. When she hugged him, she'd hold on a little longer. When he said something that was funny, she'd laugh and lightly touch his arm. When she wished him luck before a quidditch match and kissed him on the cheek, she'd linger for a little longer. She thought her hints were working, but then Harry, being the totally oblivious guy that he was, went and told Cho that Hermione was like a sister to him and that there was nothing going on between them, and they got back together. Hermione eventually gave up trying to get Harry to notice her, and tried to set her sights on other guys who might not be as clueless. She dated a few guys and thought that she'd finally gotten over Harry. But when Harry told Hermione that he and Cho decided to call it quits for good a few weeks ago, it seemed like a floodgate opened and all of her feelings for him came rushing back.

Now, as Hermione stood next to Harry, she could feel her face grow warmer when she realized how close they were. She shifted her weight slightly, and her arm brushed up against his. She willed her face not to get any redder. It was suddenly extremely hot in her forest green sweater and gray corduroys. Why was this happening again? This was just Harry. Hermione knew the answer to that question, whether she wanted to or not. It wasn't “just Harry” anymore. She'd fallen in love with her best friend, again. “You need to tell him,” the voice in Hermione's head commanded. Hermione figured now was as good a time as any. She took a deep breath, turned to look at him, and opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Merlin, was he gorgeous. All she could do was stare at his intense green eyes as they surveyed the room. And that hair…That dark, unruly hair. All she wanted to do was run her hand through it. But how weird would that be to just start running her fingers through his hair? He'd probably think she was mental or something. Just then he turned and said, “Hermione, do you want to-” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw her look away as soon as he looked at her, her face an unseemly shade of red. Busted, she thought.

“What?” he asked, laughing at the sight of her embarrassment.

“Nothing,” she replied, trying to gracefully recover and failing miserably. She'd been caught red-handed. “Nothing at all…I was just…nothing.”

Harry laughed, looking at her somewhat suspiciously, “Uh…ok.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, chuckling lightly in spite of herself. “So, what were you saying?” she added, hoping to change the subject.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to get some fresh air. You know, go for a walk or something?” he answered. Harry never did like it when people made a big deal out of him. Hermione had no doubt that Harry appreciated what everyone was doing for him, but sometimes he just needed to get away.

“Sure,” Hermione replied, eager to put this little incident behind them.

“Great. Let's go.” Hermione followed Harry out the door and into the crisp, autumn night. They started walking slowly down the cobblestone street. It was nearly dark, and one by one the lampposts were illuminated. They walked in silence for a little while. If Hermione wanted to tell Harry how she felt, now would be the perfect time to do it. But she couldn't just start off by saying “Harry, I love you.” She had to start off slowly. After a few more minutes of silence, Hermione spoke.

“So how are you, Harry?” Hermione asked gently.

“I'm just dandy, Hermione. And how are you?” he answered her, smiling teasingly.

“No,” Hermione laughed. He was such a geek sometimes. “How are you really?” she asked more seriously. She knew he couldn't possibly be “just dandy” when he was going off to fight the most powerful wizard in the world in mere hours.

“I'm fine, actually,” he replied honestly, sounding somewhat surprised at his own answer.

“You're not nervous or scared or anything? You're just fine?” she asked incredulously.

“Believe it or not, I'm just fine. Why should I be nervous? I would've thought that everyone would be glad that I'm not.” They had come to the front of the Three Broomsticks again and sat on a bench outside the door.

Hermione knew he wasn't telling the truth; she could see it in his eyes (which, much to her chagrin, she couldn't stop staring at). They were still the same amazing emerald green, but they were clouded with worry. Harry should know by now that he couldn't hide anything from Hermione. No matter how honestly he thought he answered her, she knew he wasn't telling the truth. He was being his usual stubborn self and refusing to let anyone see that he really was scared. “Come on, Harry,” Hermione said gently, “You can tell me.” She didn't want to pester him and make him talk if he didn't want to, but Hermione just didn't understand why he wouldn't just admit that he was scared. She just wanted him to open up to her like he used to.

“That's the thing, Hermione. There's nothing to tell. I know I can do this,” he insisted, but Hermione knew that he was trying harder to convince himself than to convince her. “Why can't you see that I'm fine and just support me?”

“That's not fair,” Hermione replied sternly. She wasn't sure why but tears were forming in her eyes. “You know how supportive I am of you. That has nothing to do with this.”

He stopped for a second. “You're right. I know,” he surrendered, shaking his head. “It's just that I don't want everyone to be making a big deal out of this.”

“But, Harry, it is a big deal! This is Voldemort we're talking about. Not some meaningless case for the Ministry,” Hermione said, instantly regretting it, because her voice broke and a tear escaped and slid down her cheek. She was determined to make sure that Harry didn't see her cry. That was the last thing he needed right now. She quickly brushed the tear away and took a deep breath, willing the other tears to disappear. But it was too late, Harry had already seen it.

