Unofficial Portkey Archive

Dedication:

To danielerin, for our continuing friendship and being the matriarchal figure of the OBHTF. DonÕt laugh. You know it is true. You keep me sane. I love you, darling!

She may betray all that she loves and even wait for their Savior to come

And in some things, maybe he'll be rightÉ

**

We were three once.

(Although they were two, but that time was soon forgotten.)

We were three once, an infinite triangle of the sorts. There was no beginning or end, we merely shared the positions of the first or the middle or the last. (Even though, it was Harry my life revolved around all along.) It brought an indescribable comfort to Harry, to me, to Ron and we never once questioned it. It was all we knew.

But like anything else, it was bound to change.

The mechanics of life.

I was barely sixteen when I fell in love with Harry Potter.

Well, I was sixteen when I finally admitted it to myself and understood.

It was my greatest secret and my most dangerous secret. Nothing it seemed, especially when it would affect the comfort of my life at that point, was simple. I knew if I were ever to disclose my secret, everything would change-

Most likely, for the worst.

Ron was jealous by nature.

It was hardly his fault. His older brothers were prodigies and names onto themselves. Ginny, by default, was the only girl and it was much easier to separate herself from the mess of competition between the boys.

Then of course, there was Ron and Harry. While competition between the Weasley boys was by far healthier, Ron felt like he always had to go beyond Harry and his extraordinary capabilities. It was a twisted pursuit of trying to establish himself to be anyone but Harry Potter's best friend, but Ron still clung to that comfort as desperately as I did.

I was deathly afraid of losing my friendship with Harry.

And thus, my secret became my burden as well.

I was-

I'm still afraid.

Ron, Harry and their friendship mean too much to me. It's my sanity and my safe guard.

But I have to tell him.

It's going to break us.

And right now, with the ever-looming presence of Voldemort, Harry needs the both us right with him.

But how long can I sacrifice my own sanity?

Especially now.

If you tuck three growing teenagers away in safe house, things are bound to get ugly.

Don't get me wrong. I had no illusions about my seventh and finally year at Hogwarts. A part of me wished desperately for a semblance of normalcy, which happened to be in the form of the Head Girl Badge. But the other part of me, the rational and levelheaded part, knew that as long as Voldemort loomed in the distant- I- We'd never have normal.

So that summer, I kissed my parents goodbye and watched them take the train to one of my Grandmother's summerhouses in France. And I, I- Ron, Harry, and I were left to our own devices in an unknown location in a remote area in Japan, secluded, safe, and very unhappy.

It was a beautiful house, the kind of house that I used to dream when I was a little girl. The architecture was astounding, but it was the least of my concerns. The garden was unreal, but added more to the surreal sense of being caged. I come outside, only when I cannot face the dream world, like tonight. I'm afraid of the things that are waiting for me when I close my eyes.

I sighed.

We were okay at first.

Ron and Harry spent most of their time playing wizarding chess and I choose my time to write letters to my friends and parents, letters I knew could never be sent. The rest of the time I spent, I read. I read books that I had forgotten about from authors like Austen and the Brontes. I forced myself to read the Divine Comedy in Italian and Garcia Marquez's works in Spanish. I had always wanted to learn Spanish and Italian, so I figured why not do it with what was provided for me.

At night, however, it was different.

At night, it was the nightmares.

Ron couldn't handle the nightmares. He always came and got me, pulling me from the edge of sleep to wake and stay with Harry. When nightmares came, he was always so far away.

On the other hand, it was like Harry's violent screaming awoke something even more desperate inside of me. I was already fully aware that I was in love with him, no questions asked. I had accepted the inevitable, but the nightmares seem to pull things from inside of me that terrified me.

It was with the nightmares that everything began to change.

I began to fall more and more in love with Harry, his need for a facade of comfort feed my growing attachment to him. And Ron, Ron began to drift further and further away from us.

"Hermione?"

I jumped, the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders falling slightly. Ron stood leaning against my door, arms crossed over his chest and his lips set into a frown.

"He's starting to shake again," he muttered. "Thought I'd come and getting you before the screaming starts."

A shaky sigh escaped my lips. Sometimes I found myself getting so angry with Ron. How could he be so detached from this? This was Harry, our best friend. Our Harry, our innocent and sweet Harry who was fiercely loyal to us both.

But I said nothing.

I hadn't been saying much lately.

In fact, there was nothing much to say in this empty, beautiful, and lonely house.

"Well, come on," Ron said, grabbing me by the arm. "I'd like to get some sleep."

"Stop being a prat, Ron," I replied quietly. "Not tonight, please."

Ron dropped my arm as if it were a stack of bricks too heavy for him to carry, his eyes wide.

"You know what, Hermione? Fuck you. You don't have to sleep in the same room with him. You don't have to hear him."

I could feel a raw anger threatening to pour out of me. Ron always managed to drag out the worst in me; however, I was on my last straw. I was tired too. I was tired of being the good female friend. I wanted Harry to talk to me and I just wanted Ron to shut up.

