Yew

Disclaimer: I simply don't own anything.

A/N: I really don't know how I was feeling when I wrote this, but I guess (later, after viewing it over) rather angst-y. Though it can be a story on its own, it is a prequel to Patchouli. So here are your choices: one, you can read this without reading its sequel, and be completely oblivious to what happens, but ruin Patchouli's surprise; or two, you can read Patchouli, be surprised, but know what happens in this story. Either way works.

Sorry if I lost anyone there.

Okay, probably many of you thought I had dropped off the earth and died, so I'm here to tell everyone that, "Hey, I'm here! I'm still alive!"

This will be PG-13, maybe R in later chapters.

* * *

Hermione surveyed herself in the mirror, turning to each side, scruntinizing her appearance. She had decided to keep her hair down, but had smoothed out most of her bushy curls until it was wavy and sleek. Ginny, she remembered, had insisted on cutting it shorter, but Hermione refused. There was something familiar about her hair, and while the rest of her had been transformed into someone unrecognizable, she could resort back to this one detail and feel like herself. Hermione.

She stared at the small white flowers at her shoulder straps and wondered if it were a bit much. She liked her appearance to be fanciful, yet plain. She did not, out of all things, want to draw attention to herself. Perhaps the flowers were overdoing it. She took them off and studied herself without them. Maybe she would ask Harry and Ron for their opinion.

Her dress robes were silky and smooth and felt wonderful. Hermione was thankful for the coolness against her skin, as the weather outside was scorching. Most of Hagrid's garden had shriveled up and died, and Harry, Ron, and herself found themselves outside most of their Saturday, drenching them in water. Hermione remembered how disappointed she had been when most of her studying time was taken away from her and how stupid Harry and Ron were being, flinging the dead plants at each other like eight-year-olds. Hermione had finally turned on them with water when a dirt clump the size of her hand smacked into her chest. The rest of the afternoon they spent chasing each other with water and dirt until mud was running down their faces.

Looking away from the mirror at last, Hermione picked up her wand. Oak and hornbeam. 9 inches. Remarkably apt for any magic. She could still remember Mr. Ollivander's dusty library of wands, piled in long, thin boxes atop the creaky shelves. As soon as she had set foot in the shop all those years ago, she had felt the warm sensation of working magic. Of course, she didn't know what would become of her newfound life, though she had liked to imagine. At eleven, she had been such a bossy little girl. She had never meant to be like that, but her lingering self-doubt had arisen to a point of no return, and she had hid this with her thirst for knowledge. Hermione sighed - it had paid off in the long run, thankfully, but heaven knows what would have happened if Harry and Ron hadn't knocked out that mountain troll. Gryffindor or not, the memory still scared her out of her mind.

Hermione watched a small pack of thestrals explode from the depths of the forbidden forest and soar into the sky. Their scaly wings flickered uncannily in the setting sun. It brought out the shimmering red on their eerie faces. Blood. Hermione had read once that they were scavengers, vultures almost, but now she was not so sure. The backdrop of the darkening sky made them look like terrifying beasts from a picture book, flying through the night sky to capture a beautiful princess, clad in a gown of the purest white. Hermione often wondered why she never camoflauged herself better if she was such a steady target. Perhaps the prince was as charming as he was stupid, since he did nothing of the sort either.

She had been frightened out of her mind when she first saw the thestrals the term after her parents' deaths. It shouldn't have been a shock, she supposed. But somewhere in the abyssal regions of her mind she had thought, with such clarity and passion it was silly, that they were not dead. Hermione had first found solace in her friends' warm arms. Harry and Ron were always there to comfort her, and she loved them even more for it. But it had felt so numbing only the thestrals could confirm their deaths for her, and at that moment, she had crossed the line from mourning to depression. It was at that time that she felt a deeply rooted connection to Harry that was aside from the friendship they shared. Simply, they were both orphans and both needed the care that the other could give. Hermione could explain it no other way.

Suddenly, Hermione was aware of another presence in the room. She turned. Ginny was standing there, looking stunned.

'Oh, wow, Hermione, you look wonderful,' she said. Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards her friend.

'It's not too much?' she asked anxiously. 'I can make the sleeves longer, or get rid of the flowers -'

Ginny shook her head. She grinned. 'Don't be such a niggler. Harry and Ron will be catching flies. You just wait and see.'

Hermione blushed slightly. Ginny had seen it. Despite herself, she had felt a need to look good in front of her two best friends. Perhaps it was just to show them that she was now a woman. It was merely platonic, she knew firmly. Just an urge to prove to them - and herself - what she could really look like.

'You must be so excited,' said Ginny as she moved forward and zipped up the back of Hermione's gown. 'I would be. You're almost eighteen and ready to go out into the world. I just know you'll be the most successful person I know.'

'I suppose so,' said Hermione quietly. She had her doubts. Hogwarts, despite everything, had been her home. And even though it was time, she didn't really feel like leaving. She had to admit to herself that she had taken for granted the subtle comforts of the castle - the grounds, the lake, the library, Hagrid's hut, the common room, her friends ... even the hospital wing held a familiar place in her heart, as did the ongoing rivalry between Harry and Malfoy. It was all a part of her life. It had been.

'Ginny?'

'Hmm?'

Sighing, Hermione said, 'I have to be honest with you, I'm not really that excited about leaving.'

Ginny smiled amiably. 'I know. You look as pale as a ghost.' She patted Hermione's arm. 'But just think. Think of having your own flat - a house, when you can afford it - with a brilliantly handsome husband. Think of having a little garden with tomatoes and radishes and lettuce. Crookshanks could live there too, catching gnomes or mice or whatnot. And you could have your own library, maybe, with books piled to the ceiling.' She paused. 'And then, who knows? You could have some little Hermione juniors running around ...'

Hermione laughed. 'Children? I haven't even considered that yet!'

Ginny winked. 'But who knows? The perfect man could be standing right outside the door and you wouldn't even know it.'

'You act as though you've got my whole life figured out,' Hermione said, laughing.

Ginny cocked an eyebrow at her. 'Well, it wouldn't be that hard to snag a man, being you.' She grinned. 'You're famous, you know.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and straightened the neck of her dress robes.

'Really!' Ginny said at the look on her face. 'Look at you! You're good-looking, smart, funny, and you're Harry Potter's best mate!'

'Well, I'd rather not have people date me just because I'm "Harry Potter's best mate",' said Hermione, turning away. Though she'd rather scarf down bobotuber pus than admit it, that was exactly her fear.

Ginny was silent for a moment. Hermione seized her chance eagerly and said, 'I'm supposed to meet Harry and Ron downstairs. I'll see you soon, Ginny.'

Ginny said a hearty goodbye and Hermione walked down the spiral staircase towards the common room. All the seventh year students were dressed up nicely for their graduation. The younger Gryffindors were still in class, something that amused the seventh years greatly. Hermione stepped into the common room and searched for Harry and Ron. Her eyes skimmed over Dean and Seamus, who were playing a game of Exploding Snap in the corner (something she thought rather stupid, considering what would happen when it blew up), and Lavender and Parvati, who were admiring each other's dress robes happily. She saw Neville twisting his hands on one of the armchairs, looking nervous, his plant cradled in his lap. She smiled at the familiarity.

Finally, she saw them. They were playing chess by the fireplace, and it seemed that, once again, Ron was winning. Harry was looking mutinous as one of his bishops was dragged away by a pawn.

Hermione made her way over to them, butterflies twisting in her stomach. Harry looked up as she neared and froze. Ron, who was in the middle of a complicated battle maneuver, stopped, asked Harry what was wrong, and turned towards Hermione.

Hermione was blushing so much now she was amazed she hadn't set her face on fire. 'I wanted to ask,' she began, 'if you two think that the flowers are a bit much.'

She lifted up her mane of hair to show them the straps. Ron shrugged, and Hermione turned to Harry. He was staring at her in such a way that made her breath catch.

'Well, I don't know that much about girl stuff, Hermione,' said Ron obliviously, turning back to the chess board.

Immediately embarassed, Hermione stammered, 'I know I went over the top, but -'

Harry shook his head, staring. 'No. You look beautiful.'

She wasn't positive, but she could have sworn his cheeks turned a bit pinkish.

Perhaps Ron realized he had said the wrong thing, or perhaps he didn't want to be outdone by Harry, for his ears reddened and he said, 'You look really smashing, Hermione.' He apologized with a look and said, 'I'm just in the middle of this game and I'm about to kick Harry's arse -'

Harry shot him a death glare.

'- Again,' finished Ron, grinning. 'Make your move before my hair turns gray, will you?'

Harry pushed his queen forward.

'Checkmate!' cried Ron. 'I can't believe after all these years that I can still beat you with three pawns and a king. You're not getting any better.'

Ron stood up and gathered his chess board together. Harry yawned and stood up also, stretching his arms over his head. Hermione smiled at her two friends. They had cleaned up very nicely, looking extremely handsome in their crisp dress robes. She noticed fondly that Harry hadn't been able to tame his hair. She had a sudden urge to smooth it down.

Such a strong sense of bittersweet nostalgia swept through her for a moment that Hermione had to try desperately to hold back her tears. She supposed it was everything at once crashing down around her - Harry and Ron, the common room, Gryffindor tower ... It was hard to process that they would be leaving; that this time, a year from now, they could have their own house. That they could have a steady job. That, in fact, they could be dating, married ...

Harry moved closer to Hermione instictively, said something jokingly to Ron, and smiled down at her. She knew that he was thinking exactly as she was. Now that she had no parents to turn to, her friends would have to be the support in her life. She found herself wishing she could touch him, to prove, once and for all, that he was real. That this laughing young man next to her was indeed there to stay. She settled for his presence and basked in it, moving closer to him.

'Ready?' he asked her gently.

'Not really,' she said. She peered up at him, feeling melancholy. 'You do realize that after tonight, after we leave on the train, we'll really be adults?'

Ron whistled through his teeth. 'Adults. That's a scary thought.'

Hermione looked straight at Harry. 'I don't know about you, but my Gryffindor courage isn't kicking in yet.'

They all laughed, but it was nervous and tense. Hermione saw the fear in Harry's eyes too, but it was quickly painted over.

They all looked at each other.

'So this is it,' said Harry quietly.

Hermione was silent, trying to hold back her tears.

Ron looked at the ground.

'I'm going to miss this old place,' he said affectionately.

'Me too,' Hermione choked out.

'Come on, we need to go down to the feast,' Harry said. Protectively, he drew Hermione to his side. She found herself extremely touched by the thoughtful gesture. She buried her face in his chest and cried softly. His hands smoothed down her hair. She found herself thinking that it hadn't been long enough. She found herself thinking that if only she had one more year, she wouldn't have taken for granted the people and things she loved most. It was this thought that roused a strange homesickness inside of her.