“Aw, Mione, please don't cry,” Harry said, his voice softened as he used his nickname for her. He certainly wasn't making this any easier.

“I'm not,” she said as she looked away and wiped her eyes. “I'm fine.”

“No you're not,” he said, and he wrapped his strong arms around her as she started sobbing, soaking the front of his navy blue turtleneck. “Everything's going to be all right,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing her back. This wasn't right. Harry wasn't supposed to be the one doing the comforting and saying that it was going to be all right. Hermione was. She was furious with herself. But she couldn't help melting in his strong, warm embrace. Why was he doing this to her? Why did he have to go and be so perfect?

“I'm sorry,” Hermione sniffled, as she forced herself to calm down

“Don't be,” Harry said. He moved his arm, and Hermione was almost positive he was wiping his eyes. She could've stayed in his arms forever, but she knew she had to regain some sense of dignity. Her job was to be the comforter, not the comforted. She pulled back and looked into his beautiful eyes.

“It's not that I don't think you can do this. I have no doubt you will. It's just…I don't know…”

“I know,” Harry said with a smile. Hermione smiled too, because she knew that he did know what she was trying to say. That's just the way Harry was. Perfect. It's now or never, she thought. She said, “I don't know how to tell you this.” Harry looked at her with question in his eyes.

“Tell me what?” he asked with a smile, obviously having no clue what was coming next.

No going back now, she thought to herself. Before she could change her mind she blurted out, “Harry, I lo-”

“There you guys are.” Harry and Hermione both quickly turned their heads to see Ron coming around the corner. Damn you, Ron, you and your bad timing, Hermione wanted to scream. “I've been looking everywhere for you. They're about to cut the cake.”

“We just went for a walk,” Harry answered, not knowing that Ron had ruined one of the most important moments of Hermione's life. “We'll be right in.”

“All right,” Ron said, eyeing to two wrapped around each other on the bench suspiciously. “But hurry up,” he said, then walked back into the Three Broomsticks. Hermione couldn't say anything. She just couldn't believe that had happened. It was like a scene from one of those trashy romance novels Parvati and Lavender had talked her into reading once; the usual best-friend-ruins-moment-when-other-best-friend-was-about-to-confess-love-to-third-best-friend. Hermione just couldn't believe it.

“I didn't realize we were gone so long that they needed to send out a search party,” Harry said lightly. Hermione just smile halfheartedly in return. “So what were you saying, Mione?”

Oh, I was just going to confess my undying love for you, Hermione wanted to say, but she couldn't do it now. It was too late. She'd missed her shot. “Nothing,” she replied softly. She couldn't believe how devastated she felt. She was so ready to do this, and then nothing.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow doubtfully.

“Yeah,” she responded with as genuine a smile as she could muster.

“Okay,” Harry said reluctantly. “Well, I guess we should head back in?”

“Sure.” One word answers were all Hermione could handle. They got up and returned to the party.

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It was four hours later, and the festivities were finally winding down. Harry was standing by the door, saying good-bye to everyone as they left. Hermione was helping the Weasleys clean up by wiping the tables. She wasn't sure how much of a help she actually was, because she realized just now that she'd been scrubbing the same spot for the past ten minutes, while staring right at Harry, and she hadn't even known it. Her face didn't blush this time; she didn't scold herself for being so obvious; she just shook her head and returned to work. Even if Harry had seen her looking at him, what difference would it have made? As previously noted, he is one of the most oblivious guys on the planet.

After their walk, Harry and Hermione went back to the party, Harry cut the cake, the Weasleys cracked some jokes, and they had a grand old time. Well, that's the way it would have been if Hermione had had the opportunity to finish one of the most important sentences she will ever speak, but no. Ron had to come along with his impeccable timing and announce that there was a cake to be cut (leave it to Ron to ruin something so important for the sake of food). So in the midst of all this cake-cutting and joke-cracking and grand-old-time-having, Hermione was mentally kicking herself as hard as humanly possible (and Ron too, for that matter). All Hermione could think was that she should have done it sooner. She waited too long, and now it was too late. She figured she might as well just forget about it and make the best of the rest of the night.

The last of the guests were finally leaving, and Hermione had successfully cleaned off both tables. Ginny took the rag from her, and Hermione wiped her damp hands on her pants.

“All finished?” she heard Harry ask. She turned around to see him standing right behind her with a somewhat nervous look on his face.

“It looks like it,” Hermione answered, looking around at the now spotless room. “Is everyone gone?”

“Everyone except you and the Weasleys,” he replied. Hermione looked and him, and he looked right back at her, still with a slight trace of nervousness that Hermione couldn't figure out the cause of. Neither of them knew what to say, so they just stood there staring at each other. “You still have one more chance to redeem yourself,” that voice in her head chimed in. All right, just do it, she said to herself, don't screw it up again.

