Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews after the first chapter. I really wanted to respond to everyone, but I simply didn't have enough time. I'm really hoping I'll find time this weekend to respond to reviews for this chapter. As usual, thanks to Kristin and James for the beta, support, and lovely feedback.

I catalog these steps now, decisive and intentioned

precise and patterned specifically to yours.

I'm talented at breathing, especially exhaling,

so that my chest will rise and fall with yours.

I'm careful not to wake you, fearing conversation.

It's better just to hold you and keep you pacified.

I'm talented with reason, I cover all the angles.

I can fail before I ever try.

Try to understand, there is an old mistake that fools will make.

And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away.

So won't you hold me now? I will not bend, I will not break.

Won't you hold me now? For you I rise for you I fall.

I am fairly agile, I can bend and not break.

Or I can break and take it with a smile.

I am so resilient, I recover quickly.

I'll convince you soon that I am fine.

- Dashboard Confessional: `Bend and Not Break'

***

"Okay, what's going on between you three?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all jumped, as if caught guiltily sneaking around Hogwarts after hours. Hermione was curled up in her armchair, book spread across her lap. Ron was down on the floor flipping through a Canon's magazine and Harry was in a corner polishing his Firebolt.

Ginny stood at the entrance to the living room, her lip curled in suspicion. "Oh, don't give me that look, Ron. No, I will not `shut up about it.' Something is clearly going on between the three of you."

Hermione looked as though she was about to make a reply, but she stopped herself at the last moment and went back to her reading. Ron stared at Ginny coolly, not making a sound.

Harry cleared his throat. "What d'you mean, Gin?"

"I mean," she said, gesturing around her. "You three have barely spoken to each other in the last week! I know something is going on."

Ron abruptly shut his magazine, stood up, and brushed by Ginny as he made his way silently out the room. Hermione turned another page in her book, emitting an annoyed sigh as she did so.

"Everything's fine, Ginny," Harry said weakly.

In truth, nothing was fine, and everyone knew it. He felt a gnawing guilt every time he looked at Ron. Things between Ron and Hermione were awkward and, consequently, they were speaking very little to each other. Harry found that he couldn't quite meet Hermione's gaze and he found himself battling duelling urges to talk to her about what had happened between them that night on the rooftop and dragging her out there so they could do it again.

Ginny blinked at them. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Ginny," Hermione said coolly. "It's hardly any of your business what goes on between Harry, Ron and I. Kindly leave us alone."

"No," Ginny snapped. "You three are making it downright miserable for the rest of us."

Without another word, Hermione slammed her book shut and followed Ron's example, leaving Harry alone with Ginny.

Harry went back to his broomstick, deciding to ignore her. After a moment, Ginny left, clearly less than thrilled.

He felt his eyelids drooping, the mechanical process of polishing his broomstick bringing on a trance-like state. He hadn't been sleeping well recently-not since that night at the Department of Mysteries. His dreams had only become worse after the night with Hermione on the rooftop and their entire friendship had spun out of control.

"What are you scared of, Harry?"

Hermione's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up at her. She'd come back down, without her book, and was staring at him in intense concentration. "I'm sorry?" he managed.

"Oh, don't give me that," she snapped. "You know as well as I do that Ginny was right."

"So?" he demanded. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You're scared of something," Hermione said plainly. "Something-us, maybe."

"There is no `us,'" Harry returned, going back to his broomstick. "Snogging once doesn't qualify as dating."

Harry knew that he'd gone too far. Instead of leaving him alone like he hoped she would, his comment only seemed to strengthen her resolve. She tore the Firebolt out of his hands and hurled it to the other side of the room.

"I-hey! Watch what you're-"

"Get up."

"What?" Harry said, glancing over at his Firebolt.

"Get. Up," she snarled.

Harry stood up, facing her angry rage. "Don't you dare and try and pin this all on me," he said in a low voice. "You've been avoiding me just as much since that night."

"Fine," Hermione said, eyes narrowing into tiny slits. "But I'm facing it now. I'm willing to face it now-with you."