When she pulled herself back from Harry after a few minutes, Ron offered her a handkerchief. She blew her nose and wiped her tear-stained cheeks, apologizing profusely for acting so emotionally. Harry just smiled and told her there was no need to worry. Ron patted her shoulder a bit; he was supportive but clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Hermione supposed all men were in some way or another. But Harry seemed completely devoid of all embarassment, and it pleased her to a point she was afraid to acknowledge.

The common room was empty when they left for the feast, walking slowly and deliberately as if savoring the castle one last time. It felt like a funeral march.

Hermione knew that, with all tragedies aside, she was being selfish. Harry was getting along fine and he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Of course, she was holding up a portion - she simply refused to be cut out of Harry's life, whether or not he willed it. She knew that he feared the day when he had to face Voldemort. She knew that he had a cloud of trepidation hovering over him from the time he woke up to the time his head touched the pillow.

Hermione looked sidelong at Harry. He was such a wonderful young man. She had known since the first time she met him on the train. So shy, so bashful. Almost embarassed of his fame and glory. She adored him for it. Hermione supposed she had been a bit obsessed over him after reading about that fateful Halloween night in Godric's Hollow. She had expected a superhero, and no less. Harry was more.

It was the realism of it that really set her feelings in stone. Harry was so real, so touchable, so devastatingly there that Hermione realized why everyone loved him. Whether it was jealousy, or admiration, or pure lust that they loved him, she knew they did. There was something about him that everyone connected with. He had a ambivalent relationship with some of them, a love/hate with an utmost passion. But to Hermione, her feelings were clear. She cherished him above all others. She respected him, treasured him, honored him ... loved him.

When they reached the Great Hall, everything seemed to go in slow motion. Molly Weasley tracked them down like they had beacons glued to their foreheads. She embraced them each in turn, while Arthur stood back and watched. He gave Harry a wink, which Harry returned. Hermione watched the exchange with amusement.

All of the Weasleys were there, save Ginny, and Hermione felt a overwhelming feeling of family and companionship. She appreciated them deeply, but it would never be quite right. Harry sensed this in her, she felt, as he sensed it in himself. It was at these times that their bond was indestructable.

She felt his hand on her shoulder. 'We'll be right back,' he said to Mrs. Weasley, in that charming way of his. 'I owe Hermione a drink.'

Everyone smiled, unquestioning. They knew something, she sensed, that she alone didn't understand.

'You owe me a drink?' Hermione asked as Harry guided her to a long table. Someone (Dumbledore, perhaps) had moved the house tables so that they were pushed against the walls of the hall. Food and drinks were spread out for the taking.

Hermione picked up a lone grape and Harry opened his mouth. Laughing, she threw it at him. It bounced off his nose. A parent, no-doubt, of one of the seventh year students stared at them. His eyes traveled to Harry's scar. Harry deliberately turned away from the man's awestruck gaze, picked his own grape from a live, growing vine, and plopped it in his mouth. He turned his attention back to Hermione, grinning.

'Don't you remember? Sixth year, the common room? You said that Ron wouldn't get a girlfriend by the end of seventh year. I said he would.' Harry reached across Hermione and grabbed two wineglasses. He filled them with punch and put a cherry in each. 'Well, look where he is now. A bachelor for life.'

'You still remember that?' Hermione was dumbfounded. She laughed. 'Well, that confirms it for me, you have absolutely no life.'

Harry grinned and raised his wineglass. 'To wankers like me, who have no life!'

'To wankers!' said Hermione, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

They clinked their glasses together and gulped down the punch. Hermione finished the whole glass before asking, 'Non-alcoholic, right? You didn't spike this while I wasn't looking?'

Harry shook his head. 'Don't worry. I wouldn't fancy seeing you drunk.'

Hermione smiled.

They set down their glasses and Harry's face turned serious. He put his hands gently on her shoulders and said earnestly, 'Listen, Hermione, I wanted to ask you ... are you alright? Honestly?'

Hermione patted his left hand affectionately. 'I'll manage. Don't worry about me, Harry.' She smiled genuinely. 'It's really sweet of you to ask, but I'm fine. Really.'

'Because if you need anything -'

'I know where to find you,' finished Hermione. 'I know.'

It was almost uncomfortable how he was staring at her. But the piercing gaze only lasted for a moment, for the next, he said smoothly, 'The Weasley's are waiting. Let's get going.'

Hermione almost thought she had imagined it, it was over so quickly.

As soon as his back was turned and he began walking, Hermione felt panic overtake her senses. Again, she felt the nostalgia. The melancholiness. The strange homesickness that had plagued her earlier. She heard Ginny's words echoing in her mind and she tried to grab hold, but she couldn't reach. Perhaps she wasn't good enough for the world - perhaps she wasn't ready.

Hermione reached the Weasleys and their smiling faces calmed her somewhat. But it was Harry's boyish grin that completely tore her to pieces and rebuilt her again, anew. She found herself desperately wishing that they were alone together, secluded. Confused, she tried to focus on Ron, but he was telling such a terrible joke that her concentration was averted once again. Fred and George were guffawing like hyenas, but perhaps the joke wasn't the reason.

'Hermione, dear, are you feeling well?' Molly was at her side in an instant, placing a cool hand against her forehead. 'You look rather blotchy.'

Harry was watching her. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes piercing the back of her neck.

'I'm fine,' said Hermione in her most cheerful voice. Molly wasn't fooled for a moment.

'It's okay to feel sad, dear. I know I was. Hogwarts was your home for the past seven years. It seems like you've leaving something behind.' Sighing, she continued, 'But you know what? When your children go to school, you'll always be able to visit then. It's always a joy.'

She smiled and turned her attention to a nearby commotion. "Oh, I don't believe it! Fred, George! Put down that avacado at once! Do you hear me?'

Hermione had to smile. So familiar.

The ceremony itself went by as a colorful blur. Dumbledore talked about how proud he was and what the students had accomplished. He repeated, in as many ways as he could, how vital it was to keep the friendships they had made. Each head of house talked about many of the same things. McGonagall had strayed dangerously close to crying. Hermione couldn't concentrate. For once in her life, she wasn't paying attention to her teachers. There was applause and sobbing. Hermione heard sniffling. She herself was in a numbed state. While they talked, she relived memories, countless memories. She felt like sinking into the floor and staying there forever.

The graduation ceremony seemed to end before it began. Hermione was sure it lasted hours, but it felt only like a few minutes. Each student was called up by name and when they reached the podium where Dumbledore was standing, he inclined his head and they were dismissed. It was simple, so simple, but they reached the podium as children and left as adults.

Hermione reached the podium in a daze. Her eyes were a bit blurry. Dumbledore bowed his head and gave her a small smile. His eyes told her everything. Don't worry, you'll be fine.

* * *

Hermione sat on a chair in the room of crowded seventh year graduates, waiting patiently for Harry and Ron. She had tried to regain her composure after coming through the archway, and though she still felt nostalgic, she felt that she had been doing a remarkable job thus far keeping her emotions in check.

She had almost fallen asleep by the time all of the students had come through the archway. She wondered blearily where Harry and Ron were, when, out of nowhere, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jerked awake. Harry was looking at her seriously, holding a napkin laden with toast in his outstretched hand. A memory came fluttering back to Hermione and she smiled.

'Would you like to go for a walk?'

* * *

Don't worry, it's not over. I'll try to update this soon, though, so you guys won't have to wait too long.

I portrayed Hermione's feelings as how I believe she would feel, leaving Hogwarts. Also I added a bit of me in her, as I am a person that touches base with familiarity. Oh, the joys of being a writer.

Okay, wow, I'm tired. Goodnight, all. Thanks for reading!

-Lauren

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Thanks for all the reviews last chapter. I appreciate it tremendously.

And without further ado, chapter two.

* * *

It should have been a tradition long ago, for there was something beautiful and familiar about a simple stroll around the lake. Hermione had never realized this yearning until Harry guided her smoothly through the mass of seventh years and out into the warm June evening. As soon as her feet touched the mossy cobblestone of the pathway Hermione had no doubt in her mind that was where she needed to be. There was almost a maternal feel to it, an instinct that Harry alone seemed to understand. Or else he played the part very well indeed, as there was never a waver in his geniality and tact. But Hermione didn't like to think it was merely acting.

How he ever came to knowing exactly the remedy for her sadness she would never know. But it went unquestioned. She was getting to know a new side of Harry that she never realized existed, and in that she felt safe. Her mind drew a blank as to why she felt this way so suddenly, until it was clear that what she saw in Harry was no different from what she had seen in her father. This confused her, and as she was rarely confused, she dealt no more with the matter.

Hermione had to laugh at the sight they must have made, walking aimlessly around a dark, rippling lake with nothing but marmalade toast to sustain them. She and Harry both knew they were missing the feast, knew that they were bound to be tracked down soon, and knew that later that night, they would be starving under their bedsheets - but it didn't seem to matter. If there was one thing Hermione could deal with right now, it would be hunger.

She listened as Harry's footsteps slowed.

'What are you thinking about?'

Hermione took a long time to answer. 'Us, I suppose.'

She realized what an embarassing statement that could have turned out to be, and she flushed considerably; but either Harry was a gentlemen and did not comment, or it was too dark to see much at all. She supposed it was the latter.

'We must look so stupid,' she said affectionately, smiling up at him, 'walking around this lake like a couple of loonies.'

'Aren't we?' said Harry teasingly. Hermione was startled to notice how closely he had gotten to her. Her breathing quickened before she gave herself a chance to react to the situation rationally. She felt sweat on her forehead despite the cool of the fading evening, and wondered briefly why she hadn't moved further away.

'Yes,' said Hermione, continuing the small banter, 'but just because we're out here while everyone else is inside inhaling a feast. Lamb chops, pork roast, mashed potatoes, salad, vegetables ...' Hermione paused and looked amusedly at Harry. 'Treacle tart ...'

'Yeah, we're definitely crazy, missing out on the treacle tart,' said Harry, sighing. But Hermione noticed he didn't look back at the castle. A shiver ran through her, unanticipated.

'Cold?' he asked.

Hermione shook her head and declined any means for warmth he had devised. She had noticed he too had left his cloak; it was tempting to contemplate what exactly he had planned to do. She tried not to focus on the thought, despite her blinding desire to do so.

If it were not for this, Hermione would have said Harry looked slightly disappointed. He took a deep breath before talking.

'I was wondering where you were going to stay. After term is over, I mean.' Harry looked shyly her way and Hermione found herself flushing for the second time that night.