“Harry, I-”

“Hermione-” So not only was Ron going to cut her off, but Harry was going to do it too? This was so unfair.

“Go ahead,” Harry said with a smile after they both stopped speaking.

“No, you go,” Hermione replied. She wanted to hear what he had to say, and then determine whether or not she should tell him how she felt.

Harry blushed slightly and said, “It's not that important, really. I just…” He looked down at his hands as he wrung them. Why was he so nervous? Hermione wondered. Could it mean…? Was he about to…?

“Go on,” Hermione urged him with a reassuring smile, trying to keep her anxiety from showing. Was he going to say that he loved her?

Harry looked up at her again sheepishly with those wonderful green eyes and said, “I just don't know how I'm going to be able to say good-bye to you.”

Good-bye? That definitely wasn't what Hermione was going for. She tried to mask her disappointment, but it was difficult. Not only did he not say that he loved her, but now he was going to torture her by making her say good-bye to him?

“Then let's make it easy,” Hermione said, attempting to be cheerful. She gave him a quick hug and said, “Bye, Harry. Good luck. I know you can do it.”

When she pulled away, Harry smiled and said, “Well, that certainly was easy.” Hermione just smiled back, because she knew if she opened her mouth, she would start sobbing again. Why was she such a blubbering mess all of the sudden? “Because your best friend might die, and you haven't told him that you love him,” that annoying voice in her head so helpfully informed her. Was there a way to turn that bloody thing off?

Harry and Hermione grew silent again and just looked at each other. What else was there to say? It looked like there was more that Harry wanted to say, and there was obviously a lot more that Hermione wanted to say, but it seemed that they'd made a silent agreement to keep it to themselves so they wouldn't cause each other any more pain. And it may seem surprising, but Hermione was okay with that.

Just then, Mr. Weasley came over, followed by the rest of the Weasley clan, and he put his arm around Harry. “Well, Harry, what do you say? Are you ready to go? You're going to need a good night's sleep tonight.”

Harry nodded, and everyone walked out the door and onto the darkened street. The whole group apparated to the porch of Harry's house off of Diagon Alley to say their final good-byes. Hermione could hardly stand watching or listening as each of the Weasleys said good-bye to Harry. Mrs. Weasley was sobbing, and Ginny almost was too. Fred and George didn't joke or make any comments. Hermione even saw Fred wiping away a tear, even though he tried to make it look like he was just rubbing his eye. Ron shook Harry's hand, but then they both thought better of it and hugged each other for the longest time; Ron pulled away sniffling. Charlie and Bill each shook Harry's hand, wishing him luck. Mr. Weasley shook Harry's hand and gave him a very fatherly hug. The whole time, Harry remained almost emotionless.

It was finally Hermione's turn. She walked over to Harry, and smiled a pained smile, unable to hold back her tears anymore. They hugged each other tightly. Without even hesitating Hermione whispered shakily, “You have to come back to me, Harry. Promise me you will.”

“I will, Mione. I promise,” Harry whispered back. They pulled apart and looked at each other one last time. Harry smiled reassuringly at her, and Hermione tried to smile back. Hermione just couldn't believe Harry wasn't more emotional. Maybe he'd really meant it when he said he wasn't nervous. Maybe he knew this was all a little ridiculous, because he knew he was going to be just fine. Or maybe he just didn't want anyone to see him upset. Either way, there was nothing Hermione could do about it, so she just accepted his unaffected state. They all said good-bye one last time, and Harry went inside and closed the door.

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She needed to get away, so she said good-bye to the Weasleys as they were all comforting each other and quickly left. She apparated to her house and started tidying up. She was well aware of the fact that it was nearly one in the morning, and she was cleaning. She wasn't looking for logic, she just knew that she couldn't dwell on the fact that that very well may have been the last time she'd ever see Harry. She was sick of crying and didn't want to do it anymore. After she finished cleaning she decided to take as shower and get ready for bed. She knew she probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, but she thought that maybe if she went through the motions, she would get tired and forget everything that had happened tonight. Yeah, right.

After she showered, she pulled on the first t-shirt she found and a pair of shorts. When she looked in the mirror to tie her hair back, she saw which shirt she'd grabbed. It was one of the shirts that Harry constantly left at her house. Why was she doing this to herself? Out of all of the shirts she owned, why did she have to pick this one? But she couldn't bear to change it. Before thinking about it anymore, she climbed into her bed and pulled up the covers.

“This is ridiculous,” she said after lying awake for about twenty minutes. She knew she was never going to get to sleep. She ripped off the covers and walked down to the living room. She paced for a little while, looking for something to take her mind off of everything. Eventually, she decided to read (big surprise there). But what should she read? Obviously something that wouldn't make her think of Harry.