"Maybe I'm not."

"Maybe you're just scared," she parried back angrily.

"You don't have any idea what you're talking about, Hermione."

"Oh, yes, I do," she said, taking a small step closer to him. "I know a lot more than you think I do, Harry. I know you're hiding something from me and I know that whatever is scares you badly. So badly that you feel you need to push me away."

Harry felt fury rising in him. What right did she have to act all condescending? She didn't know anything.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching his jaw. "Go away, Hermione."

Frustration began to grow in her eyes. "No, I will not go away. Not until I hear something from you."

"Fine," Harry snapped. "Then I'm going."

Without another look in her direction, he picked up his fallen broomstick and headed out of the room. Harry climbed the stairs towards his bedroom, clenching his Firebolt tightly in one hand.

You shouldn't have left things like that.

Not that he could have done much else. They could have yelled at each other for hours, as far as he was concerned. And they'd never come to any kind of a solution.

He found Ron sprawled out on his bed, lying flat on his back. He was staring intently at the ceiling, eyes wide.

Hoping Ron wouldn't try and talk to him, Harry hurriedly placed his broomstick in a corner and rushed back toward the door.

"She's right, you know."

Harry froze. Slowly, he turned back around. "Who's right?"

Did he hear us? Is he talking about Hermione?

"Ginny." Ron rolled over on his side so he could face Harry. "Things have been awkward as hell around here lately."

"Ron-"

"It's my fault," he interrupted seriously. "If I hadn't decided to open up my big fat mouth. Things could still be the way they used to be."

"It's not your fault," Harry said quietly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Harry. I can't even really look at Hermione anymore, you know? I dunno how she feels around me. Probably hates it. And I know it's rubbing off on you, too. Shouldn't have to be that way just `cause there's problems between me and Hermione."

"I'm not-"

"You've been walking eggshells around both of us," Ron said with a scowl. "Look-I'm sorry, Harry. I would never have said anything if I had known it would mess things up this badly."

Harry was desperate to get away. Looking into Ron's face, shining with guilt, sent his stomach gurgling. "Ron, I swear to you, this isn't your fault."

For a moment, Ron looked a little suspicious. Shaking his head, he flopped back down on the bed, gaze returning to the ceiling. "She was really nice about it, too, you know."

Harry felt his stomach tighten a little more. "Well-that's Hermione for you, Ron. She's your best friend, you know she cares about you."

"Yeah," Ron said, still staring at the ceiling. "She didn't seem to think that we'd be very good together. `Cause we argue too much or something."

Stop it. Stop talking about this.

"Well…"

"Maybe she's right," Ron said, ignoring Harry. "Maybe we do argue too much."

Ron looked as though he wanted to say more, but he tapered off, his scowl deepening as he studied the ceiling. Harry looked longingly at the door, wanting to be out of the room and away from Ron's misery.

Harry sighed. "C'mon, I have an idea."

Without waiting for a response, Harry left, knowing that Ron would follow him. Without saying another word, Harry led Ron to Sirius' old bedroom. Pushing away the bitter feelings that rose in his throat, Harry opened the door and walked in. The room was well cleaned, Harry knew that Mrs. Weasley went through and vacuumed every week. The bed was made, the surfaces dusted.

Besides that, nothing had been touched. Sirius' old belongings littered the floor and dresser. A flashing clock was blinking on the bedside table. A pair of pants was tossed causally over the corner chair. Several pieces of parchment lay messily on the dresser. A mirror hung over the backside of the door, cracked and smudged.

Harry had to stop, the lived-in atmosphere of the room making him dizzy for a moment. "We should clean this place out," he finally said softly, gingerly walking around.

Ron was staring at him like he'd gone mad. "You feeling alright, Harry? You sure you want to be-"

Ron stopped when Harry opened the bottom drawer of Sirius' dresser and pulled out several bottles of Oldgen's Firewhisky.

"Oh," Ron said, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "Oh…"

"Yeah," Harry said, tossing Ron a bottle. "I figured that Sirius would have a supply stashed away somewhere."