"Fine," I hissed. "Sleep in my bloody room from now on."

Ron's eyes darkened. "Fine. Always knew you wanted Harry to yourself."

"Oh bloody hell, Ron! Don't turn this into something that it's not."

He grabbed me by the arm again, his grip tight and his gaze fierce. He knew; I began to panic. He knew. He knew. He knew.

Oh god.

"We'll talk about this later," he spoke softly, almost dangerously.

I swallowed and said nothing, leaving him out in the porch and went back into the dark house. Back to safety and solitude, where I could bury my issues and focus on things that are more important. Inside, I could focus on Harry.

Harry and I have always spoken in riddles.

Although words are just words, when we talked weight and tone and speed twisted into spectacular loops that formed our conversations. When we talked, it was liked we were dancing, and as we grew older our roles began to change.

Instead of me rambling and him listening, he became the talker and I the listener.

I became used to- comfortable in my role as the listener. He was talking to me and if I had to sacrifice my own need to vent, fine. Harry needed to know that someone was there for him, if not he'd revert inward and that was more dangerous than anything else.

I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. Remus and Tonks, the two order members that were our caretakers, insisted that we'd try to blend in as much as possible, including the occasional grocery shopping.

Bottled water, as odd as it sounded, was perfect for Harry's nightmare episodes.

Down the hallway and past my room, I noticed that the door was still shut which meant the Ron hadn't come in yet. For that, I was grateful; a double confrontation was something I knew I didn't need at the moment.

I paused at Harry's door, as I did every night. Whether it was to prepare myself or virtually shove all my emotions into a locked box, it didn't matter. What mattered that I was strong of mind and not thinking with my heart. It was much easier to be rational in a situation like this.

Even though the scene on the other side of that door always broke my heart.

I had built up a sick system of immunity to it now. A combination of my desire to protect the three of us from my secret and from sheer will to keep Harry from shattering into a million pieces drove me. Crashing and burning were not options.

I opened the door and was greeted like always by the infinite darkness. Ron's side of the room was terribly messy. Shoes, books, and letters were skewed all over the place. Once, I found a week old sandwich in his pile of dirty laundry.

Harry's side of the room was immaculate. His clothes were always folded and placed back in his drawers. His shoes were by the corner of his bed. His books are neatly tucked into one corner of his writing desk. It makes me sad really. Each time I step in their room, I'm reminded of normal Ron is and how far from normal Harry will ever get the chance to be.

It's Harry's whimpering that startles me from my thoughts.

Swallowing back tears, I made my way to the side of his bed. He laid twisted in his bed covers, one arm flung above his head and one fist clenching his bed sheet. His forehead was coated in sweat and his lips were pursed together in pain.

I wanted to kill Voldemort.

I wanted to him to suffer as badly as Harry has. I wanted him to know the loneliness and despair, the self-denial and the guilt. It wasn't fair, but life never was. I had learned that the hard way, books could never teach me that.

"Harry?Ó I whispered, gently pushing him in the side. "Harry, you're dreaming. You need to wake up."

He whimpered and rolled, his head beginning to toss and turn.

"Noooo," his voice escaped the prison of his lips in a slow and painful whisper. My heart was throbbing. I felt like crying, but, I kept telling myself, crying would not do me any good.

"Harry, please-"

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me down into the abyss of blankets. My back hit the mattress with a sharp pain and suddenly I found myself pinned between Harry and the bed.

A faint heat began to spread in my cheeks as he shifted on top of me. Not good. Not good at all. I begged the rational side of myself to come out and help me, but the pounding of my heart was too fast and my throat was too dry.

His eyes were too bright, too green, and-

Staring right at me.

"Hermione," he breathed.

And I was lost.

I was so unbelievably lost.

They say that you know the exact moment you fall in love. Me? I was falling more and more in love with Harry Potter.

And this was bad.

This was very bad.

We hadn't even started talking yet.

I swallowed.

I wished I was as witty as Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice was. I wished that I could somehow talk my way out of this situation. I wished for an interruption, for Ron to come barging into the room and make angry assumptions. I wished for anything but silence.

Silence was dangerous, powerful, and terrifying. I was vulnerable in the silence. I had never learned to protect myself and I knew that my secret was bound to be found out. We're just not ready for it.

"You're okay," Harry finally spoke, his fingers brushing against my cheek.

I'm trembling. The closeness is just too much- both wonderful and horrible at the same time. I wasn't ready for this. I didn't want this to happen.

His eyes glowing in the darkness of the room and I could see- no feel the wave of overwhelming emotions hit me. I knew that I was inevitably connected to Harry through our friendship, my natural empathic abilities, and that little sliver of me that wished knew that it was more.

"I'm fine," I managed to squeak out.

He shifted and pressed more of his weight into me. Suddenly, I'm glad that he hasn't thought to turn some of the candles on because I know that I must be blushing.