After going through all of her books and seeing that each and every one of them reminded her of Harry somehow, she decided on a magazine. She walked over to pick up the latest copy of Witch Weekly, which was laying facedown on the coffee table. She grabbed it and sank into the comfy armchair. To her dismay, when she turned the magazine over, Harry's face was on the cover. She threw it and let out a frustrated yell. Was the entire world suddenly against her? She gave up trying to keep her mind off Harry and decided to just lie in her bed. She had to fall asleep eventually, right? So she got up, switched off the light, and turned to go to bed.

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Just as Hermione turned off the light, she heard a knock at her door. She jumped at the noise and quickly turned the like back on. Who the hell would be knocking on her door at 2:30 in the morning? Without removing her eyes from the door, she felt around for her wand. She held it firmly in her right hand and slowly made her way to the door. She couldn't tell if the person on the other side of the door knocked again or not, because her heart was beating so loudly she could hardly hear anything. She unlocked the door, turned the knob, and slowly opened it, her eyes closed, waiting for whomever it was to barge in and attack her (okay, so she was more than a little paranoid about the whole being-best-friends-with-Harry-so-someone-might-try-to-kidnap-you thing). She stuck her head through the opening and opened her eyes after she realized no one was attacking her. She was shocked by what she found.

“Harry?” she asked as she straightened up (for some reason she thought that crouching down would protect her from a wand-wielding murder) and opened the door all the way.

“Heya, Hermione,” Harry replied as if it was completely normal for him to be standing at her door at 2:30 AM wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and blue-striped pajama pants (not that she objected to this outfit. She could make out every muscle in his torso through the semi-tight shirt, and she hated Harry for it). She moved aside so he could come in.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she closed the door behind him and waited for her heart to stop pounding from the unnecessary fear of her imminent death.

“I just came to return this book I borrowed,” Harry said, holding up her copy of Defensive Magical Theory that she hadn't noticed him holding before.

“Harry, you borrowed that from me, like, a year ago,” Hermione responded, confused as to why he decided that now was a good time to return it.

“I know,” he replied. “And I'm sorry it took so long to get it back to you.”

“Is there a reason why you decided that now, of all times, was the perfect time to return it?” she asked incredulously. “Because, in case you haven't noticed, it's half past two in the morning.”

“Right,” he answered as if just realizing the time. “Well, I'm sorry about that, but I was just going through my things, and I found it. I decided to return it now, because I didn't know if I would ever…you know, have the opportunity…to return it to you, and I figured you would want it back,” he finished uncomfortably. Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach. So he wasn't as confident as he'd acted.

“Oh, Harry,” she cooed, her voice softening considerably as she grabbed the book out of his hand, tossed it aside, and went to hug him.

“No, Hermione. Please,” he said somewhat desperately and gently pushed her away. “I'm fine. I really am,” he said extremely unconvincingly.

“No. You're not,” she informed him. “C'mon,” she said motioning to her couch, “Come sit down.” Harry looked at her reluctantly, but he didn't resist. Hermione sat down and pulled Harry down next to her. She pulled her legs up in front of her, Indian-style, and waited for Harry to speak. They sat in silence for a while, but eventually he did.

“I just don't know what happened,” he said, not looking at Hermione. “I was so fearless and confident. And now…” Hermione wanted nothing more than to just hold him and allow him to let it all out. But he was finally opening up to her, and she didn't want to stop him. “I just…I'm not anymore.” He finally turned and looked Hermione in the eye. There was so much fear and pain in his eyes that Hermione wanted to cry herself, but she knew she couldn't do that to him. Not now. “I…” He seemed to need to gather his thoughts before he spoke again. He looked at Hermione, but seemed to become intimidated and looked away. But then he seemed to muster some courage and looked back at her again. He swallowed hard and said, “I'm scared, Mione.”

Hermione's heart shattered. She could see he was trying so hard to be brave and to not let anyone see his fear, but she saw it. She'd seen it all along. A rebel tear escaped from Harry's eye, but he quickly brushed it away.

“C'mere,” Hermione said soothingly with a sad smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and pulled him to her. He didn't refuse her this time. He wrapped his arms around her waist and started to cry. Hermione couldn't remember the last time Harry had shown this much emotion. Ever since Sirius's death, Harry had pretty much cut his emotions off from the world.

They were so close now. It was driving Hermione crazy. She didn't know if she could control herself. She rubbed his back, and before she knew it, she ran one of her hands through that dark, messy hair that she loved so much. After she did it, she silently scolded herself, but Harry hadn't seemed to notice anything suspicious.

After a long while, Harry pulled back, turned away, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He turned to her again.

“I'm sorry about this, Mione,” he apologized, laughing resentfully at himself. “I should get going.”

“Don't be silly. You're not going back to that lonely flat of yours. You're going to stay here with me.” What? Where did that come from? It didn't matter now, it was too late to take it back, and it's not like she would object to the man of her dreams sleeping in her own humble abode.

“Thanks, but I couldn't impose on you like that. It's bad enough I got you up in the middle of the night. I'll be fine.”