'Why?' she asked. She didn't want to admit that she knew why. Her refusal to acknowledge the end of her Hogwarts life had smacked her facedown on reality. While her fellow peers had spent hours and hours looking over their favorite styled flats and houses, she had been curled up in the library, pretending they didn't exist. She supposed, in the deep, dark regions of her mind, she had subconsciously chosen her parent's house as where to live. But that didn't seem so comforting now, and she realized with sudden passion that she never wanted to see that old place again. Not alone, at least. She glanced at Harry.

'You don't exactly have your life figured out right now,' he said softly, prompting her.

Hermione wished she had been wise enough to bring a shawl at least. She wanted something to distract her fingers with. She settled for the flower on her shoulder strap.

Harry looked at her face, then her fingers. His eyes strayed dangerously close to her chest and body and Hermione had an urge to cross her arms and move away. She had never felt so nervous around him, so out of control. She told herself she was being paranoid and walked along silently.

'If you don't want to talk about it, I understand,' said Harry kindly. 'But Hermione, we're leaving soon, and I know that you don't have a place to live.'

She didn't know how he knew that. She had told no one.

'I can find someplace,' she said unhopefully.

'I know you can,' said Harry. 'It's not that. I know you have the skill, the knowledge, and the money to get a perfectly good place.'

Hermione watched him quietly.

He stopped walking and turned to face her. His face was serious, earnest. 'I know what you're capable of, Hermione. I don't want to limit you to anything. But maybe now isn't the best time to go out into the world alone.'

'I won't be alone,' Hermione assured him.

Harry looked at her. 'I can't know that. And I won't be able to sleep at night, knowing what kind of loneliness you're trying to overcome. Believe me, I know. You'll be wondering why you were ever born. You'll hate yourself every time you look in the mirror. You'll be living your life half-awake, wondering why you couldn't have saved them ...' He trailed off, looking desperate. 'But you don't have to. It's a choice.'

Hermione felt the tears well up. The look on his face almost tore her apart.

'Remember when I was going through the same thing?' he asked her. His voice was fiery, passionate, his eyes glittering like fireflies.

'Of course I do, Harry,' she said.

'I chose to lock myself away, don't you understand? I believed that through self-pity I would gain something. You don't gain anything. Your friends can help you, but it's barely enough. After a while, you're addicted. You start to fade.' He moved so close it was almost unheard of. Hermione noticed that he didn't cross her boundaries. But she had to realize that she wasn't sure where her boundaries were anymore.

'Don't do that to me,' said Harry. 'Don't turn into me. I was almost overwhelmed. If it hadn't been for you ...'

He cut himself off, swallowing, and said, 'Hermione, listen, I'm not very sloppy. I can do housework and do the dishes. I don't wear that nasty cologne that Ron does. I don't eat that much, really. I'll do everything in my power to keep everything away from the press. They won't even know where I am. And I can do schedules - you know, one night, I order takeout and the next, you cook. Something like that.' He sounded flustered and rambled on, 'And I can cook too, if you'd like. I'm handy with a spatula - pancakes and eggs and such -'

Hermione felt a hand take hold of her heart and squeeze.

'I bought a house,' he said, eyes bright. 'It's beautiful, out in the countryside. The villagers there were so nice ... they're Muggles, you know, so they'll be restful company. There are gardens and flowers and a river ...' He paused and continued excitedly, 'There's even a small bakery on the corner. It's positively brilliant, Hermione, you have to believe me -'

She stared at him. 'Harry -'

'Live with me,' said Harry breathlessly.

In any other circumstance, she would have instantly agreed.

'Harry, I don't know if that's such a good idea,' she said quietly. For herself or him she didn't know. Perhaps she didn't trust herself as much as she used to. There was something about his gleaming eyes that made her whole body flush.

And suddenly it was gone. As she tried to examine his eyes the gleam dulled and he stared at her in what she realized to be dumb shock. He was suddenly eleven again, cringing as an onslaught of abuse was hurled his way.

Hermione knew that this was not only for herself but for him as well. Somehow, through his words and body language, she had gotten a clear picture. Desperately, he wanted to be near her. Perhaps he was as afraid of losing her as she was afraid of facing reality.

Harry looked like he had been shot down, burned alive, hanged, and beheaded. She felt guilt beyond her wildest imagination - here he was, offering her a home, and she was selfish enough to refuse. What was she afraid of, anyway?

She wished that her parents were alive. She wished that she could use them as a scapegoat; to rant and rave that they were being unreasonable and she really did want to live with him, but they wouldn't let her. She wished she had that option instead of having to project her real fear. But how else would she explain to him their subtly changing relationship? How would she explain that urge, that desire, to run her hands over his body? She wouldn't. Simply wouldn't.

Awkwardly, Hermione looked into his eyes.

'Is it because you're afraid of me?' Harry asked quietly.

Hermione was startled. 'No! Harry, I could never be afraid of you.'

And it was true. She should do it for him, as it was what he obviously needed. She opened her mouth, trying to say what was so uncomfortable to acknowledge, but all she could emit were choking sounds.

Harry watched her in concern. 'Is it something I did?'

'No,' Hermione breathed. 'No.'

This was Harry, she told herself. He, of all people, she could trust.

Hermione looked into his eyes. She wouldn't need to tell him. She would go through with everything - for his sake. She needn't worry any longer. Living with Harry would make everything much easier, it would seem. It was her fault that she was acting so childishly, that she hadn't even been able to confirm what her feelings actually were. He was so hurt. Hermione was ashamed of the pain she caused him.

The house that he had bought sounded wonderful. Much too wonderful for her, she supposed. Nevertheless, Hermione gazed at Harry and managed a small smile.

'Would it have a library?' asked Hermione slowly.

* * *

It could have gone worse. Molly Weasley could have burst into tears, flinging china and chucking porcelain. Fred and George could have stormed out, while Arthur pulled Harry aside for a word. Ginny could have disclaimed her as her friend, while Ron sat, glaring, in a corner of the room. Hermione supposed she should have been thankful, but it had taken her by surprise the reaction of the Weasley family. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed or mortified by it.

Harry and Hermione had come back to the castle soon after they rounded the lake ten times. They found that the whole of Gryffindor tower was looking for them, along with the Weasleys, who acted as though they had been apart from them for five years. It was a one-sided joyous reunion, and when Harry and Hermione finally disentangled themselves from Molly's embrace, they were immediately questioned.

Harry had taken charge, to Hermione's great relief. He had assured everyone that they were fine, they just went on a walk. A few Gryffindors were a bit disappointed, she noticed, to hear that there were no dragons or man-eating spiders involved.

She had not known why it was so hard to tell everyone that she had made her final decision. She tried to sound it out in her head. Hermione living with Harry. Harry living with Hermione. It sounded odd, but perfect, she had to admit begrudgingly. What bothered her most about the arrangement was not actually living with Harry, but rather what everyone would think. There would be, of course, the automatic assumption. They didn't know the half of it, and Hermione was not bothered enough to explain her internal troubles.

Molly had exchanged a look with Arthur. Fred had nudged George so fiercely they had nearly started a fistfight. Ginny had grinned while Ron gaped stupidly beside her. The amusement of the situation, however good-natured, was unmatched by Hermione's feeling of suddenly being dragged into the spotlight. Her cheeks were still red from blushing.

Afterwards, Hermione had felt a passionate desire to prove them wrong. She knew what they were thinking and she was not going to succumb to feral instincts. She was in charge of her life and sharing a house was not the equivalent to romantic involvement, despite what they all thought. Hermione had found herself thinking this angrily as she excused herself and found an empty loo. Alone at last, she had tried to sort through her thoughts and feelings.

She knew that they were just trying to be supportive, but she couldn't help thinking that if she had moved in with Ron they wouldn't have been so assuming.

A half hour later, Hermione paced in front of an "out-of-order" stall, wondering where her bravery had gone. What had happened to the Rita Skeeter days, when jabs at her and Harry's relationship had earned only a cool look in return?

Hermione sighed - she was being stupid. She had always been the one with sense, the one that could take a problem and solve it. She was doing nothing but wasting her time, exactly what Harry had warned her not to do. Repulsed at herself, Hermione kicked viciously at a stall door. She jumped as it was knocked off its hinges and clattered noisily to the floor.

'Oy! Who's in there?'

Hermione was reminded suddenly of her first year. She remembered hating Harry and Ron for dragging her along on a scandalous mission to beat down Malfoy's ego. She had known that Malfoy wasn't going to show up for any duel, and when the two boys hadn't paid her any heed, it had only made her angrier. And when they never even managed to acknowledge the fact that she was right and they were wrong, she was mutinous. But it had been quite a thrill, she had to admit; and still she thought back and wondered what would have happened if she had never broken the rules. She would have led a dull life, that much was certain.

Hermione had to thank her friends for that. The adventure was terrifying, dangerous, and sometimes even suicidal, but somewhere deep inside her she fed on it. This, she realized, was what their friendship was about. Benefit. Knowing what exactly each individual needed. It seemed so simple. It made complete sense - why would she trade Harry's friendship for anything? It was perfect, absolutely perfect, without the imperfections of romance.

'Peeves, you ruddy old bastard! If you're clogging up that toilet again -'

Hermione slipped quietly from the loo, managing to escape undetected as Argus Filch's angry yells echoed behind her.

* * *

She didn't come back to Harry and the Weasleys after that; she made a beeline directly for her four-poster. Under the covers at last, she told herself firmly that everything would work itself out in the morning. She just needed to give it time to settle in.

Hermione tried not to notice that, even with her logical take on friendship versus romance, her mind was yet to be rid of the fanciful desires that infested her thoughts. It was almost insulting to think that her own logic was ignored and thrown away like rubbish. And by her own will! It had never been that way. In a mutual agreement, her head and heart had always worked together; now, it seemed as if they had split into different paths. She was mystified and desperate for answers, but her questions were left unsolved. She was positively furious with herself.

And, she was starving.

Hermione rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face into the pillow.

The train would leave tomorrow and then it would be all over. No coming back. She would never be able to sleep in this bed again. Even with that realization it was hard to believe.

Despite everything, the idea of staying with Harry was far more comforting than any thought she had encountered so far. He was just a friend looking out for a friend. She supposed that she knew that now.

Drifting off to sleep, Hermione realized her mistake.

* * *

Hermione awoke the next morning to the sound of rain. It was highly sarcastic of the weather, she thought as she pulled on her clothes, to make this day as dreary as possible. The morning had done nothing to lighten her mood, and she found herself growing angry at the slightest things as she gathered her belongings together. Her temper had been tested when she found her favorite book left under an open window. Soggy and visibly unreadable, the book was shoved into her suitcase with such malice it was unclear what Hermione was more angry towards: the rain, or the book for getting wet.