"Could you...?Ó I finally got some semblance of courage to ask.

His eyes went wide with a cross of surprise and embarrassment and he rolled off me, but not without grabbing my hand in his. I was uncomfortable and exposed, but as always, I struggled and managed to push down any of my feelings back in that locked box.

I was his best friend.

If holding my hand and having me close was the way I could bring some comfort to him, then I'd do it.

"Ron gets you?Ó He asked.

I sighed. Never could lie to Harry, so why bother?

I kept my eyes glued to the dark ceiling. "He did."

He let go of my hand and sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "I've taken advantage of our friendship."

I shook my head. "Stop talking nonsense," I ordered, my bossy personality seeping into the conversation. A comfort mask and a welcomed one away from the feelings I couldn't control. "You're my best friend, Harry. I wouldn't expect anything less of myself."

I felt the bed shift and realized he was no turned back towards me. I swallowed and kept my eyes to the ceiling. As long as I had detached myself in some way, I was safe.

"Hermione."

Don't do this to me, Harry, I pleaded silently.

"Hermione, look at me."

I was starting to lose my objective thinking. He was so close and yet, so far away. I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if I let my guard down. There were three of us in this house, not two. There were three friends, not two people in love.

But I complied.

I could never refuse Harry Potter; it was my fatal flaw.

I turned slowly, my hair spilling down my shoulder.

"You're hiding something," he accused quietly.

Harry's never been perceptive, but with me, between the two of us it's always been different. Ron, I could lie to. Harry, I was literary an open book.

"I," I stumbled with a shaky sigh. "I'm fine. Just a little homesick."

Which wasn't a complete lie. Although I had grown used to the idea of the minimal presence of my parents in my life, I still missed them terribly. I missed my mother's innocent attempts to offer me advice. I missed my dad's cooking and our annual shopping.

But I was hiding something much darker. (Is this the consequences of falling in love?) I was hiding the end of Hogwart's Golden Trio.

"You can talk to me," he murmured. "I want you to feel like you can trust me."

He's so close to me right now. His hand lets my hand go and his arm is suddenly around my waist. I can feel his breath against my neck and I'm so goddamn nervous.

I'm not ready for what's about to happen.

He pressed into me again and I whimper. There was something about Harry touching me- hand in my hand, arm around my waist, lips pressed against my forehead-

This was dangerous. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable.

Then he kissed me.

And I kissed him back.

The closest I ever came to kissing Harry Potter was at the end of my fourth year in Hogwarts.

Looking back, I could never explain my impulsive decision to kiss him on his cheek.

Perhaps, that was the first moment. The moment where I knew, but didn't know that there was no me without him or him without I.

And although, I've come to accept the fact that I've harbored these feelings for him for a long time, my sense of stability and rationality become worse when I think of him and me. Together. Separate. It didn't matter.

Now, it did.

Harry Potter was kissing me.

And I was kissing him back.

I had to second-guess my ability to make conscious, rational decisions. His hands were in my hair, tangled and pulling, and my arms wounded around his neck. Our lips were crushed together, needy and seeking. It was so damn good and felt so-

So-

Right.

But if I didn't pull it together, we'd all fall apart.

I broke away from the temptation. "Harry," I whispered. "We can't-"

He looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn't move, still clinging to me as if I were the last person on earth.

"This is about Ron, isn't?"

Merlin, I mused panicking. Merlin, not Harry too. I couldn't- I can't tell him, I kept saying to myself.

"No- Yes- I don't know," I whispered brokenly. "I don't know anymore."

He said nothing, but let go of my hand turned his back to me.

I can't do this. I can't tell him I can't tell him about anything. The rational part of my brain kept begging me to get up and get out. It was the safest idea. Safe was good.

But I couldn't move.

"I'm in love with you."

My voice is strong despite the lack of control I have over my emotions. The room is silent and my words hang over us like a bad omen.

"I'm in love with you," I say again, stronger this time. "But I don't want to fight. With you. With Ron. I don't want to see you and Ron fight. So let me have this. Let me have this notion of being in love with you. Let me have my secret."

I swallow back my tears. I still refuse to let people see me cry. I'm vulnerable when I cry, and even worse, now, I'm completely open to him.

I can't believe I just confessed.

I let out a shaky sigh and the roll over, pushing away from him and subjecting myself to more mortification and disappointment. I get off the bed and keep my back turned to Harry. I don't want to see him. I don't want to be more disappointed than I already am.

I don't want him to see me cry.

"Drink your water," I murmured, breaking the thick silence. "It'll make you feel better. I'll tell Ron he can come back."

And I walk out, broken and numb.

I should've kept my secret.

**

But as always the thing that he loves

He will change from her sunrise to clockwise to soul trading

**

I had been left alone.

It was easy to avoid the two of them for days. Ron had no longer come to my door to tell me that Harry was having his nightmares and for some utterly bizarre reason, I had a sick suspicion that he was secretly gloating about the self-imposed exile that I placed myself.