“Do you really think I'm ever going to buy that `I'm fine' crap you keep giving me?” she playfully scolded him, hoping to lighten the mood. “You're staying here, and that's final. You can sleep in my spare bedroom if that's what you're worried about. You don't have to be anywhere near me.” But I really hope you'd want to be, she added silently.

“All right, if you insist,” Harry said reluctantly, still feeling he was imposing on his best friend.

“Good. Follow me, and I'll show you to your room.” But, hey, you can always stay in my room, she continued, of course, to herself. Merlin, was she a mess. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs to his room at the end of the hall. Harry had stayed over before, but Ron and Ginny had been there too, and they all had slept in the living room. This was the first time Harry was staying with Hermione alone, and she could sense his apprehension. She wasn't quite sure if it was a good thing or not. It could mean that he liked her, and was nervous about being with her alone like this (which Hermione desperately hoped for), or it could mean that he felt uncomfortable, because he didn't feel that way about her. She didn't have much time to dwell on it before they'd reached the room.

“Here it is,” she said, opening the door and showing Harry in. He looked around in awe.

“You actually furnish your spare rooms?” he asked amazement, referring to the bed, couch, bureau, and curtains that adorned the little-used room.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Hermione laughed. “Unlike you and Ron, I prefer to have a clean and organized home so visitors won't be disgusted when they enter.” Harry and Ron seldom found it necessary, if ever, to clean up after themselves. That's why, whenever they decided to get together, they would either do it at Ginny's or Hermione's, where you could actually walk five feet and not end up kicking a pile of dirty laundry. Not that Hermione got visitors very often, but she liked to keep a clean house. Other than their little sleepovers in the living room, the only other people who have ever stayed overnight with Hermione were her parents, so this was saying something for Harry. “I'll go grab you some towels,” she finished and left him to settle in. She came back a little later and gave him the towels and said, “All set?”

“I think so,” Harry replied, glancing around the room. “Thanks so much for doing this for me, Mione,” he said appreciatively.

“It's my pleasure,” she smiled. “Well, if you don't need anything else, I guess I'll turn in for the night...” she finished, secretly praying that he wanted something, anything, else.

“Sounds good.” Damn. That's too bad. They stood in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say next. How many times was this going to happen to them?

“Well…good night, Harry,” Hermione said and leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

“Night, Mione,” he answered. Hermione detected a hint of sadness in his voice, but before she could say anything, he turned away and started turning down his bed. Hermione decided to just let him be. She walked into the hall, turned, and with a singsong voice said, “'Night.”

Harry turned. “'Night,” he smiled and climbed into bed. Hermione closed the door behind her and walked to her own room at the other end of the hall. Why had she decided to give him the farthest room from her own? She amazed herself sometimes with her own stupidity. Oh well. She climbed into her bed, pulled up the covers, and began staring at the ceiling for a long, sleepless night. No way was she ever going to be able to sleep knowing that the love of her life was just a few doors down and was leaving in the morning, most likely for good.

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After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Hermione decided that she was thirsty (whether she really was or she just wanted an excuse to go by Harry's room even Hermione wasn't sure). She folded back the covers and placed her feet on the cold floor. She stood up and walked out of her room and down the darkened hallway. She slowed as she neared the room Harry was in. She stood at the entrance to his room, the closed door staring back at her. She wanted so badly to open that door, even to just stick her head in the room and catch a glimpse of him. She placed her hand on the door knob and was about to turn it when she thought better of it. How strange would it be if Harry woke up and saw her staring at him? She removed her hand from the knob and silently scolded herself as she turned from the door and went down the stairs.

Hermione usually hated even leaving her room in the middle of the night. Her house was so dark and empty, it gave her the creeps. But for some reason, she wasn't as scared now. Maybe because she knew that Harry was right upstairs, and if there was a problem, she knew he would be right there immediately. It gave her a great sense of comfort. However, even though she wasn't as scared as usual, it didn't mean she wanted to dwell in her dark kitchen longer than she needed to. She gulped down her glass of water and quickly went back upstairs.

Hermione got to the top of the stairs and was faced with that door again. She put her hand on the knob once more; she just couldn't help herself. After debating for a moment, she allowed herself to slowly open the door and poked her head in. As she suspected, she couldn't really see anything because it was so dark, but she could hear him breathing. For some reason it gave her chills. You're hopeless, she reproached herself. However, after listening for a little while, she noticed that his breathing wasn't calm and melodic like it should be if he was sleeping peacefully. He was breathing very heavily. She thought it was odd, but she figured that could possibly have been how Harry normally breathed when he slept (when was the last time that Hermione had listened to Harry breathe?). She shrugged slightly and started pulling her head out of the room. She stopped abruptly when she heard him call out, “No!”