She went to breakfast ten minutes before Harry and Ron usually met her in the common room to leave together. It was her feeble attempt to remain calm over sausages and hash browns, and for it to work, she needed privacy. Gulping down the last of her pumpkin juice, Hermione pushed her plate to the side, laid her beloved copy of A New Theory of Numerology on the table, and began to read.

'Haven't you memorized that already?' said a voice by her ear. Hermione jumped, startled.

'Harry!' she gasped, as he and Ron chuckled. They took seats to each side of her.

She felt herself blushing furiously. 'Don't do that. I nearly fell off my chair!'

Harry laughed and grabbed a biscuit. 'Good morning to you too.'

Ron craned his head around to look at her book. He grinned. 'Ah, yes. Now I remember. Fifth year.'

Hermione laughed. 'Your memory's doing well today, Ron.'

'I should've listened to Harry,' said Ron, shaking his head. 'Perfume? What was I thinking? He told me to get you a book or a collecting tin for spew.'

'S.P.E.W., he means,' Harry told Hermione. She muffled her laughter with her napkin.

'I guess a guy gets the hint when the perfume he buys molds at the bottom of a suitcase.' He grinned at Hermione.

'I don't think it molded, exactly,' said Hermione, feeling rather embarassed.

Ron winked. 'Don't worry about it. I'm way over that.'

Harry smiled at her, turned away, and took the platter that Dean was offering him. He forked some half-burnt bacon onto his plate with a vengeance. Hermione watched him carefully. She had noticed his eating patterns ever since she had met him - take, protect, eat. It was almost as though he was hovering over his kill. Hermione supposed, living with his aunt and uncle, he had had to scavenge for food. But it wasn't impolite the way he ate, just different. It was very subtle, so that even after years and years of watching him covertly, she still didn't see it perfectly clear.

'Hermione,' said Ron.

Jerked out of her reverie rather quickly, Hermione turned to face him, feeling flustered. She hoped against hope that her cheeks weren't pink.

Ron gave her a look. 'Could you pass the gravy?'

She did so. Ron immediately dumped the tureen over a mound of biscuits.

For being just a few hours until the train arrived - and not to mention the last breakfast - Hermione didn't feel very hungry. Her stomach didn't feel settled at all. It was more queasy and unstable than anything.

Throughout the span of breakfast time, Hermione noticed that Harry was trying to catch her eye. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to talk with him - surely that was what he wanted? She wasn't feeling uncomfortable with him at the moment (in fact, that morning had been quite pleasant and carefree); she just didn't want to discuss what had been on her mind since four o'clock that morning.

Both Harry and Ron had acted completely normal, and it suprised her. She expected a alteration in Ron's character at the very least. Harry ... well, she didn't exactly know what to think of Harry now. He was still her wonderful, caring, imperfect friend. He still had a raging temper. He was still rather clueless about girls (Hermione shuddered whenever she thought of Cho). He was still a comfort to her. He was still brooding and heroic and stupid.

Hermione felt a callous hand cup her chin and raise her head gently. The touch sent shivers throughout her body.

'Alright?' Harry asked her quietly.

She nodded.

'Why don't we go sneak around, for old time's sake?' said Harry. His voice was tinged with that recklessness she could only find in him. The recklessness that stradled the line between bravery and stupidity.

Ron grinned. 'I'm in.'

They both turned to look at Hermione.

'What do you think?' she said, smiling mischieviously.

Ron whooped.

Harry grinned.

* * *

As Harry's Invisibility Cloak only covered two people, they decided unanimously that someone would have to be a lookout. Ron instantly volunteered. He made good points: he was the tallest of the three, while Harry and Hermione were nearly the same height. He was fast (though, of course, not as fast as Harry) so he could run to safety if the need presented itself.

They got themselves ready in a dark hallway of a narrow corridor. Ron went up ahead. Harry pulled the cloak out from his robes and threw it over himself and Hermione.

'I'll go in front,' Harry breathed. Hermione saw by Ron's expression that he could see their ankles, at least.

Hermione situated herself behind Harry, awkwardly trying to keep her distance. She could hear her ragged breathing like it was magnified ten times.

'Closer,' whispered Harry. 'We need to get under the cloak.'

She seriously considered backing out of this expedition altogether.

Trying to wipe her mind clear of any thought, she moved closer and stood directly behind him. Her legs were touching his. She grasped his shoulders with her hands, unsure of where they should go. She heard a sharp intake of breath and wondered if she had trodden on his foot.

'Hermione,' said Harry. He sounded like he had gritted his teeth. 'Come closer. The back of your feet are still showing.'

Closer. The word rang in her mind. Screwing her eyes tight, Hermione moved as closely as possible.

It worked, as she knew it would. But pressed up against Harry in the middle of a deserted corridor was not what Hermione wanted to do right now, so soon after agreeing to live with him.

Ron looked back and Harry whispered, 'Ready.'

It was just like old times, Hermione thought fondly. They snuck through the castle, reliving memories, every once in a while stopping to chat about some funny story or another (most of which involving Fred and George). They got a hearty surprise visiting the old out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor, finding Fluffy alive and well, but thankfully sleeping soundly. It seemed as if Hagrid had been more accommodable - Fluffy no longer had an empty room, he had a palace. Chew toys were littered everywhere. Slabs of raw meat as large as cows were stacked inside a swimming pool sized bowl. Instruments of all kinds were lined up neatly by the door. They marveled at the sight.

They passed through Moaning Myrtle's loo, staring into the stall in which they brewed the Polyjuice Potion. A ring of blackened cement showed where Hermione's cauldron had been.

Together, they walked out onto the grounds and in the direction of Hagrid's hut.

The grounds were muddy and disgusting from the morning rain, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione tramped along miserably. They stopped only to glare at the Whomping Willow. Then they moved on, looking out across the Quidditch pitch and remembering their fourth year. For Harry it must have been difficult. Hermione herself recalled the blind terror of seeing Harry return, one hand clutching Cedric Diggory's body, the other grasping the Triwizard Cup.

It was funny, really, how time seemed to pass them by. Hermione remembered their adventures like they had happened yesterday. As melancholy as it seemed to be, every step they took seemed to help her feel, slowly, less afraid. She found herself thinking that if she had survived through Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she could survive through anything.

And somehow, Harry had known this.

* * *

Thanks again. I'll update soon (or so I hope ...)

Cheers,

-Lauren

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For some strange reason, this chapter utterly baffled me. I had terrible writer's block, so forgive me if it's not my best work. I know it's not.

Despite that, I had loads of fun writing it. Thanks for all the cheering reviews. The constructive critisism was also taken well into account.

* * *

Nearly all of Hermione's fears had been left behind at the train station, she realized, as they whirred by the lakes and forests and beautiful mountain ranges back to London. The weather was being decidedly difficult, one minute pouring rain and the next shining as brightly as though it hadn't showered in weeks. The sea of grass outside was glistening with dewdrops.

'This is the same compartment,' said Harry suddenly. He looked at Ron, then at Hermione. 'Where we first met.'

So it was. All three of them looked around as though trying to find a remnant of their past. Hermione pulled Crookshanks up on her lap, burying her face into his sweet-smelling ginger fur. Suddenly, Ron laughed.

'You were so keen on finding Trevor,' he said, addressing Hermione. 'Nearly bored us to death with your little introduction speech.'

'I was nervous,' said Hermione weakly. She turned to Harry. 'You were - I mean, are - Harry Potter. I felt so embarassed. I had never met someone famous before - you were in so many books, you can't even imagine -'

'Look at this, she's still embarassed in front of you, mate!' cried Ron, laughing as Hermione huffed indignantly.

'Oh, sod off,' she spat. 'For your information, I was trying to defend myself. I had a hard time when I was eleven.'

'Because no one liked you?' offered Ron innocently.

Hermione flushed a deep crimson and retorted, 'No, because I was more mature than most of my peers. Honestly.'

'Well, we know Ron and Hermione are back to normal,' said Harry loudly, grinning. 'They're fighting ... again.'

Hermione had to agree with Harry. As soon as she started bickering with Ron, everything was fine. It was when she dropped her dagger and confessed her undying love for him that there was a problem. Harry caught her eye and grinned.

'Don't you go joining her side,' Ron warned.

Harry laughed. Hermione glared at the both of them.

The compartment door slid open.

'Anything off the trolley, dears?'

* * *

They arrived at King's Cross sooner than she expected. Hermione felt like they had stepped into a different world. Out of habit more than anything, Hermione peered around the station for any sign of her parents. When she realized what she was doing, she swallowed and closed her eyes tightly.

The first step was the hardest, she supposed, but admitting that didn't make it easier. She searched out Harry's thin figure and moved closer.

The Weasleys came bumbling into Hermione's view and she smiled as Ron was swept into a monstrous hug by Molly. Even the twins seemed happy to have him coming home. Ron was rather pink and had lipstick all over his face when he returned to Harry and Hermione. He hastily wiped off Molly's kisses.

'We'll see each other all the time, I promise,' said Ron firmly.

Hermione watched as Harry and Ron exchanged a brotherly hug. Ron turned to Hermione and embraced her tightly, kissing her hair.

'I never really thanked you, did I?' he asked her. 'You saved my arse a dozen times over. Or more, I suspect.' He smiled down at her, and then addressed both she and Harry. 'D'you know where I'd be without you two? I'd probably be scrubbing floors in the Leaky Cauldron, hoping for lost change. I guess what I wanted to say is ... thank you. For everything.'

Hermione only smiled, lost for words. Harry looked withdrawn.

'Well, I have to go,' said Ron. He looked reluctant to leave them. 'Come and visit anytime. You know where to find me.'

Harry grinned. 'Get a job, moocher.'

Ron winked good-naturedly, turned around, and walked into the crowd.

* * *

It really struck Hermione how different life was as a duo rather than a trio. She supposed the feeling came to her immediately after Ron's departure. Physically, of course, it felt no differently. It was the emotional difference that seemed to set it apart from everything else. It was melancholy, naturally, but not overwhelming. It surprised her somewhat, as she expected it to be traumatizing; but somehow, she had managed to keep her feelings intact.

She was drained. All she wanted to do was lay down on a soft, comforting mattress and sleep for years. The excitement of last evening and this morning had exhausted her more than she was willing to admit. Her limbs were tired, her muscles were tired, and even her bones seemed tired (as illogical as that appeared to be). She sighed softly.