Ron stared down at the bottle in his hand, an internal battle waging on his face. "You sure this is a good idea?"

Harry shrugged and popped the bottle open. "Dunno."

"That's comforting," Ron muttered, but he opened the bottle Harry had tossed him.

"I think we should get drunk," Harry finally said, staring down at the bottle in his hand. "This seemed like a decent enough place to start."

Ron gave him a look that was half awe and half terror. "What if Mum catches us?" he said hoarsely.

"She won't."

"But what if she-"

Without waiting for Ron to finish his sentence, Harry brought the uncorked bottle to his lips and took a large swallow. The liquid burned as it made its way down his throat before settling warmly in his stomach. Harry clamped down on the urge to gag, waiting for the liquid to settle into his system.

Unwilling to be outdone, Ron took a swig from his bottle. Unlike Harry, he gave a rather large sputter of indignation afterwards.

Harry grinned. "Nice one, Ron."

"This stuff's foul," Ron said, looking at the bottle appraisingly. Shrugging Ron took another sip, managing to stop himself from gagging this time.

Harry took another sip from his, eyes watering a bit as it burned down his throat. "Don't reckon Sirius had much else to do," Harry muttered, throat still tingling.

Ron, who had gone through almost half the bottle, looked at him, eyes somewhat unfocused. "What d'you mean?" he slurred.

"I mean," Harry said, taking another swig and resisting the urge to shudder. "He must have gone through a whole lot of this stuff."

"Seems like," Ron answered cheerfully. "How many bottles did ya' find in there?"

"Dunno," Harry said, taking another sip. "Lots."

"Lots, eh?"

"Yeah."

Feeling somewhat unsteady on his feet, Harry stumbled over to where Ron was leaning back against the closed door. He leaned on the wall next to him, willing for the room to come back into focus.

"Good stuff, you found," Ron said proudly, nearly all the way through his first bottle.

"Sirius' stuff," Harry said, his thoughts straying to his godfather for a moment. "Dumbledore should never have cooped him up in here," he said quietly.

"Safer, though," Ron said, stumbling over to the bottom drawer for a second bottle. "'Member how the Malfoys knew he was an animagus?"

"I s'pose," Harry said. "But he hated this house. I hate this house."

"S'not so bad, Harry," Ron said comfortingly, taking a sip from the second bottle.

Harry merely grunted in reply, watching in morbid fascination as Ron started going through his second bottle of firewhisky at nearly the same rate as his first. Though Harry's stomach rumbled in protest, he took another large gulp from his own bottle.

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry said, glancing over at Ron.

Ron had a funny look on his face, like he was trying to make himself smile, but couldn't quite do it. "D'you think that…" Ron trailed off, all traces of a smile vanishing completely from his face. "There's someone else?"

Harry felt his heart speed up. "Why d'you mean?"

"I reckon that…" Ron swallowed hard. "I reckon that Hermione… that there's someone else."

"Why would you think that?" Harry said, his voice sounding funny to his own ears.

Ron blinked a few times, as if he couldn't quite understand what Harry was saying. "Well-it's just that…" he said hesitantly. "When I told her… you do know I told her, don't you?"

"Yeah…" Harry said, smiling a little. "You told Hermione you fancied her."

Ron snickered as if it was the most hilarious thing he'd heard all day. "And it was right stupid of me," he said proudly. "Went and messed up our whole friendship."

"Nahh…" Harry said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. "She messed up."

"Don't matter who," Ron said slowly. "Only that it is."

"That it is," Harry repeated.

"Yeah," Ron said. "That's right."

"That don't make any sense."

"Sure, it does," Ron said brightly. "It makes loads of sense. It makes sense upon sense of sense."

To punctuate his statement, Ron squeezed his eyes shut and drowned more of his bottle. He coughed a few times, but looked up proudly afterwards.

"But there is someone else," Ron said, waving the bottle around so that firewhisky sloshed over the sides. "Hermione's in love with another bloke."