Away from him.

Away from Harry.

I stayed in my room, hiding like a coward most days, writing letters to my parents and friends like Hannah Abbott who had become a lifesaver for my sanity our sixth year.

I read books that I had already read like Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse and Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar.

I drowned myself in words to forget my mistake, to forget the release of my deepest secret.

"I'm in love with you."

Sometimes I dream of that moment, still hours fresh. I dream of the things I could say and should have said. I dream of the truth and how far of a stretch it is now.

I dream.

And then I'm alone.

I was used to being alone. I was used to self-imposed exiles; I tend to go through them at home a lot. I love my parents, don't get me wrong, and they love me back, but this- me being witch is becoming harder and harder for them to accept as more than just a phase.

God, I miss them.

This place, this house, I don't know it. That sense of familiarity is gone and we, we who used to be friends, are now slowly becoming strangers.

And that is ungodly terrifying, especially when we need each other.

I need him.

But instead of three, instead of three friends who accept and love each other, we're each becoming one.

Three has become a facade that is slowly weakening.

My secret is out.

My mask is gone.

A knock on the door startles me.

I can't run away forever.

The knock on the door was a heavy reality check.

I couldn't hide forever.

But I was naked, raw, and torn. I was open and vulnerable and I hadn't even begun to tell Harry the truth, from start to finish. I probably wouldn't even get the chance now because of my lack of control over my own emotions.

I felt stupid and embarrassed.

"Come in," I called finally. I couldn't recognize my voice, hollow and worn as if I had lost all sense of myself. I was stuck in some terrible gap and had no idea how to get back to normal... whatever normal was.

"Hey."

My eyes go wide and I nearly drop my worn copy of the Bell Jar. Harry stands in front me with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his gaze on the floor.

I swallowed. "Hello."

"Remus is coming this afternoon," he murmured. "His letter came this morning with the rest of the post."

I nodded with apprehension. It still made me nervous that we were getting our mail and the newspaper by owl post. Although our location was protected, much like the wards in Grimmauld Place, we were still able to be found by something simple as the owl post. But what did I know? I wasn't turning eighteen for a couple weeks and by default, I was still considered a child and useless.

"Hermione?"

I blinked and then blushed. "Sorry. Did he say anything else?"

Harry shifted on foot and shook his head. "No."

"Oh," I fingered the folded pages of my book nervously. Why was he staying? Why wasn't he leaving like he was supposed to? Merlin, if I weren't mortified enough already.

"I'm sorry!Ó He blurted out finally. "Er, for you know-"

"-Kissing me?Ó I finished weakly. I couldn't decide whether or not he was consciously offering me the easy way out. Kissing me wasn't half as bad as me confessing to him that I loved him. That was unforgettable and while a part of me begs to take the chance, I couldn't live with that hanging over our heads.

I needed him, alive and well, and in my life.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I d-didn't-"

"It's okay, Harry," I whispered. Instead, I was screaming at myself. Where was that courage that apparently put me in Gryffindor? I barely flinched in my NEWT classes with Snape, well, the ones I had started. I was being ridiculous, really. Here Harry was apologizing for kissing me and I was the one who had confessed- confessed- I-

I didn't want to apologize.

In fact, I had no desire too.

I was being silly really. It was out in the open and I was almost burden- No, I told myself firmly. I wasn't burden free. I had gone ahead and place another one on my shoulders. While confessing to Harry that I was in love with him in the heat of the moment, I had single handedly drove another wedge between the two, no, three of us.

"I meant what I said, you know," I spoke finally, lowering my gaze. A heavy silence settled between of us. I wouldn't dare look up, but I continued to speak. I might as well finish digging my grave.

"I have been since fifth year, probably longer than that... but I admitted it to myself then. And I sort of fancied myself telling you in a much more romantic manner too, but I suppose better late never."

I paused and got the courage to look up. Harry's gaze was burning holes into me. His eyes were dark and hungry, causing me lose my train of thought for a moment. And then I felt it again. I felt myself being pulled towards him; our connection seemed to be stronger than ever. Each lose thread was winding into knots, tighter and tighter, with a strength that terrified me.

"I love you, Harry Potter," I murmured, swallowing. "And I know it's not the best time or place or even moment. But I want you to know. I need you to know and-"

For the second time in days, Harry Potter leaned forward and kissed me.

This was a kiss.

This was a kiss that erased all preconceived notions and fears that I had about Harry's feelings for me. This was a kiss, burning and numbing, that erased all thoughts from mind. Every single last one of them.

My book fell from my fingertips onto the ground with a soft thud and I found myself crushed into Harry's embrace. One arm snaked around my waist and the other entangled itself into my hair. My hands clung to his shirt desperately and my mouth melted into his.

I was falling. No singing voices from heaven. No earthquake splitting the earth open. I was just falling and spinning into oblivion without a bloody care in the world. Because this was how it should be. Him, I, and no one else, no awareness of other space.