'Do you want me to carry you?' asked Harry as they walked past a quarreling couple on their way to the exit. He looked at her and she saw that his face was serious. She would have believed his sincerity if it wasn't for a gleam of frivolity in his eyes. She wondered if it wouldn't be too prudent to accept his offer.

'You're terrible,' said Hermione. She struggled not to laugh.

They exited out the front doors of the station and peered across the parking lot. She wondered how they were going to travel. Both she and Harry knew it would be impossible to Apparate, as only Harry knew where the new house was.

It must have showed in her face, as Harry said, 'We'll take a portkey to the house. Dumbledore made one just for the occasion. He seemed very happy to help.'

'That's kind of him.'

Harry nodded.

'I have to make a few stops first,' said Harry, looking rather apologetic. 'I know you're tired, but we'll get to the house soon enough. You'll love it,' he added hopefully.

Hermione knew she would. It was never a question in her mind.

'I thought we could look around the town,' said Harry. 'You know, get used to our neighborhood. We can buy furnature and everything.' He gave her a little lopsided grin. 'I'll let you do the decorating. I can barely dress myself fashionably, let alone an entire room.'

'That's not true,' Hermione protested firmly. 'Besides, what's going to happen when I get my own place and you're left with my handiwork?'

Harry brushed this off casually. 'I'll like anything you'll do, I assure you.'

'You still have to help.'

Harry nodded. 'I know.'

Before Hermione could say anything more, he said, 'I have a perfect idea. Let's get some ice cream!'

Hermione looked into his joyous, dancing eyes and just couldn't say no. She smiled. 'Sounds great.'

'After you,' he said, and they Apparated off to Diagon Alley.

She knew he was being chipper for her benefit, and she was grateful. More than anything, she felt appeased and relaxed. She wondered why she had even thought to turn down the offer of living with him - after all, everything seemed so perfect now. It was mystifying how easily he could persuade her of that.

Florean Fortescue was so delighted to see Harry that he bought him an ice cream on the spot ('And one for the pretty young lass, too,' he said with a wink). Blushing furiously, Hermione followed Harry to a small table and ate her ice cream quietly. She had to admit it was the best she had ever tasted.

'Are you feeling better?' asked Harry kindly.

Hermione was unable to speak for a moment, so great was her gratitude.

He peered deep into her eyes. 'But if you aren't, I understand. I don't expect to make miracles happen.' He gave a dry little laugh.

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, smiled sincerely, and kissed his cheek. 'You don't need to.' She pulled back and said, 'You've never given up on me, and that's a miracle enough.'

'Likewise,' said Harry.

They were silent for a long moment. Hermione felt a large raindrop hit her nose. She looked skyward.

'We'd better get going before it really starts pouring,' Harry said. She followed his gaze to a large gathering of ominous gray-streaked clouds in the distance. A few more raindrops splattered on the pavement and sidewalk. Hermione nodded her assent.

Harry pulled out a tissue from his pocket.

'Portus.'

* * *

The house was ancient. Nearly everything from the porch to the window shutters needed repair. The glass had been broken and taped back together and the door would no longer lock, seeing as it swung wildly in the windy afternoon. The yard was full of weeds and the browning grass went to their waists. There was an eerie whistling sound as the breeze rushed through a crack in the wall.

It really was a magnificent house, despite all of its problems. It had a lovely yard that seemed to stretch for miles. The cobblestone of the walkway was still intact, and next to it was a large section of rich-looking dirt that Hermione supposed had once been a garden. In the distance she could hear the faint lullaby of a rushing river.

'It's definitely a project,' said Harry. He sounded nervous of her reaction. Hermione wondered why he should be. He was doing her a favor, not impressing her with a mansion made of gold.

'It's lovely,' she breathed.

'I though we could fix it up the Muggle way, so it feels more like ours,' Harry told her.

Ours. The word fitted itself into Hermione's mind. Everything - the walk, the train, the punch - it all seemed like a dream that just wouldn't end. It should, she told herself firmly, before things got out of hand.

She put down Crookshanks and her suitcase, silently walking through the grasses and weeds to the front door. The porch wood groaned as she stepped across it.

In the distance she heard the sound of booming thunder. Lightening flashed angrily across the sky. The rain had roused the scent of pine from a neighboring wood and Hermione inhaled deeply. The house reminded her so much of her parent's home; it was comforting, old, and melancholy, withholding a wisedom that seemed to come only with places surpassing a lifetime of wonderment and sorrow. Hermione loved that about a place.

'Hermione?' pressed Harry gently.

She turned to him and her eyes were misty. She immediately wiped them with the sleeve of her jumper. Harry did not say a word.

'Can I see the town?' asked Hermione quickly. Her embarassment was not lost on Harry. She knew it wouldn't be, but it had never hurt to try.

Harry looked concerned. 'We don't have to. If you're tired ...'

'I'm up for it,' she told him firmly. 'Where is it?'

'It's a short walk from here.' He paused and looked Hermione up and down. 'You're really alright? You're being honest with me?'

Hermione felt suddenly very naked as she heard herself stutter, 'How could I lie to you?'

Harry shot her a piercing look that could have melted steel. 'Exactly.'

'Harry, I want to fix this house, but we need supplies if we're going to do it the Muggle way. I want to get to know this town. Why not kill two birds with one stone?' She paused. 'I know you're worried, but you can't do anything right now to help me. Just let me work it out myself. Please.'

He seemed reluctant to do so, but let it be. 'As long as you don't die on me,' he told her playfully.

Hermione smiled. 'I think I can guarantee that.'

The walk was hardly anything at all. A measly quarter hour and they were in the heart of a village so cheerful it was almost a crime. Hermione was thrilled. The population was so small that nearly everyone knew each other. People passed each other on the street and stopped for a long chat. Hermione soon learned not to talk long with the bakery manager (he was as mad as they get); there was a fire hydrant that sprayed water every five minutes (Hermione wondered if this was a safety hazard. Imagine if there happened to be a fire!); and the old frothing bulldog on the corner was considered perfectly safe. Hermione stayed away from him nonetheless.

She was delighted to come across a bookshop on her journey, and she pulled Harry inside, only to find it dusty, grimy, and abandoned.

'What do they read?' she asked, appalled, as she stormed back outside.

It was clear that most of the villagers preferred cookbooks and newsletters over books, which utterly angered Hermione (and amused Harry).

'You could always consider opening the bookshop back up,' Harry suggested.

Hermione considered it as she and Harry walked through the marketplace for food and supplies. He grabbed a cart and wheeled it behind her. Hermione set Crookshanks down on the bottom shelf. She had left her suitcase by the house along with Harry's after the reassurance it wouldn't be stolen; and Hedwig, Harry had told her, was out flying.

'So, what do we get?' asked Harry.

Hermione took a loaf of bread from a towering shelf. 'The basics.'

As they shopped about, picking up food, Hermione asked Harry quietly, 'Where are we going to stay when the house is ... erm ... under construction?'

Harry said, 'I booked us a room at a local inn.'

'Oh.' Hermione looked confused for a moment. 'How did you pay for it?

'With money, love,' Harry said loudly as a heavyset man strode past, staring. 'You've been drinking too much again!'

'You know what I mean,' hissed Hermione.

Harry glowered at the man's back. 'I don't like the looks of him. Did you see the way he was staring at you?' He grumbled and swung the cart around violently. Crookshanks yowled.

'Harry,' Hermione said exasperatedly, 'I don't care if he was aiming a pistol at my forehead, I just want to know the answer to the question.' She frowned. 'I hope you didn't do anything illegal!'

'What? No! Nothing illegal, I just -' Harry coughed. 'Transfigured the money a bit.'

'What?'

Harry looked sheepish, like he had been caught redhanded stealing from the cookie jar. 'C'mon, Hermione, it's fine. I just took some of our money and transfigured it to their money. Simple.'

Hermione prodded a finger into Harry's chest. 'You knew very well that transfiguring money is illegal, Harry! Did you think I just wouldn't notice?'

Harry rubbed the back of his head. 'Listen,' he said, putting his arm around Hermione's waist and drawing her to a semi-secluded section behind the laundry detergent, 'the only way that I could have exchanged my money for Muggle money was if I notified the Ministry of Magic. I would have to put down all my information, and I really didn't want to do that. The reason that I moved here was to get away from everything. I didn't want anybody, not even ministry personnel, to know where I am. Do you understand?'

His arm was still snugly encircling her waist. 'Yes, I understand.'

Harry pulled away from her and made his way back to their cart, stuffing some of the laundry detergent above a carton of milk.

Hermione grabbed a dozen eggs and a few yogurts from the refrigerated section. She paused in the act, looked to see if anyone was listening, and asked, 'How many people know where we're going to live?'

'Besides you and me?' said Harry slowly. Hermione nodded.

'No one.'

'No one!' Hermione repeated, aghast. 'Not even Ron?'

Something akin to anger flashed in Harry's eyes. 'Why, do you want Ron to know?'

'Don't you?' she asked.

She turned when Harry gave no reply.

'What do you really think Ron's going to do? He's not going to sell us out, if that's what you're implying! He may be an attention-seeking prat sometimes, but he's as loyal as you come. You know that.'

Harry averted his eyes.

'Please don't do this,' Hermione said earnestly. 'Please don't do this to me. I've had a grand time today and I don't want to go and spoil it all. If you two had a spat behind my back, that's fine, but I'd really like to know about it.'

He grasped the cart with two hands. 'We didn't fight, Hermione, don't worry.'

'What's the problem then?' she asked. Her voice sounded sharp and waspish.

Harry just stared at her like she had sprouted wings. Hermione wondered, not for the first time that day, what he was truly thinking.

'He wasn't angry,' Hermione said softly as she and Harry pushed the cart along towards the deli meats.

'I told him I hadn't found a place yet,' Harry said. 'I know it sounds awful, Hermione, but you have to believe me, I'm trying -'

Hermione interrupted him with a snort. 'Trying to what? Justify your actions?'

'You don't understand.'

'Of course I don't! You're not explaining anything!'

Harry looked at Crookshank's cage absently. 'Ron's always been there. I suppose I just ...' He looked highly uncomfortable, but continued nonetheless, 'I just ... wanted to be with you. Alone.'

Whether it was true or not, the way his eyes were staring at her made Hermione nearly forget their small quarrel altogether. She found herself burning in his gaze and turned away quickly, breathing raggedly.

This was not happening. No, not now. Not when she was so close to forgetting ...

'I suppose we have enough groceries to last for a while,' she said shrilly.

'Hermione -' Harry started.

'We can always eat out, though, no harm in that -'

Harry moved closer. Hermione felt the blood rush to her head. 'Don't,' she breathed.