Hermione pulled the door open all the way, and quickly padded across the room to Harry's bed. He was turning back and forth, muttering, “No! Don't!” Beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead. Hermione was beginning to get scared. She knew she had to do something. She started gently shaking him and saying his name. His turning became more violent before he finally jolted awake. He sat up quickly and shouted, “Stop!”

“Harry,” Hermione soothed him gently, rubbing his back while trying to keep her own nerves in check. “It's okay. It was just a dream.”

Harry looked at Hermione, realizing she was there. The fear that clouded his beautiful eyes was subsiding as he gasped for breath. He didn't say anything, so Hermione gave him a shaky smile. They just stared at each other for a moment.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brow in concern. Harry looked away.

“It was awful,” he whispered, more to himself than to Hermione, as he pictured the whole thing again, but he didn't go any further. He wouldn't tell Hermione what his dream was about. She wasn't going to pry, but it was obvious he'd been dreaming of Voldemort and the Final Battle. He'd had nightmares about it for as long as she could remember. He really was scared.

“It's okay,” she soothed him again, this time allowing herself to hug him. He loosely wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. If only there wasn't so much fear and angst, this would have been a beautiful moment for Hermione.

They just sat there for a long time. Hermione continued rubbing Harry's back and whispered, “You're okay. Everything's going to be all right,” over and over.

When it seemed that Harry had finally calmed down, Hermione reluctantly pulled away. They looked at each other awkwardly. Harry was the first to break the silence. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“Don't worry about it,” Hermione assured him with a smile. “I was up anyway,” she finished slightly nervously. She failed to mention the fact that she was up because she wanted to watch him sleep, but she didn't think that would have been a good thing to tell him.

He laughed and said, “What would I do without you, Hermione?”

“I don't know,” Hermione smiled. “You'd probably still be roaming the streets in your pajamas.” Harry laughed in response, but didn't say anything. They fell into silence again. They looked at each other, smiled awkwardly, and looked away. When did silences become so uncomfortable?

“Well, I guess I should let you get back to sleep,” Hermione said as she stood up. “'Night, Harry,” she finished, and turned to leave.

“Hermione, wait,” she heard Harry's voice say. She turned around again to see him still sitting up in his bed. She looked at him expectantly when he didn't speak right away, he looked embarrassed. “Don't go just yet, okay?”

Hermione's heart swelled. She hadn't really wanted to leave, but she didn't know what else to do. She would have loved to wait with him until he fell asleep. She would have loved to stay with him all night and just watch him sleep. She realized what she was thinking and wondered when she had become so creepy and stalker-like. She answered that question herself: when she realized she was in love with her best friend. She was about to tell him that she didn't think it was a good idea for her to stay with him (because she certainly didn't want to be held responsible for her actions. She doubted she would be able to control herself), but when she saw his face, she just couldn't do it. He looked like a frightened child who was eagerly waiting for admittance to his parents' bed after he'd had a nightmare about the boogie man. He looked so helpless. How could she possibly turn that down?

“I'll stay as long as you want me to,” she answered. Merlin help her, she was going to need all the strength she could get now. He smiled gratefully and moved over to make room for her. She climbed into the bed next to him. They each lay on their sides, facing each other. Neither said a word. Harry reached over and placed one of his hands lightly on her waist. They smiled. Hermione dreaded another awkward silence. However, this moment didn't feel so uncomfortable. This probably should have been the most uncomfortable situation they'd been in all night. Two best friends (a guy and a girl no less) in bed together in the middle of the night - that sounds pretty shady. Yet, this was probably the most comfortable Hermione had felt all night. She felt warm and safe. She saw him close his eyes and move his head a little to get more comfortable. Hermione rolled over to her other side. Harry pulled her closer to him, her back against his chest. He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist. Hermione put her hand on his. She could feel her face grow warmer and was grateful for the darkness. She smiled and closed her eyes. She never wanted this moment to end.

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A/N: Okay, I'm really sorry this took so long…I have too many things to do and not enough time in the day to do them all. I'm sure you all know what that's like. Thanks so much for your patience. Also, I'm really sorry that this chapter is so short, but I think it needed to be broken up this way. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to write as this one did…but you never know. Anyway, my little rant is over. Thanks again.

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“Hermione.” Hermione was pulled away from possibly the best dream she'd ever had in her entire life. She'd been dreaming that she was lying next to Harry under her favorite tree by the lake at Hogwarts, and Harry was telling her how much he loved her.

“Hermione.” She was hesitant to open her eyes. She didn't want that wonderful image to disappear. It was too late though. The late afternoon sunshine from her dream was completely erased and replaced with darkness.

“Hermione!” She sighed and reluctantly opened her eyes. She groggily looked over at Harry next to her and realized that at least part of her dream had been true. The whole Hogwarts-lake-thing was completely bogus, and Harry certainly wasn't saying that he loved her (yeah right, in her dreams…oh wait…it was), but Harry was most definitely lying next to her. At least that was a plus. However, she realized then what it was that had awakened her. She'd heard her name. Finally fully awake, she realized where it was coming from.