"Nu, uh. Hermione doesn't love nobody," Harry said, quickly drinking more from his own bottle.

"Wish I knew who," Ron said in a dejected voice. "I think I'd kill him."

Harry started choking on his firewhisky and Ron thumped him on the back a few times.

"S'probably that git, Viktor Krum," Ron continued, eyes darkening. "Always knew he was up to no good."

"S'not Viktor, Ron," Harry said, not quite able to stop himself.

Ron frowned and took another swig from his bottle. "S'not, eh? You don't know who it is, do you?"

"'Course I do."

Ron snickered. "Very funny, Harry. You don't know any more than I do."

"I know everything about Hermione," Harry said, grinning.

"Haha," Ron said, rocking back on his feet. "Don't know everything, Harry. Wish I did, though. Wish I knew who it was."

Harry felt his stomach give a small little lurch and he wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or from what Ron was saying. "I don't feel too good, Ron."

"Aww... suck it up, Harry... tha's pathetic... can't hold down your liquor..." Ron shuffled over to the drawer to get them both more bottles. "Oops!" he said, banging his shin on the opened drawer.

For some reason, Harry found that wildly funny. "Alright, Ron?"

"Bloody hell! I'm bleeding!"

"Own damn fault for running into it."

"Can't see nothin'... room's all topsy turvy..."

"It's 'cause we're drunk."

"I'm not drunk." Ron emerged victorious with the two bottles of firewhisky. "I have a Weasley constitution. We don't get drunk."

Harry snorted. Ron shuffled back and Harry accepted the bottle. Silence descended upon them as they both struggled to open the new bottles, suddenly finding it much more difficult this time around.

"What's do you reckon I should do, Harry?"

"Get drunk," Harry said knowingly.

Ron snorted. "No..." he said. "About Hermione."

"Oh. Well-nothing, I s'pose."

"Nothing?" Ron said, a look of misery passing over his face. "Harry..." he said quietly, suddenly serious. "It wasn't supposed to be this way."

Harry took a long gulp of from his bottle and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be. Maybe you aren't supposed to be with Hermione. Did you ever think of that?"

Ron blinked and looked as though he didn't quite understand what Harry was saying. "Just wish it didn't hurt, though," he said quietly. "It's an awful feeling."

Ron seemed to have lost interest in his bottle of firewhisky and it dangled uselessly in one hand. Harry felt a gloominess descend around them, changing the entire feel of the room. Feeling really quite sick by this time, Harry set down his own bottle of firewhisky, a wave of dizziness slamming into him. Ron didn't look any better, and Harry was somewhat horrified to see that he was struggling against tears.

"C'mon, Ron, s'okay... there's plenty of other witches, honest..."

"Who do you think he is?" Ron asked abruptly, staring at Harry intently.

Harry felt a pang of fear. He knows. No... Harry shook his head. He couldn't know. It just wasn't possible.

"Could be anyone," Harry said with a shrug. "Let's go to bed, really tired..."

"Yeah... okay..." Ron said dully.

Since Ron seemed prepared to wallow in his misery, Harry put all the bottles back in the drawer, unwilling to leave any kind of evidence for Mrs. Weasley to pick up on.

"C'mon, Ron... let's go... don't fancy getting caught by your Mum..."

Ron blinked sleepily and gave a great yawn. "Dunno, Harry. I'm not sure if I can move. Things are spinning awfully fast..."

Harry sighed, and threw an arm around Ron's shoulder to help him along. "Whoa..." Ron said, snickering a bit. "Slow down there, Harry..."

"We haven't even moved yet!" Harry snapped, trying to usher him forward.

Ron leaned on him heavily, seeming to sink back down into his gloom. Harry shuffled them forward, feeling rather faint himself. He felt like there was something alive in his stomach, trying to claw its way up his throat.

"If we can just make to our room..." Harry wheezed out. "We should be okay."

The words had barely left his mouth when Harry became aware that they weren't alone. Hermione was pacing nervously in front of their room, wearing a disapproving frown. She had clearly been there for a while.