From the cart, Crookshanks yowled again, louder this time, and around them, people began to stare. Hermione was glad Harry had let Hedwig out to fly - the commotion they would have caused if they had brought in an owl! Hermione focused on these thoughts and wheeled the cart towards the front of the market. Harry followed slowly behind her.

It took all of her energy not to look back.

* * *

The clerk at the front desk was kind enough.

'Good day, sir, what can I do for you?'

Harry said, 'I have a room here ... booked under Black?'

Hermione shot Harry a look. He ignored her.

The clerk rummaged through some files at his desk. 'Black ... Black ... here it is. Room 273. Luxury suite, yes?'

Harry nodded. The clerk frowned as though in thought.

'Have we met?' he asked Harry. 'You seem familiar.'

Instictively, Harry flattened his fringe. He cleared his throat. 'No, no, I don't think so.'

The clerk shook himself. 'Oh. Okay.' He took a small key from his desk and handed it to Harry. 'Have a good stay, Mr. Black. And you too, love,' he added and Hermione murmured her thanks.

They reached their room. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 'That was too close.'

'Wasn't he a Muggle?' asked Hermione, yanking Harry's Invisibility Cloak from around Hedwig's cage and Crookshanks's crate. She folded it carefully. They had decided it would be best to keep their animals hidden from any suspicious eyes.

'I thought so.'

'Me too.'

Harry took the Invisibility Cloak from Hermione's arms and stuffed it into his trunk. 'People are being careless, probably. Letting things leak out.'

'Hmm.' Hermione peered around the room. 'Harry, we don't need this much space! A luxury suite? Honestly.'

Harry grinned. 'It is bit big, isn't it?'

'A bit big? The whole common room could fit in this place!' She smiled at him. 'But it is rather nice.'

'And there's a jacuzzi.' Harry folded his arms and walked over to the bedside table. 'And ... yes, here it is.' He opened a small tin box - it was filled with delectable-looking chocolates. Hermione beamed. 'Great, isn't it?'

'I've never been in such a nice place,' Hermione said breathlessly. 'Are you sure -?'

Harry shook his head. 'My treat. Really. Don't fret over it.'

Hermione could not speak. Her face was beginning to hurt from all her smiling.

'We'll begin work on the house tomorrow, okay?' said Harry. He patted the bed. 'I know you're tired - now get some rest.'

She didn't know how to thank him. All she could do was open and close her mouth, all the while wondering what she could possibly do to return this extravagant favor. It was too much to ask for. Perhaps Harry had gone slightly mad over the years, she thought amusedly. Hermione really didn't care if he was incurably insane in any case (though this was never serious in her mind); she appreciated everything he had done for her and wished that whatever she did and would do would bring him happiness.

Her mind blissfully blank, Hermione sunk into the bed, pulled the covers over her, and sighed. All the fatigue seemed to leave her body as though pushed away by a breath of air. The pillow was downy and soft and it felt wonderful as though she was resting on a cloud. And as she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts wandered aimlessly, falling to rest on castles, and lakes, and fair princesses with their dashing knights.

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I wrote this chapter listening to the record, "Dog and Butterfly", and I couldn't really stop, so here you are. But that's all I'm going to say on it for now, lol.

A big hearty thank you goes out to everyone who reviewed. You people are just too sweet. ^.^

* * *

Hermione awoke so suddenly her head spun. Why she had done so, she was uncertain. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was. Then, with the power of a skillet against the side of her head, it all came hurtling back to her.

It was apparant why she had awoken - her body was spread-eagled across the bed, drenched in sweat. The sheets were left unused on the floor. It was stifling hot in the room - almost unbearably so - and Hermione was parched. Where was the water?

She hoisted herself up and made her way to an easy-access washbasin. She cupped her hands under the faucet and turned it on with her elbow. Dipping her mouth to the water, she drank greedily.

Making her way back to her bed, she spotted Harry on the couch. He was sleeping, also sweating, and the way his neck was angled must have been highly uncomfortable. She imagined he would be sore the next morning. Hermione looked at his frame through the darkness and felt horribly guilty for taking the bed. She could've at least offered to share it, for just that night ...

He never would have accepted anyway. He was too noble for that. Hermione watched his chest rise and fall, mesmerized. They could have done it, she found herself thinking - they could have slept in the same bed without doing anything inappropriate. They were adults who could make their own choices.

She found a washcloth and ran it under the cool water. She laid it across Harry's forehead.

Finally satisfied, Hermione went back to her bed.

* * *

The next few weeks went by as a wonderful, rather overwhelming blur to Hermione. Every morning, she and Harry would wake up and immediately begin work on the house. It was coming along splendidly, and Hermione was delighted.

The lawn in front and back was cut, the square of garden soil was renovated, and most of the bushes framing the property were pruned. The house itself was fixed - most of the walls no longer had cracks and crevices for unwelcome guests to crawl through, and the walls inside were painted over a creamy white. Harry told her that it would be simple to change the color accordingly.

To Hermione's delight, Harry found her a sunny, circular room that was to be her library. It seemed the previous owners had used it as a study for some time, but Hermione was convinced that a library was just what it was supposed to be.

After the unexpected bout of rain at the end of Hogwarts term, the weather turned scorchingly hot. Harry and Hermione found themselves parched in the heat, gasping for water, and nearly fainting over each other. A few times they conjured up some lemonade, but that was a rare occurance, and they made sure no unsuspecting villager was trotting by.

One good thing came from the heat, and that was their decision to finally move in. It was by no means done, but they had their essentials, and both Hermione and Harry were anxious to move out of the inn and into their house. To Hermione, the phrase 'their house' hadn't really settled in as reality for her yet. It seemed as if she were living her life in a dreamlike state, though she knew the very idea was absurd.

It was about this time that Harry became more withdrawn. He seemed to be more brooding, more silent, more melancholy. Hermione noticed the change, but didn't address him about it. She felt that he had his own battles to fight without her meddling around in them. She supposed it had something to do with Ron - they hadn't seen him for weeks and even Hermione was beginning to miss their traditional rows.

Hermione sat on the front steps, looking out over the beautiful cobblestone walkway. It was another dry, dusty, blazing hot day, and the air was tingling with static electricity. Hermione's hair was so dry it had begun to frizz again, despite the Sleekeasy she had lathered on earlier that morning. She had gotten so annoyed that she nearly used the whole bottle, but thankfully she hadn't, as it would have been such a waste.

Crookshanks was having a splendid time adjusting to a country lifestyle. He had found a nest of small mice his first day out prowling (Hermione had had proof of this on her front doorstep later that day). He especially liked roaming around the garden, searching for slugs and other nasty little critters that Hermione didn't even assume cats enjoyed eating. But if he wasn't playing lion or hunting in the backyard, he was following Harry everywhere, mewling in a plaintive little voice, trying to reach his midriff. Hermione found it postively adorable.

She looked at the shapeless sweater she was knitting, sighed, and threw it to Crookshanks, who pounced and sunk his teeth into the neckline.

'I liked that sweater,' said a voice behind her.

'Oh, please,' she said in answer, facing Harry and standing up, 'it has hardly anything to like about it.'

Harry grinned at her. 'Good afternoon.'

'Good afternoon.'

'I have a surprise for you,' he said.

Hermione smiled slightly, inwardly wondering what he could possibly give her that would improve her lifestyle even more. She already felt rather spoiled by his attentions.

'I've decided that it's time to show you as we're moving in, well, today,' he said.

'What is it?' she asked curiously.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Well, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it? Just follow me.'

He led her through the swinging porch door they installed just the other day, over the tiled floor of the kitchen, up the stairs, and over the landing. He pushed open Hermione's bedroom door and watched as her face turned from mingled curiosity to astonishment. Her mouth parted slightly as she took in the sight before her.

'It's -' she began weakly.

'It's yours,' said Harry, grinning broadly. 'Dumbledore said you could keep it.'

Hermione beamed at the sight of her old four-poster bed sitting smack-dab in the center of her new room. She was lost for words.

'Dumbledore said I could keep it?'

Harry gave her a look. 'You didn't think I stole it, did you?'

Hermione couldn't contain herself as she flung her arms around Harry's neck and collapsed into wracking sobs on his shoulder. 'Oh Harry, thank you! This means so much to me, you can't even imagine ...'

Harry blushed considerably when she let him go. 'It was nothing, really. Here,' He handed her a handkerchief. 'I've decided to keep one handy, living with an overemotional young lady like yourself ...'

'I am not overemotional,' said Hermione defensively.

'Not that I mind,' said Harry quickly. 'Tea? I have it iced downstairs.'

Most of the furnature they had bought was musky, old, and very comfortable. Though buying from the stores was normal for Harry and Hermione, they had found some incredibly wonderful treasures at the village rummage sales. Included was a mantel clock that Hermione insisted go in her library, a handcrafted oriental-styled lamp, a full bottle of some patchouli-scented perfume, and a beige pouf that instantly became Harry's favorite chair. It was placed by the fireplace, where, Hermione often joked, he could admire it in the firelight.

As Hermione sat on the couch in their living room, she sipped her tea thoughtfully. She hadn't realized how parched she had been watching Crookshanks play outside. The ice swirled around in her drink, clinking musically against the sides, and she felt an overwhelming feeling of gratitude towards Harry's hospitality.

'This is just what I needed,' Hermione said warmly.

Harry ran a finger around the rim of his mug. 'Hermione, listen, er ... we have to talk.'

Hermione just stared at him, mug raised halfway to her lips. All hopes of comfortable daytime chatter were crushed.

'I haven't been entirely honest with you,' said Harry quietly.

Hermione watched him, trying look unreadable. Trying to look as though she knew this already; that it wasn't going to break her heart, whatever it was.

'I feel awful and I had to tell you. It's - you know how much you mean to me, right?' asked Harry suddenly, looking desperate. 'I've been selfish. I mean, I cared, but I didn't want to be alone. I know you have your whole life to live and here I am, asking you to throw it all away for me.'

'Harry ...'

'No, you don't get it, Hermione. I'm the target. I'm the one Voldemort is after. He loathes me and the only reason he didn't attack me last year was because he was building up an army. You know how I said I wanted to be alone? It's only partly true.' Harry looked furious with himself. His voice shook. 'No matter where I am I'm endangering everyone around me.'

Slowly, Hermione began to understand. 'You're not giving me any credit, Harry. I came with you, didn't I?'

'But you hesitated,' Harry spat. 'You knew, didn't you? You knew what it would mean to live with me.'

She could only sit, heart pounding, and wish that he could understand. Ashamed, Hermione felt the tears well up. She wished she were stronger somehow, that she could hold Harry and whisper soothing words in his ear as if she wasn't afraid.