His hands began to creep up my heavy jumper. Warm and calloused, they caused me to whimper and shiver deliciously.

"Merlin," he hissed, tearing his lips away from mine and burying them into my neck. Slowly, his hands began to inch their way up my back and to the lace of my bra. By then we had, by some miracle, lowered to the floor. I had no idea what was going on, but his hands, oh his bloody hands, made me feel like I was going insane.

My jumper suddenly found itself pulled over my head and tossed carelessly to the floor. And although this would be the point where the rational side of my brain would begin to protest, Harry's mouth conquered mine and my back was pushed against the cold, hard floor.

And I didn't care.

I didn't care when he pinned me between his two arms and he pressed himself between my legs. I didn't care when he pressed his lips between the crevice of my breast or when one hand began to push slowly my strap down and off my shoulders.

I matched Harry stare for stare. I kissed him with as much fever as I could muster- and even more so because all the feelings that I had kept hidden so long inside of me, began to spill out. I tugged his bottom lip between my teeth and painstakingly began to rock my hips below him.

"Hermione," he murmured, his fingers had found the clasp of my bra. "Merlin, Hermione... So-"

The clasp snap open and cold air greeted my breasts. My breath caught in my throat as he stopped and looked up at me through half-lidded eyes. His fingers brushed against my lips and danced their way down my neck and to my breast. He cupped one in his hand.

"I- I don't know what to do," he murmured, his fingers brushing a nipple. He didn't meet my gaze. "But you're- you're beautiful."

It hit me then. It hit that his was his confession. This was as close as I was going to get to 'I love you'. It made sad. I know that they're just words, but they're words with a lot weight. Saying I love you came with an unbelievable emotional price. To say them meant that you were acknowledging that you belong to someone and that you were merely a half a soul.

This was as closes as I was going to get, but as sad as it made me feel, I understood.

I opened my mouth to reply, but loud knock interrupted us.

"Harry? Hermione? Can I come in?"

The two of us flew to our feet in record time. With an embarrassing blush, I turned away from Harry and set to returning my bra and my jumper to their rightful places. Never mind that Remus was a father figure to us both, I really didn't fancy the sex talk now.

Tucking a strand of loose curls, I swallowed and prepared myself to answer.

"You can come in Remus!"

Harry grabbed my hand in his, entwining our fingers together. I looked at him in surprised.

He smiled softly. "So you don't go hiding again," he whispered into my ear.

And for the first time during our stay in this house, I greeted Remus with a real smile.

My relationship with Remus Lupin was a strange one.

While it was automatically assumed that Harry would latch onto the last of his father's friends to guide him through his journey, the wounds of Sirius' death was far too painful for Harry to acknowledge Remus' attempt to reach out to him.

Instead, oddly enough, Remus became a source of comfort and confidence for me. Although I loved my parents as any child would, they had become virtual strangers, even more so with this forced distance between us. Remus slowly began to fill that void inside of me.

He understood me when I was looking for someone to understand.

"Go ahead downstairs, Harry," he murmured. "Tonks is here too with some things. She's making Ron wait for the two of you; I just want to ask Hermione something."

Harry nodded and gave my hand a squeeze, before turning and leaving the room. Remus waited to speak until Harry's footsteps began to fade away.

"Something you want to tell me?Ó He tried to look stern, but he was fighting a smile.

I blushed. "Not really."

He swallowed. "I know you're a smart and practical girl, Hermione. I don't fancy myself giving you the- Er-"

"Talk?Ó I supplied with a small grin. "I don't fancy myself talking about shagging with you either, dad. But it's the thought that counts, right?"

He laughed. "Took the words right out of my mouth, you chit."

He smile faded. "I do want you to be careful, though. And as awkward as it might be to, um, talk- I am here. You are very important to me, Hermione."

I gave him another small smile, hoping to reassure him and not at all liking the sad gaze in his eyes. I had come to know Remus Lupin, like I knew Harry and Ron. My mother always told me I was a brilliant observer. I had a frightening intuition when it came to reading and understanding the emotions and expressions of people. Remus was a reflection of his memories sometimes. I can't pretend to understand him completely like my intuition with Harry, but I had begun to pick apart and put the pieces together.

"There's something else, isn't there?Ó I asked quietly. My heart began to pound. Was it my family? Although my parents were tucked away in France, Voldemort wasn't stupid and was once a muggle. There was no doubt in my mind that he was still aware and made use of his muggle heritage.

"Your parents are fine," Remus murmured, but did nothing to soothe my fears. "I have a letter from the two of them waiting for you downstairs."

I sighed with relief and waited for him to continue.

"No," he said. "This, ironically, has to do with you... and a spot of research."

I calmly raised an eyebrow, but inside I was cheering like mad. Finally, I mused. Finally, I could help and be useful... instead of waiting around. I waited for Remus to continue.

"Albus- Professor Dumbledore has finally consented to allowing Harry to learn the Dark Arts."