Harry.

He was having another nightmare. He was thrashing around and calling out her name. Hermione started to panic. She needed to wake him up. She grabbed his shoulder and started shaking it, gently calling out his name, much like she had only a few hours earlier. His eyes flew open, and he looked around with a panicked look on his face. He saw her in front of him, and relief quickly washed over his features. He hugged her tightly, which took Hermione by surprise. Harry wasn't usually the one to initiate such kinds of physical contact (he wouldn't hesitate to punch Malfoy or something of that sort, but he rarely initiated a hug if the person he was hugging wasn't crying or something). Granted, it was a pleasant surprise; but a surprise nonetheless.

Hermione would never have wanted to say or do anything to end this moment. Harry was hugging her. She was in heaven. However, she found that even in heaven, breathing was kind of important, and Harry's viselike grip was making that rather difficult. She contorted her arms so her hands were on his arms and she attempted to gently loosen his grip.

“Harry…” she began with breathless discomfort. She was finally in the arms of the man of her dreams; however even Harry wasn't worth suffocating for. She didn't finish her sentence though, because she realized he was shaking. Harry Potter. First crying; then hugging; now shaking. This had been one strange night.

“Harry?” Hermione said, abandoning the fight for air. Breathing was overrated anyway. Just as Hermione put her arms around Harry to calm him down, he pulled away slightly. Hermione took a deep breath; grateful for the ability to fill her lungs to their full capacity. “Harry, what is it? What was that dream about?” Hermione didn't really want to hear all of the gory details because it was obvious that the dream had involved her in some way (most likely being tortured by Voldemort), but she thought that talking about it might help Harry so he wouldn't have another nightmare like the one he'd just experienced. She was just trying to be a good friend. She looked into Harry's eyes when he didn't answer right away. He was just staring at her; he wouldn't take his eyes away from her.

“I love you, Mione,” he said without hesitation. Hermione froze. Did he just say what she thought/hoped/prayed he'd said? She couldn't believe it. After all this time and all of the torture she'd put herself through, he did love her back. She hoped to Merlin that she wasn't making this up in her head.

“Oh, Harry,” she said quietly, willing herself not to cry. She just couldn't believe it. “I love you, too.” He didn't cringe in disgust when she said that; nor did he run away screaming. So she hadn't imagined it. He really had said that he loved her. However, he didn't seem as emotional about it as she was. He just smiled at her like he always did. It wasn't an I-love-you-with-all-my-heart-and-never-want-to-live-without-you smile; it was more like a hey-Hermione-I-think-you're-swell kind of smile. She didn't really care though. She'd finally told him how she felt. She hadn't known how much her unprofessed feelings had bogged her down until she felt the enormous weight lifted from her chest when she'd said that she loved him.

Before Hermione knew what was happening, she saw Harry lean toward her. She couldn't believe this was happening. He was finally going to kiss her. After all of this time, she would finally know what it was like to kiss Harry Potter full-on the lips. Her heart was pounding in her chest. At any other occasion, this probably would have embarrassed her and she would have hoped that no one else would notice that her heart was pumping double-time; but now it didn't matter. Not with Harry. She didn't care.

He inched closer to her and she instinctively closed her eyes. She was trying very hard to suppress the giddiness she felt all of the sudden. This was finally happening. After all this time, Harry was finally going to kiss her. She lifted her chin slightly and tilted her head so they wouldn't bash noses (She couldn't believe that there was actually a chance that she could smash her nose into Harry's as he leaned in to kiss her. This was better than she'd ever imagined). She inched her face slowly closer and took a breath. This was it. She suppressed one last fit of giggles before she felt Harry's lips on her. Only, his lips weren't on hers. They were on her forehead.

Harry Potter was kissing her forehead.

There must be some sort of mistake here. Was Harry in desperate need of an anatomy lesson? The lips are BELOW the eyes and nose, not above them.

Hermione felt him move away. However, she kept her eyes closed; hoping, no, praying that there would be something else. When you've just confessed your love to someone, you don't just kiss her on the forehead. That's something that your grandmother or great aunt Bertha would do before pinching you on the cheek. Even friends are more touchy-feely than that.

Hermione's eyes remained closed for a few more depressing seconds. She finally gave up, realizing that she wasn't going to get anything else. She opened her eyes and looked at Harry, trying hard to mask her immense disappointment. He smiled that smile at her again, the hey-Hermione-I-think-you're-swell one. Then he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. And that was it. That was all that was left of the moment: Hermione looking with a mix of shock and disenchantment at her sleeping best friend as she realized that's all she'll ever be to him: a best friend.