'If you don't want to stay, I understand,' said Harry dully. 'I just felt I had to tell you.'

Hermione felt incredibly weak. She wanted to confess, yell it was all a misunderstanding ... How could she have been so unfeeling?

But here it was - the opportunity to redeem herself, presented magnificently as a time where neither friends were not being teasing or joking, and she couldn't utter a single word. Was her dignity more important to her than Harry? Had her shameful feelings bested the will to tell Harry this most atrocious, embarassing secret?

Secret? she had to think amazedly. She had never thought of it as a secret. She kept it from Harry, yes, but the subject had never arisen to tell him. It was a white lie perhaps, but a secret? But if it was so, what was it that she was hiding?

Hermione felt his eyes on her and knew what an utter idiot she was being.

She was in love with Harry.

She pondered this for a moment. To her surprise, the thought that her love ran deeper than friendship wasn't completely unheard of. It had always been there, she supposed. She glanced at him and waited for the firecrackers, the explosion, the revelation. It never came. He looked exactly like he always did. She felt exactly the same when he turned to her. No butterflies or wooziness. No theatric desire to swoon.

It was clear that whatever symtoms of lovesickness she had were drawn-out. Perhaps over her whole life with him she had been in love, but the symtoms were too weak to understand and comprehend at the time.

She didn't really understand why she was pushing him away. It was probably silly, some stupid little childish fear that he would never, ever, possibly feel the same way. Well, maybe that was partly it. But she supposed it wasn't as clear as she liked to imagine it was. Maybe Harry would have to scream in her face that he loved her as well before she got the message. She didn't know.

The question was a labyrinth - did she love him? Yes, of course, how couldn't she? And her thoughts traveled down a corridor, halting at a barricade, and the same question was asked. Reasons were presented, wildcards were unearthed, and the thought that maybe he just wasn't right for her crossed her mind. She never wanted it to be so complicated. Maybe she just didn't want him to be that dear to her - maybe, just maybe, she was pushing him away for fear of losing him altogether.

It seemed unequivocally outrageous of her to do such a thing, for hadn't she already crossed that boundary? Hadn't she already admitted, outright, that she was in love with Harry? The pure ludicrousness of it made Hermione want to cry out in frustration.

Somewhere deep within the regions of her mind, she supposed she believed those strange desires to be nothing more than lust.

She came to this conclusion feeling as helpless as those silly girls who made eyes at him. Was she that alone? Was she so desperate to love that because Harry had shown her affection, she was drawn, almost obsessively, towards his doting nature?

Idiot.

She felt angry suddenly, at herself and Harry's enraging callowness; if he had just told her what was happening, explained it step-by-step, she wouldn't be here, listening to him, feeling blindfolded and lost. Couldn't he see that she was so completely in love with him that it hurt just to say his name? And she wondered, bitter: what had happened to his 'saving people thing' that she had called him on years ago? She was in need of a savior now, no doubt, but he was sitting there, acting misunderstood, and despite her infuriating instinct to console his behavior, she felt so bloody chafed about the whole thing that she stood up and glared.

For a moment Harry looked confused, maybe even hurt by the gesture, and then his rebellious instinct kicked in; but before he could even utter a single word Hermione exploded.

'Why are you always like this?' she yelled, overcome with vexation and building trepidation. 'I accepted to come with you because I love you and you're my friend! Don't you get it? I'm not going to give up on you, Harry! Why are you so intent on believing that everyone you love will desert you?'

'Because they have.'

'They died,' Hermione spat, unbelieving at her bitter change in character. 'They died protecting you.'

'Don't you think I know that, Hermione?' Harry said in a deathly quiet voice.

Hermione scowled at him. 'It doesn't sound like it to me. It sounds like you're so intent on your own feelings that you've forgotten the people who matter most. It sounds like you're so wrapped up in your own little world of misery that you're completely oblivious to the fact that others are still trying to make it in this one.'

Harry opened his mouth but Hermione cut him off: 'If I'm the only one that can put you back in your place, so be it, but Merlin help me, if I hear one more remark questioning my loyalty, I'll move right out.'

He glared at her, and she knew he thought she was crazy.

'It's not always about you, Harry,' said Hermione viciously, reading his mind swiftly and easily. 'My priorities are simple, you know, but not all my affections are lost on you. You and Ron are the only people I have in this life - and you know you've always been first, don't you Harry? But I can't stand you belitting yourself - and me - by acting so conceited and selfish!'

Hermione could tell it stung him and felt furious pleasure sweep through her, unquestioned.

'If you still don't understand ...' Hermione trailed off uncertainly and began again: 'I've always wanted to be there for you, but I can't do that if you're pushing me away. It's that simple.'

She could almost feel the anger and confusion emanating from his body. 'I expected you, of all people, to understand,' he said. His voice was barely a whisper.

'It's not about understanding,' she said.

'Then what is it?' he asked, voice raising defiantly. 'You know, I've done a lot for you, Hermione. I think you should be the one thanking me!'

Hermione quivered with rage. 'I appreciate everything you've done for me, Harry.' She paused, steadying her breaths. 'But you're completely missing the point.'

Harry looked so cross Hermione was afraid he'd storm out on her. To her relief, he didn't move.

'I don't need a beautiful house, or a garden, or a library to make me happy,' she told him. 'Harry, I just ...' She swallowed. 'I understand how angry you must feel. But I'm asking you to trust me and to throw away your pride and just listen. I don't want you to act like you're alone, because no matter what you think, you're not.'

Harry looked evenly at her. 'Then why did you hesitate?'

There was a silence in which Harry presented her a way to explain everything, but Hermione let it pass. She held her tongue and looked away.

She didn't answer.

'I'm going out,' he said shortly. He dumped his remaining tea in the sink and left.

* * *

Hours later, Hermione had seen hide nor hair of her friend.

She didn't know when he would return, and in fact, really didn't care. Deciding to leave him be was a wise choice, she believed, and if it made him churlish later, she was ready to face his wrath head-on. Besides, it gave her time to sort out her own feelings, something she had tried to ignore, but knew she had to do.

His capricious actions earlier were planned to be overlooked, as Hermione knew more bait would only fuel his waspish attitude. And as much as it frustrated her to think it, she was actually feeling a bit of pity for him. Especially after a fight like theirs, it was difficult to be the one to make amends, and she knew it. He would never - in his opinion - sink low enough to offer peace.

Her yelling and animosity were only the trivial things bothering Harry. She knew that her secret was left unguarded for a moment and he had seen, if just for a moment, what was harbored inside her. Perhaps he had misunderstood, but he had seen it all the less; and for her to ignore it like she did was enough to drive him mad.

But what to do?

Hermione's hand shook as she chopped up a red onion, scooped it with her knife, and dumped it in a heating skillet. The pieces sizzled and browned.

She had decided that even if Harry didn't return, she would make herself a nice meal, as she was hungry and it was nearly suppertime. And though she wasn't one for foreign foods, save French delicacies, she had decided to make herself a pot of her mother's special fried rice.

She made extra rice in case Harry was hungry when he came back, fed Crookshanks, tossed Hedwig an owl treat, and sat down at the kitchen table.

Eating in silence was the only advantage to eating alone, Hermione came to realize. She chewed her food deliberately, not taking her eyes off the door.

She had to ask herself if she wanted Harry to return after all, despite every angry thought that crossed her mind. She supposed she did, but it was only a want, not a wish or a yearn. She was not going to back down just because, in a couple hours without his company, she had began to miss him. Slightly.

Her food was soon devoured and Hermione felt sleep overtake her. Quietly, she tiptoed upstairs, careful not to wake Crookshanks, who was sprawled luxuriously across Harry's pouf, and changed into her nightclothes. It was hard to think of anything but mattresses and blankets as she made her way to her four-poster, and as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep.

* * *

Despite the depth of her sleep - or perhaps because of it - Hermione was severely startled to find herself shaken awake in the dead of night some hours later (though how many she could not say), prodded and poked, and then rolled over onto her back.

She opened her eyes, though it didn't do much good in the pitch-blackness, and stared up into a pair of brilliant green eyes. She stifled a scream with her hand.

'What are you doing here?' whispered Hermione urgently. Her anger on his behalf seemed trivial suddenly - if he had been hurt ...

'I came to see you,' he breathed.

'In the dead of night?'

His grin was lopsided, boyish, incredibly charming.

She realized how close their bodies were, with Harry leaning over her as he was, and made a move to pull her sheets over her chest, but Harry grabbed her hand. Hermione's breath caught.

'I was thinking about what I said earlier,' Harry said in a soft, uncannily calm tone.

Hermione merely stared up at him and listened. He didn't release her hand.

He closed his eyes. 'I was so sure that you would refuse to stay.' He paused. 'I didn't know how to handle it when you said you would. In some ways, I wanted you to go.'

She could tell he was having difficulties saying these things, and despite her doubts, squeezed his hand with her own.

'You said things that made me feel guilty, Hermione,' he said. 'But I guess you were the only one who could say them to me. Maybe that's what makes us such good friends, you know, picking out the other's faults ... it makes us less big-headed.' He laughed quietly and Hermione smiled. 'The truth is, I do want you to stay, Hermione.'

Such an intimacy was meant by these words, and Hermione was touched. As she had known it all along, it was no surprise, but having him wake her up to say something as trivial (or so she believed) as that ... well, to say the least, it was pleasantly surprising.

Hermione smiled warmly at him and his face relaxed considerably.

But as if struck by a sudden thought, Harry must have realized how uncomfortable he was making her and quickly backed away from the bed.

''Night, then,' he said awkwardly.

'Goodnight, Harry,' Hermione answered.

He closed the door gently and walked to his own room, leaving Hermione feeling very confused behind him.

* * *

The weeks passed quickly, and Harry nor Hermione thought much of their fight and the aftermath. But every once and a while, when they were finished mopping or dusting or painting, their thoughts would wander and come to rest on that significant night.

It was significant, especially so, for it portrayed the depth of their relationship in such a meaningful and beautiful way. In fact, so deep had their relationship become that it was hard for Hermione to spend time alone. She had noticed Harry had become more doting in his affections towards her, and though it was surprising and slightly unbelievable at first, Hermione's approbation was obvious even in her own eyes.

Harry had begun buying the Daily Prophet, even though he refused to admit it (Hermione found some thrown-out copies in the rubbish bin). She supposed he was missing his life in the Magical World, which Hermione found quite reasonable and wondered why he kept this feeling from her. She would have understood, surely, and if he was afraid of offending her, Hermione could offer nothing but say it wouldn't have. And in her own way, Hermione missed the Magical World as well, and read the old copies that Harry threw out. Most of them, unsurprisingly, had some headline or another that dealt with the matter of the mysterious disappearance of Harry Potter.