My eyes widened. The Dark Arts? The very core of Tom Riddle's ascension into power? Was he mad?

"But-"

Remus shook his head. "There's more. He wants Professor Snape to do it."

I nearly choked. "Is he-"

"Mad?Ó Remus finished. "Quite possibly. But there's a catch. Severus won't agree to it, unless you participate in it. He's tied up for a few more weeks in London, so he feels 'that bothersome chit' should be able to help 'that ungrateful brat' until he arrives."

"I don't know whether or not to be horrified or flattered that Professor Snape paid me a compliment," I muttered dazedly. "But the- the Dark Arts?"

Remus' gaze darkened and he stepped forward placing his hands on my shoulders. He sighed. "I want you to be careful, especially now with this new progression in your life. The Dark Arts relies solely on the manipulation of the emotions of you and of other and Severus- Severus is very good at both."

I nodded, both alarmed and relieved that Remus had warned me early. Dealing with Professor Snape was not a favorite hobby or anybodyÕs for that matter. Remus sighed and rustled though his robes, pulling out two small black notebooks.

"There are books on the table that you are to look at," he began again, handing me the notebooks. "And these are my notes. Every incantation and make up of spells and potions. If you feel like-"

"I'll be careful," I whispered, taking his notes into my hands with a little bit of awe and apprehension. I could not begin to imagine the books waiting for me downstairs. I couldn't even imagine how this was going to affect the three of us. Then there was Harry and Snape...

"I'll be careful," I repeated, firmly this time.

I had to.

For Harry.

I followed Remus out of my door and down the hall, into the kitchen.

I had taken the seat next to Harry on pure instinct. Being as close as possible to him served as an unintentional reassurance rather than the intentional goading, as the glare Ron was giving me, seemed to reflect. Remus took the empty seat next to me and Tonks was nursing a beer from across us.

"Looking good, kiddo," she said as a way of greeting.

"Hello, Tonks," I murmured back.

I gave her a half-smile, my gaze suddenly stuck on the pile of books on the middle of the table. My heart began to pound. Even though Remus had told me he had brought a few books along, there was just something so sinister and frightening about the pile of unmoving books in the center. We all sat around the table as if someone died and Remus and Tonks were trying to put it to us as gently as possible.

"Well," Tonks stated loudly, drawing my attention away from the center of the table. "I'm sure that Remus filled you up to date with the news of dear ol' Severus and his plans to stay with the three of you for the next couple weeks."

Ron snorted and Harry shook his head miserably. I sighed. We were all apparently looking forward to those weeks with bated breath.

"Don't worry, loves. Remus and I will drop by frequently to make sure he hasn't killed you all or rather, you haven't killed him," she said with a smirk and shake of the head. "However, there are some things that we do need to talk about."

I watched her as she turned and rustled through her knapsack and pulled out a bundle of letters- one for me, two for Ron, and several loose ones for Harry. She rustled through her bag again and pulled out a week's worth of the Daily Prophet.

"We can't do the owl post anymore,"

I nodded, not bothering to show my relief. I didn't fancy seeing Death Eaters popping in anytime soon.

Tonk's gaze grew serious. "The attacks are growing in number and in violence. I can be honest with the three of you now because you're older and you understand. Dumbledore is thinking of sending all the muggle-borns home to their families and providing hidden locations for them. They're getting closer and closer to Hogwarts... and if that doesn't give you an idea of the situation, I don't know what will."

I swallowed. I knew for a long time that it might come to this, but a part of me still hoped and held onto that childhood fantasy that Hogwarts was still indestructible. With a heavy heart, I began to think of the friends that I had left behind. We were no longer children anymore.

"So you want us to learn the Dark Arts then?Ó Ron muttered.

Harry shot him a look and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my gaze going back to the pile of books.

Remus sighed, picking up where Tonks had left of and from our discussion upstairs. "We want you to be prepared," he began slowly. "Severus is going to be focusing on tutoring Harry mainly and Hermione as well."

"And me?Ó Ron snapped. "What about me?"

Remus looked away and Tonks took a swig from her beer.

"You're coming back with us, Ronald," she muttered. "Your family's going into hiding and your parents want you all together, especially with the level of work both Bill and Charlie are doing for the Order."

Ron slammed his fist onto the table and his chair clattered to the ground. "Great," he snarled. "Just bloody fucking fantastic! Let me guess, you want me to go and pack my stuff. You know, so I can leave these two lovebirds alone."

"Will you just lay off?Ó Harry said quietly from beside me. He didn't move and stared straight ahead.

"So you don't deny it?Ó Ron hissed. "You and Hermione been shagging behind my back, eh? Poor, stupid Ronald. What does he know, right?"

Harry stood up, his chair screeching painful against the floor. It was by then I realized that I was shaking uncontrollably and that Tonks and Remus were watching Harry and Ron with wide and sad eyes.