"What's going on? What are you two... are you drunk?"

"No," Harry snapped at the same time as Ron said, "Yes."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "How did you... why did you... where did you..."

"Excuse us, Hermione," Harry said crossly. "But we're trying to get to our bedroom, if you don't mind."

Instead of angering Ron, Hermione's presence only seemed to deflate him further, something that Harry found rather worrisome. "Hullo, Hermione," he said, trying to sound cheerful and, as a result, his voice boomed out loudly. "Harry thought that if I got drunk then I'd be able to get over you."

Hermione took a step back, eyes flying to Harry's face. "Oh..." she whispered, quietly.

"Dunno why he thought that," Ron said, continuing in that same loud voice. "I don't think it's working."

"Oh, Ron, I'm so-"

"S'not your fault, Hermione. Harry and I have decided, you like some other bloke."

"You and Harry have..."

"Decided, yeah," Ron said, completely oblivious to Harry's wince. "I understand. I'm going to kill him, but I understand."

Hermione closed her eyes and took in a breath. "Ron, get some rest," she said, her voice shaky. "You should go to bed."

"You've been crying," Ron said sharply. "Aww... I'm sorry, Hermione... all my fault... never should have said anything... made things as awkward as hell around here..."

Surprised, Harry focused on Hermione's face, startled to see that her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying.

Hermione gave Harry a significant look. "No, Ron," she said firmly. "Listen to me, none of this is your fault, alright? You are not the reason I was crying."

No, that would be my fault, Ron.

Ron slumped even more, looking unconvinced. Harry, not quite able to look Hermione in the eye, continued to help him along. Hermione moved out of the way to let them pass, clearly upset. Huffing and puffing, Harry helped Ron to their bedroom and deposited him on his bed. Ron promptly rolled onto his stomach and was asleep within seconds.

Harry stared at his friend for a moment, feeling dizzy and guilty.

"Well-do you feel better?"

At the sound of Hermione's voice, Harry turned around, only to feel something in his stomach give way. Pushing past her, he ran the length of the hall, ripped open the bathroom door, and stumbled to the toilet before retching violently. Spent, he rested his forehead in his hands, waiting for his stomach to settle.

He heard the sound of water running and he drew in a shaky breath, things inside him beginning to feel normal again. The toilet flushed, making Harry aware that he wasn't alone. He slowly raised his head, startled to see Hermione crouched down beside him, a wet washcloth in her hands.

"Here," she said kindly, reaching up to smooth the washcloth over his chin. Harry closed his eyes, the cloth cool and clean against his skin.

"Thanks," he said weakly, when she was done.

She smiled. "No problem. I should warn you, though, you smell awful. Bit of a mix between firewhisky and vomit. It's an interesting combination."

Harry leaned his head back, resting it on the cool marble of the toilet. There was a dull pounding beginning to form behind his eyes. "I don't think I'm ever going to drink again."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Hermione said.

"No, believe me, I'm never drinking again," Harry repeated, the pain in his head increasing.

"I suppose I just don't understand whatever possessed the two of you to go and get drunk in the first place," Hermione said quietly.

"Why do you think, Hermione?" he said coolly.

Hermione flinched. "Harry..."

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He thought for a moment. "I'm really sorry I made you cry," he said sincerely.

Hermione didn't say anything, but she moved a little closer to him. "How's... how's Ron doing?" she whispered.

"He knows."

Hermione shifted her head around to look at him. "What... you think he..."

"Some part of him does," Harry answered darkly. "Some best friend I am. I can't even tell him the truth about us."

"There is no 'us,'" Hermione said sharply. "That's what you said, isn't it?"

Harry swallowed with difficulty, aware of the pain he heard in her voice. "I lied."

Hermione was even closer to him now. "Why?"

She was close, too close. Harry stood up, momentarily unsteady on his feet. He braced a hand against the wall to steady himself. "Look... forget it, Hermione... I'm just talking crazy. I'm going to-"

"No," she said quietly, rising to face him. She stood firmly in place between Harry and the bathroom door. "No," she said again, voice going up a few notches. "We're going to talk about this."