There were some headlines, however, that won her astonishment without an eyeroll. Hermione Granger gone missing. Last seen with Harry Potter. Suspected love affair. It was all very silly (but, she had to admit, awfully close to the truth), and Hermione didn't bring up the matter with Harry. It seemed too trivial. But still ...

She suspected it had gone too far, that it was impossible to turn back, but even she had begun to feel the pangs of nostalgia when she glimpsed something Ron would have enjoyed or found amusement in, or an old school book layered with dust. She finally had to admit to herself that she longed to be a part of the Magical World again, even if it meant giving up the peacefulness of quiet seclusion.

The thought arose that she should go and see Ron, even if it was for a short while; she would explain everything, Harry's turmoil, her own loyalties, everything. Even Ron would understand her justifications, but if he didn't, there was always his sensitivity to fall back on. He would surely understand. Hermione convinced herself that he would be supportive and let it stay as so, though she still had her doubts.

Tentatively, she addressed Harry about the subject.

She knew his answer just by the way his eyes narrowed and lips tightened, and, being so angry with him that she couldn't speak, stormed out of the room.

She wanted the best for him, could he not see it? Ron was his best friend, and though Hermione would always be there, she was never going to have the exact same bond with Harry that he and Ron shared as boys and now, men. Hermione felt so incredibly annoyed by it all that she locked herself in her library and read for a full four hours until Harry sought her out.

As she saw the hurt in his eyes that she had caused by her huffy avoidance, she wondered if she wasn't the one who was in the wrong. Still, she could not bring herself to apologize. And, on this note, the subject was not brought up again.

* * *

What was most amusing about Hermione's feelings towards Harry was that she hid it so adroitly he was completely oblivious to her more-than-friendly desires.

She hid it in a way that could have been mistaken as irritability, so to the common eye Hermione was merely having a succession of bad temper and animosity for life in general. Which was fine, in Hermione's opinion, though she sometimes felt spurts of regret every now and then when she thought it least unlikely.

Her confusion at the very thought of her love for him was enough to drive anyone mad, but to Hermione, it so extremely baffling that she supposed her mind was liable to explode by Christmastime.

Even if Harry didn't quite grasp what was the real matter with Hermione's conscious, he still understood that something important was bothering her, and therefore assumed it was his fault. Rather than trying to appease her with affection, Harry sunk into one of his moods and only spoke upon being spoken to.

The whole thing made such an annoying paradox that Hermione grew even more irritable, which, to her unsurprise, completed the circle.

Finally, it seemed that Harry could not handle the tension any longer and confronted Hermione about it one night after supper. Hermione was heading upstairs to her bedroom to read when she felt Harry's hand on her arm, willing her to stop.

'It's about Ron, isn't it?'

So great was her surprise that Hermione couldn't speak properly, which Harry took as a hearty yes, and frowned so crossly his jaw muscles quivered.

Hermione briefly wondered how Harry could be so wrong in his assumption, before being disrupted in her musings by a sentence that startled her speechless:

'You're in love with him,' he stated shortly. 'You're in love with Ron. That's why you hesitated.'

Hermione realized with shame that this misunderstanding was all her fault. She felt so low, so cowardly, that all she wanted to do was crawl into a corner and pretend to be nonexistent.

Harry continued with bitter triumph. 'I'm right, aren't I?'

Hermione sucked in a lungful of air and said, 'No.'

'No?' he repeated angrily, with a fair amount of hidden astonishment. 'No? It's obvious, Hermione. All the bickering, the wishes to see each other ...' He trailed off. 'You know what? I appreciate you being here, but I don't need you to feel sorry for me!'

'I don't feel sorry for you, Harry,' she said, raising her head and putting her hands on her hips. 'In fact, I think you're being a right baby about this. And never mind the fact that it's not true!'

'Then why is it you're always talking about him, asking where he is -'

'He's my friend! For God's sake, Harry, you should know that!'

Harry and Hermione stood and faced off; glaring, each breathing heavily, and both feeling so angry and disappointed in the other they were filled with a desire to shake them into their right mind.

The tension in the room was electric, and both friends felt it. It was also incredibly hot, stifling even, and Hermione felt herself begin to sweat despite the coolness of her clothing.

'I'm not in love with Ron,' she said firmly. How could he be so misled as to see such a thing? And what of his reaction? Could he possibly have been - Hermione dared not think about it thoroughly - jealous?

Harry looked completely taken aback at her firm words and shut his mouth. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly stared at the wall.

All the fury regarding the injustice of such a scandalous accusation calmed slightly, and Hermione found herself saying to Harry in as decided a voice as she could muster, 'It's fine.'

Harry looked at her as though he fully intended to say that it was not fine, but bit back his words and prepared himself for the mortification that was soon to follow such an outburst as his. Harry's cheeks colored and he looked caught between wanting to say something and trying to run out the back door. So he did neither; and they both stood in stagnant embarrassment over a matter too confusing to discuss, too strange to comprehend, and too misleading to address head-on.

But even Hermione had run out of excuses this time, and it was fully clear that by the way Harry's cheeks burned a most suiting crimson color he was truly abashed and humiliated by what had occurred - and what had occurred was nothing short of jealousy.

Hermione was beyond caring at this point, as it seemed their relationship had already taken a most distinctive turn and was plunged headfirst into a place between friendship and romance. So she did the unthinkable, the irrational, and said quietly,

'Do you love me?'

At first, the sentence seemed to have no effect on Harry. His eyes hardened and his body stiffened, as if bracing for an impact, and he did not utter a word. Hermione repeated the question, urging him along, and wondered if she did not silently pray for him to answer in the positive ...

She should have known not to give him leeway, to escape from her question - if she had just stated it, without margin, he could have had nothing to say. Hermione thought this furiously as she tried to read his expressionless face.

Hermione thought it ironic that even after seven plus years of undying friendship, they could not utter a single word to each other over such a subject. They had danced around it for ages, perhaps since they were fourteen; when even the slightest possibly of romance was suggested. Crudely, of course, but presented nonetheless. It was thought impossible, but Hermione knew she wasn't as indifferent to it as her manner would have had him believe. It was just too embarassing a prospect, to trip into the idea of love with no previous warning! Hermione had been absolutely mortified.

And for everyone to suspect it was true, to even consider the possibly of their affair ... The offenders were countless! Ron, with his spurts of unreasonable jealousy; Mrs. Weasley, with her knowing exchanges with Mr. Weasley; Professor McGonagall, with her sly little smiles; Madame Pomfrey, who always told her, with perfect innocence, that Harry was alright and she needn't worry so much; and Professor Dumbledore, with that crinkled smile of his that said all too clearly that he knew, and the rest of the school knew, what a perfect match they would make.

And dear, kind Viktor Krum, who told her, in as polite a way as possible, that his attentions were lost on her and that Harry would come to terms with his feelings sooner or later. She had blushed furiously after reading such a shocking letter and hid it away, horrified at anyone reading it; but she had kept it for some reason or another, rather than burning it like she supposed would have been wiser.

The silence grew thicker.

Poor Cho Chang. Hermione held a respective amount of pity for her, despite everything. Of course, Cho would never feel even the slightest bit of affection for Hermione after dating Harry. Harry had never told her what happened exactly, but Hermione had her suspicions; and they were confirmed in the icy manner in which Cho addressed her afterwards. It was all in the way she eyed Hermione from the Ravenclaw table, when Hermione looked away from Ron and Harry's idle conversation to stare across the Great Hall - it was as though Cho was constantly dreaming up schemes to sabatage Hermione's life; but of course, the very idea was insane. Thankfully, in their seventh year, Cho had already graduated, and was as good as forgotten by Harry. Though sometimes, when Hermione was deep in her musings, she imagined the horror of losing a boyfriend as Cho had, and couldn't even bear the thought.

Hermione was mortified at Harry's lack of response to her statement. 'Say something,' she pleaded softly.

The only reassurance, to Hermione, that Harry was indeed alive was the strange glinting of his eyes, and she watched them uncertainly, thinking. She almost attained the feeling of utter chaos on his part, of turmult and confusion, but she was in disarray herself, and had no room for pleasantries. Her own inability to achieve comfort was greatly humiliating, in more ways than one, and Hermione felt that had she been in a room alone, she would have screamed and screamed and screamed until her throat seized and the blood withdrew from her brain. Hermione could stand it no longer.

She closed the space between them with two steps, snaked two elegant arms around his neck, and in two seconds, did the stupidest and most rewarding thing she had ever done, and pressed her lips against his eagerly.

Her whole body responded when he pressed back and pulled her to him, now attacking her lips with a fever, unconscious and unaware of whatever mental obstacles might have been there that morning. Was she in any mind to analyze, she would have been highly amused, but as it was, her mind had completely melted down and slipped from her mental reign of control. Hermione was only aware of skin and lips, and how the former seemed suddenly very desperate for contact. Someone was breathing raggedly. Someone was moaning. She had no recollection of ever moving, but somehow, without warning, she was being lowered onto a bed - or was it the couch? - by very gentle, caressing hands.

His fingers burned against her skin as they moved even closer to one another, closer than they had ever been before, to shed themselves of the one thing separating themselves from each other. Her hair felt damp against her scalp and her lips bruised and swollen; her whole body arched in her eagerness. His hands, trembling slightly, ran down her naked shoulders and over the contours of her sides. She shivered, despite the warmth, despite everything, and relished in his touch.

She gasped as he kissed her deeply and muffled her moans with his mouth; all the while her mind racing as it sped along in search of something - something that would make them stop but keep the pleasure and the closeness. But there was no reason for him to stop. No justification. For once in her life the simplicity, the primordial instinct of human beings, was in charge. Her mind was useless.

Hands on either side of her face, supporting him, he lowered himself onto her; he felt her chest against his, her rapid breathing mingled with his own rapid breathing, and relaxed himself to hear and feel the steady heartbeat of his companion.

* * *

Is it even legal for me to write such things at my age, I wonder?

Pretty much the whole "scene" was uncomfortable for me to write, to be perfectly honest. I didn't go into too much detail, for obvious reasons. So ... if you were expecting smut ... er, sorry? (I know I'm disappointing at least you, Jen! *grins*)

You know what's funny? I haven't read this over in so long, I forgot what it was! That is, until I was refreshed. hehe.

Anyway, I'm sorry I took so long with this chapter. If you're asking why, then just look at the sheer size of it! But it's funny, really, it took me longer to post the thing than it did to write it. Don't ask me why. I'm weird that way.

Thanks, as always, for everyone's feedback!

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