"You leave her out of this," Harry said dangerously. "Don't even think about involving her in this petty fighting between the two of us. And for the record, I think you're fucking full of shit."

"Take that back."

Harry ignored him. "Why don't you tell her the truth, Ronald? The real reason that, oh yes, how did you put it to Seamus? Tell her the truth behind your supposed-"

"All right, boys, that's enough," Remus said firmly, standing up and placing himself between Ron and Harry.

I swallowed. Tell me the truth about what? What were they hiding from me? I knew Ron had fancied me when we were much younger. In fact, perhaps there was a moment where I fancied him... but that was it. Some stupid girlhood phase that I was destined to go through like any other girl who had boys for best friends. That is, if you could call them that now.

"Ron," Remus spoke calmly. "I want you to go upstairs and start gathering your things. Harry, a word in the other room. Please."

They stood frozen for a moment. Harry glaring at Ron and Ron glaring at Harry, neither of them ready to end the moment quite yet. It was Ron who sighed and broke away first, turning on his heels and disappearing down the hallway.

Harry sighed sadly and nodded at Remus, squeezing my shoulder as he followed the older man and left me behind with Tonks.

I fought to swallow back my tears, fingering my bundle of letters.

Why did I suddenly feel like I had lost a friend?

The awkward silence finally settled in. Tonks made some excuse to go check on Ron and see if 'the little bugger' was packing like he should be, but I knew it was more than likely because she had no idea what to say to me after the little tryst in the middle of the kitchen.

I had no idea what to say.

Sighing, I untied my bundle of letters and opened the first one. I need something to take my mind of, well, everything. A small smile lingered on my lips as I recognized Hannah Abbott's handwriting.

Have you gone mad, yet? I know I would, especially since there's no doubt in my mind that those two nitwits you call your best friends are with you. I just wanted you to know that I miss you and that I will try and keep in contact as best I can, especially with mum and dad pulling me out of school.

I swallowed and shook my head, discarding the letter to the side. I would send a reply with my parents' letter. Hannah's father Stephen happened to go to Oxford with my father and so I wasn't to concern about staying in touch with her... yet.

I took the next letter of the pile, surprised to see that it was from Lavender Brown. Lavender, Pavarti, and I had a bit of a fall out towards the middle of sixth year. While it was well-know throughout school that I would be offered the Head Girl position and the liberties of my own dormitory; I had lost interest in trying to be civil with the other two girls. I had begun branching out and didn't pay as much attention as I used to, especially with my attention becoming more and more occupied with this impending war. I believed in someway Lavender and Pavarti began to resent me for it, even more so when Padma Patil and slowly became much closer.

I know this a bit awkward, especially when I tried to goad into a row last year... But I really do hope you're taking care of yourselves. And if you need the latest Witch Weekly, I'd be more than happy to save mine for you.

I snorted and tossed the other letter to the side, happy that I had something to keep me quietly occupied instead of obsessing over Harry and Ron's minor row. The next letter was from Padma, her small and scratchy handwriting formed an apology.

Sorry about the letter from Lavender if you get it. I was hoping it would miraculously fall into a ditch somewhere. Lavender ended up begging Pavarti to give this to me. I was a good sister and will collect my dues for doing the favor. I hope you're okay and that I get to see you soon. Hannah and I miss you like crazy.

Rubbing my eyes, I forced myself into composure. For a while, I had forgotten what lied outside of this house. I was used to the emptiness of this house and the three of us. I was used to wondering about the people that I had left behind, but I had forgotten the significance and the importance of their places in my heart.

I wanted to go home, but I knew it was nothing more than an overly nostalgic sentiment. I couldn't afford to be nostalgic. Not now. Not ever.

My hands were shaking as I picked up the letter from parents, my name written in my mother's simple and elegant handwriting.

Darling, it began. Words cannot describe how much your father and I miss you. It isn't the same without you. Your grandmother's house seems so empty. Regardless, as much as I want to beg you to come home and away with you, I know you won't. Just be careful and know that we love you and look forward to the next time we see you. Please, do take care of yourself.

The letter slipped from my hands and floated onto the table. Would I ever see my parents again? I shook my head, forcing myself to stop. It wouldn't help anyone if I began to think of answers to questions like these. I had to remain firm. I had to remain practical. I would reply to each letter as I did to the last. I'm okay. I miss you. See you soon. There was no reason why I shouldn't.

But I was giving them false hope.

And that wasn't fair.

I sighed and stood, gathering my letters and grabbing a few issues of the Prophet to read in my room. My eyes drifted back to the center of the table and the pile of books that had been left behind.

There was strange and disturbing allure to the stack of books in front of me. I recognized the intellectual curiosity in me trying to fight against the known rationality of the facts. They were only books, pages of words that made up incantations for spells and potions among other things. But those spells and potions were designed and made for people of great hatred and harmful intentions.

Therefore, easy to stumble onto.

It's our choices that make or break us and I found myself wondering what Tom Riddle, one of Hogwarts' best and brightest had felt when he came and encountered these books.