Harry's head was swimming with pain. "There's nothing to talk about."

Hermione took a step closer to him, her eyes flat. "Yes, there is. There is. We have to figure this thing out, Harry. Before it destroys us."

"Maybe it already has," he said hoarsely, backing up against the wall.

Hermione was still coming towards him. "What are you afraid of?"

Everything.

You.

Ron.

That prophecy.

Dying and leaving you alone.

"You can't understand."

Hermione stopped suddenly, looking defeated. "Fine," she said quietly. "If that's what you think."

Harry sighed. "Hermione... look, it's..."

She put up a hand. "It's alright," she said, the same soft tone to her voice. "You don't owe me anything."

"Hermione..." he said desperately, reaching out to her. She froze, but didn't move. Slowly, he trailed his fingers down her cheek. "This it's..."

"Difficult..."

"No," he said firmly. "It's... not that, exactly..."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, her eyes wide and filling with tears. "Why are we doing this to ourselves?"

"Stupidity," he murmured, stepping closer to her and cupping both of her cheeks. She blinked up at him, her breath coming out quickly.

"You smell so... awful..." she said weakly. "Wish you would take a shower or something..."

However, she didn't take any steps to get away from him.

"Hermione..." he whispered. "There's something you have to know..."

She was gripping his arms with a force that was painful. Fearful eyes were boring into his own.

She knows this isn't good.

"It's about... Voldemort... and me..." Harry said hesitantly. "See, the things is, Hermione... the prophecy… it wasn't destroyed, not really… Dumbledore, he told me what it said…"

Hermione paled. "Wh-what?" she managed. "You-and Dumbledore-and the prophecy-Oh…Oh, my…"

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, there was a lot of riddles and nonsense, but the long and short of it is... I guess Voldemort and me can't be alive at the same time. One of us has to kill the other."

There was a long pause while Hermione continued to grip Harry's upper arms in fear. The sounds of their breathing reverberated through the emptiness of the bathroom. Somewhere above them, the floorboards gave a loud creak.

"Hermione..." he said, almost pleading. "I'm sorry, look... I know I shouldn't have told you-"

Harry's words were cut off when Hermione threw herself into him in a hug that had him stumbling back several feet. "It won't be you..." she said fiercely. "I won't let it be you."

You can't make promises like that.

Despite that, however, Harry felt reassured by the certainty in Hermione's simple words. She was holding on to him to the point of pain and he returned her hug in kind.

She pulled away from him as abruptly as she had hugged him. She swallowed with difficulty before setting her jaw. "You listen to me, Harry. This is not yours to share alone, do you hear me? I won't let you-"

"Yes, you will," he said in a low voice. "That prophecy has my-"

"Fuck the prophecy!" Hermione yelled sharply, her words exploding into the stillness of the bathroom and down the hall.

Simultaneously, they both turned to the open door with wide, searching eyes. When no one came running, they slumped in relief.

Hermione's outburst seemed to drain her of the last of her energy. "Harry... please... you must understand... I would do anything for you." She looked near tears now, her voice becoming raspier as she gestured with her arms. "You can't do this alone. When will you accept that you need me?"

Harry met her eyes and felt as though she was burning right through him. He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from hers.

Intense. Fire. Burning. Desperation.

This was quickly spinning out of control. Had it only been an hour ago when he and Ron were attempting to drink themselves into a stupor? Was it possible that Ron was sleeping while such important things were transpiring between his two best friends?

When he didn't say anything, Hermione slowly began walking towards him. She put her hand on his chest, her eyes searching his face. "Please, Harry... we'll defeat him. Please believe that... please believe in me... us..."

Harry slid his hand over hers and her eyes tilted up until they were meeting his again. He suddenly couldn't think at all, his heart was pounding madly in his ears. Alarm bells were going off in his mind, but he ignored them, following the need, want of his body...

He was tugging her closer, his other arm encircling her back. Then they were kissing, and dear Merlin, nothing else mattered...