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Hermione awoke the next morning to the sound of birds chirping as sunlight poured across her face. For some unknown reason Hermione felt unusually happy this morning as she opened her eyes. After a few seconds of disorientation Hermione realized that she was in her guest room. And then she remembered. She'd slept with Harry last night. (no, not SLEPT with him slept with him…get your mind out of the gutter). She remembered that he told her he loved her. But then she remembered how he'd said it. More friendly than romantic…but at least he'd said it.

She could still picture his wonderful smile and feel the warmth of his body against hers. Wait a minute…She turned over to see that she was alone in the bed. Oh no, she thought to herself. Could he have possibly left without telling her? She tore off her covers and was about leap out of bed when she heard something. It sounded like pots clanging together down in the kitchen. Oh my gosh, she realized. Harry was making her breakfast. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She'd always known that Harry was a great friend, but this was far beyond anything she'd ever imagined.

Before going downstairs, Hermione quietly padded down the hall to her room to get a robe. She looked into her mirror to check her hair. It was messy as usual, but for some reason, Hermione felt the need to make herself more presentable to Harry this morning. As she was fixing her ponytail, Hermione felt herself getting nervous. Hermione was worried that things might be weird between her and Harry this morning after all that had happened the night before.

Hermione checked the mirror one last time before prying herself away. She tried to keep herself from running down the hallway and bounding down the stairs. No one besides her parents and Mrs. Harthington had ever made her breakfast before. (Some mornings when Mrs. Harthington doesn't see Hermione out on her porch, she'll stop by to make sure everything's all right, and she'll make Hermione breakfast. Mrs. Harthington spoils Hermione so much sometimes).

Hermione briskly walked down the hallway and nearly tripped over herself trying to get down the stairs. She successfully avoided stubbing her toe the furniture as she quickly made her way through the living room. She could barely contain her excitement. She felt like a child on Christmas morning. She rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen.

“Harry! This is such a wonderful surprise! Thank you so much for-” she stopped abruptly upon seeing the figure of a squat, grey-haired woman reaching for a towel to grip one of the pans that was on the stove. Mrs. Harthington turned to greet her young neighbor.

“Oh, good morning, Hermione dear. It's about time you woke up. I was just making some waffles and bacon, because I know they're your favorite. Now, have a seat; I'm almost finished,” Mrs. Harthington said warmly as she placed the freshly cooked bacon on a plate.

Hermione didn't move. If no one had been upstairs with her, and Mrs. Harthington was down here, then where was Harry? Hermione turned from the kitchen and retraced her steps through the living room, finding it empty. She returned to the kitchen and looked out on her porch. Empty as well. A sick, heavy feeling was forming in Hermione's stomach. Harry wouldn't just leave without saying good-bye, would he? Come on, Hermione, be logical, she scolded herself. Mrs. Harthington probably knows where he is. So Hermione returned to the kitchen, and trying to keep her voice even asked politely, “Mrs. Harthington, have you seen my friend Harry?”

Mrs. Harthington turned to her with a playful twinkle in her eye. “The one you fancy, dear?” she asked coyly.

Hermione fought the urge to groan and roll her eyes and answered affirmatively. However, Hermione grew hopeful.

“Why, no, I haven't,” Mrs. Harthington answered. Hermione's stomach dropped. Maybe Harry would leave without saying good-bye. “Why? Is something the matter?” But Hermione didn't hear the end of Mrs. Harthington's question. She ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. She burst into her guest room and took a good look around. If only she'd done this earlier, she probably would have noticed that all of Harry's clothes were gone. The chair on which he'd put his shirt and slippers glared back at her, empty. She looked to the night stand next to the bed where he would've left his glasses. They weren't there, however, something else was. A piece of paper. As Hermione drew closer she saw her name scrawled across the front of it. It was a note. From Harry. Hermione almost didn't have the strength to touch it, let alone pick it up and read it. Before looking at it she knew what it said. However, her curiosity got the best of her (as it always does), and with shaking hands she picked up the carefully creased parchment and slowly unfolded it. She began tearing up, which made reading even more difficult. It read:

Dear Hermione,

I can't thank you enough for what you did for me last night. It meant more to me than you'll ever know. I hope you don't hate me for just leaving and not saying good-bye, but I thought it would be easier on both of us this way.

I love you, Hermione. I hope you know that. I would never want anything to happen to you. Please take care of yourself and keep watch for anything suspicious while I'm gone. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you.

You're my best friend, Hermione, never forget that.

Love always,

Harry

Hermione slowly crushed the paper in her hand as her tears ran freely down her face. She made her way downstairs without even noticing. Mrs. Harthington came over to her, said something that Hermione didn't comprehend, and hugged her tightly. Hermione didn't really know what was happening. She was completely numb. Harry, her Harry, was gone. He was really gone. He'd left her, and she didn't even get to say good-bye.

She was almost mad at him. How could he do this to her? Didn't he know that she would at least need the sense of closure that comes with saying good-bye? How could he just abandon her? He'd finally left without even saying good-bye, and he might never be coming back.

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