The Dark Arts relies solely on the manipulation of the emotions of you and of other and Severus- Severus is very good at both.

Remus' words still haunted me.

What would we have to sacrifice to protect the ones we loved?

"Hermione?"

Harry's hands fell upon my shoulders and suddenly, I found my back pressed against him. "Are you okay?" He asked.

My eyes never left the pile of books.

"No," I swallowed. "No."

Not at all.

Harry said nothing, but pulled me by the arm out of the kitchen. There would be time for worrying about the Dark Arts later.

Harry and I stood by the door of the front porch, watching Remus pull Ron's things together into an organized fashion. Tonks is still inside, yelling down for Ron to hurry. They needed to be back. There was no use prolonging the agony. Leave it to Tonks to inject some sort of humor into the situation. The tension in the air was thick enough as is.

I stood next to Harry with my arms wrapped around myself, feeling terribly lost and confused. I had the urge to grab Harry's hand with the hope that we might draw on each other for strength, but I wanted be careful with the mounting tension. I could feel Harry's growing anger and I knew Ron was just as bad, if not worse.

It was no longer about to split us apart, we had ventured well off that path. This was about the three of us and the separation feed the isolation that we had self-induced upon ourselves.

Remus turns back to us and holds out his hand for Harry to take. "I'll see you both in a few weeks with Severus. You need to take care of each other."

Harry takes Remus' hand and nods. "I know."

Remus turns to me next, a strange light in his eyes. I swallowed. I always knew how important the relationships in my life were. From Hannah to my family, Harry and Ron, Remus seemed to take a level of importance that was becoming irreplaceable. He was becoming family.

"Come here," he whispered, opening his arms.

I stifled a sob back down my throat and buried myself in his embrace. Was this how Harry felt with Sirius? I wondered. I didn't know what I'd do if Remus was ever killed.

"Be careful," I murmured. I knew how much he liked to undermine the work he did for the Order. It was every bit as dangerous as what the Weasley brothers were doing and possible almost to the same level as Professor Snape.

"You'll be fine, little one," He replied with a smile as I wrinkled my nose at the nickname. "Make us of my notes and don't read the books I left alone. Neither of you. The Dark Arts are better studied with two. You can anchor each other that way."

I nodded and stepped back, giving Remus a watery smile. I felt a little better when Harry reached for my hand again and gave it a squeeze. It seemed as if our roles were reversing almost. Instead of me reaching out and make sure he knew that I was there, Harry was doing the reaching and deep in my heart I wondered if this was his way of trying to convey his feelings instead of saying the words.

"Oy! Lupin!Ó Tonks called from inside. "This corner's a little rough for me to levitate Weasley's damn trunk. A little help?"

Remus smiled at us and headed inside, leaving Harry and I alone for a moment.

I had to ask. "Earlier," I began nervously. "What were you and Ron talking about?"

His grip on my hand tightened. "It's nothing," he murmured. "Don't worry about it?"

I turned to face him, angry and hurt that he was brushing this away. "Nothing? You nearly hit Ron because of it. Don't tell me it's nothing."

"You're not going to like it," he replied weakly.

"I don't like very many things that involve me like this," I snapped back. "But I want to know."

He sighed, letting go of my hand. For a moment, Harry looked tired, worn, and much older for his age. He rubbed his eyes.

"At the end of our sixth year, Ron and Seamus made a bet," he began carefully as if I were a fragile piece of glass. "Around school you had gotten this reputation for being virtually untouchable and many people assumed it was because you had feelings for Ron. Seamus bet Ron a thousand galleons that you wouldn't date him at all. Ron said that he'd have you wrapped around his finger by the beginning of our seventh year."

I bit lip down to keep from crying out in outrage. "And when were you planning on telling me?Ó I whispered. I felt as if I had been left out of one of those preschool games that girls liked to play. I was promised and then left in the cold. I didn't like the feeling of betrayal and sadness that had begun to settle inside of me.

"I don't know," he whispered back with sad honestly. "Ron made me promise that I wouldn't tell you. We were friends first. He said when I wanted to tell you. We don't have to tell her everything. I'm sure she doesn't tell us everything."

I opened my mouth to voice a response, but Remus, Tonks, and Ron chose that particular moment to walk outside and onto the porch. I gave a watery smile to Remus and a hug to Tonks, but chose to turn my back on Ron.

I couldn't face him or say goodbye.

My words would have been just as hollow and empty as my letter replies.

Lies.

I didn't know what to feel or who I was angrier at the most. Ron, for being a complete, total, and heartless prat. Or Harry for not telling me the truth. What I felt at this particular moment was just an overwhelming sadness. For Ron and me because I knew there would be nothing to recover of our friendship when and if we survived this war. For Harry and me because of the circle of paths we seemed to fall on.

Secrets were vicious.

And in reaction to the revelation of this secret, I did the only thing I knew how to.

I went to my room to hide.

Then there was two.