Despite their precarious position, Hermione was pushing insistently against him and Harry found his back pushed firmly against the wall. He leaned against it heavily because his legs weren't doing much to support him. Her tongue was in his mouth, pushing and demanding. His head was spinning he felt dizzy... so out of control....

"Harry..." she gasped out, between their kisses. "My Harry..."

And he couldn't think of a single way to respond to that, except to kiss her harder, crush her closer. She was everywhere and she felt so good. So good, when nothing else seemed to. When things were crashing down all around him.

They pulled away, breathing heavily.

Harry remained leaning against the wall, sure that if he moved he'd go crashing to the floor. Panting, he watched Hermione try and gather herself together. Her cheeks were slightly red, her lips swollen. He had to stop the nearly overwhelming urge he had to reach for her again.

My Harry...

He shook his head, willing to clear it, to think straight again.

"We can't stop this," Harry said, his words seeming louder than he intended. Such a simple sentence, it hung in the air between them. There, right there, and there was no way they could make it go away, no way to stop it.

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "Alright," she said simply.

***

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was to a vicious, pounding headache. Light was pouring into the room, from where he couldn't tell, but he wished that it'd go away. With a muffled groan he rolled over, tugging his pillow down on his head.

He heard someone else give a yelp of pain and there was a loud huffy sigh.

"Honestly, you two, it's well after noon... if you don't get up soon, Mrs. Weasley's going to come in here, and I'm sure you'd both rather she didn't know what the pair of you were up to yesterday..."

Harry tossed his pillow aside, and picked up his glasses, squinting into the brightness of the room. Hermione was standing near the window, where she'd just peeled back the curtains, her eyes narrowed and accusatory.

Ron was sitting up in bed, rubbing at his forehead and making, low muffled moaning noises.

Hermione looked disgusted. "Here," she said, holding out two glasses. "I brewed these up for you."

Ron continued to moan in pain. "I feel sick..." he muttered to himself, rubbing at his eyes.

Harry looked at the mugs in suspicion. "What... what is it?"

Hermione thrust one of the mugs and him before handing the other one to Ron. "They should make you feel better. Though, I'm almost tempted to let you suffer through the consequences of your ill-conceived drunken party last night..."

Still looking at the brown liquid swirling in his cup with suspicion, Harry decided that it couldn't hurt. He took a tentative sip, surprised to find that it didn't taste as awful as he was expecting. Quickly, he drained the mug, relieved to find that it made his headache ebb nearly immediately.

Ron looked like he wanted to be far, far away from Hermione.

"Err… thanks," he mumbled awkwardly. "Just remembered though… gotta take a shower…"

Grabbing his mug, he bolted out of the room, taking his towel with him. Harry and Hermione listened until they could hear the sounds of water running. They both slumped a little in relief.

"Hey..." Harry said slowly. "Did we do something last night? It's all a blur... I didn't say anything to you, did I?"

Harry was present for one of the few moments when Hermione was caught off guard. She went very still and stared at him with fearful eyes. "You... you don't remember..." she whispered. "Harry... we... well, we-"

"Oh, no," Harry said, muffling a grin. "We didn't kiss or anything did we?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment. Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "A bit, yeah."

Hermione sagged in relief and tentatively sat down on the edge of his bed. "Harry, I was thinking last night... after I went to bed... that, well... it might not be a good idea to-"

"Tell Ron?" Harry finished wryly. "Yeah, I had the same thought."

Hermione glanced fearfully towards the open doorway. "I mean," she said hastily. "We should tell him eventually, but not... now. It's too soon, I think."

Harry nodded, feeling relieved by her suggestion, even as another part of his mind whispered that it was wrong.

Lying will only make it worse.

Yet, another part of him was secretly thrilled by the prospect of keeping things with Hermione private. She was just... his. What they shared, it was something no one else had a right to know. It was theirs, their little secret.

Just ours.

Hermione smiled a little at him, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking.

This is wrong.

This can't lead to anything but trouble.

I don't care.

I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.

***

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