Happy Endings are Hard to Find

kyc639

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 07/02/2005
Last Updated: 19/07/2005
Status: completed

Even with Voldemort gone, Harry finds that his 'Happy Ending' still eludes him. FIC ADMIN (gal-texter) NOTE Nov 2008: ending chapter may be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/fanfict00bs/43760.html

Chapters

1. Part I

2. Part II

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Part VI

7. Part 7

1. Part I

Author's Note: None of the characters belong to me, though I do own a really cool cell phone.

I know, I owe you all another chapter to Four's a Crowd. Unfortunately, this plot bunny grew some pretty mean-looking claws and fangs and started scratching me. I really had no choice.

This story is loosely based on a challenge I saw on the forums; I won't say which challenge just yet, since it'll give away a plot point. I say loosely based since, though I take the main plot, I've decided to ignore all the other parts of the challenge.

It's also a story with a bit of angst. There might be some humor, simply because Harry's a funny guy, but humor is not my intent.

Chapter One

To be perfectly honest, I can't remember the exact time when I fell in love with Hermione. Maybe it was third year, when we spent all those hours together saving Sirius. Twice. Or maybe it was in fourth year when she gave me a peck on the cheek at the train station. Or hell, maybe it was way back in first year when she gave me the first hug I ever remember. I'll probably never really know, because I had too much emotional baggage from the Dursleys and Voldemort to see what was right in front of me.

I do remember, however, when I realized that I was in love with her. It was during the summer after fifth year. I had needed some time to deal with Sirius' death and the prophecy of doom - if people thought I was a wee bitter after fourth year, I was positively acidic after fifth year. I probably would have dissolved into a puddle of angry, persecuted rage if not for Hermione's letters. Even though I rarely responded, she kept sending me letters. Letters that conveyed her concern without being pushy about it (a rather impressive feat for Hermione), they spoke of regular things and not of the life-and-death events that seem to plague my life. Her letters got me through that difficult time, and that's when I realized that I loved her.

Of course, I couldn't just simply tell her. Not right away, at least. Ignoring the whole fear-of-rejection thing, it was just that I couldn't tell her with the prophecy hanging like a guillotine over my head. If Voldemort ends up being the last one standing, I wanted Hermione to mourn me as a friend, not as something more. At least that's what I told myself all through sixth year and most of seventh whenever I was overcome with the urge to kiss her; to be honest, I think I was just afraid of rejection.

Then Voldemort launched his `final attack' near the beginning of seventh year. Though I had been training with as much enthusiasm and frequency as Snape taking away points from Gryffindors, I was more than just a little scared facing down the man-snake-thingie that had killed my parents. As it turned out, a year-and-a-half of training wasn't much against a lifetime immersed in the Dark Arts, and despite my best efforts, I lay wounded and exhausted before the Dark Lord's feet.

It was then, right as I was anticipating an Avada Kedavra in the skull, that a strange thought entered my mind: I would never be able to kiss Hermione. And frankly, that pissed me off! Here I was, about to die at the ripe old age of seventeen, and the only kiss I would ever receive was to be that tears-and-mucus kiss with Cho?!

Hell no!

With a surge of adrenaline, I rolled to the side just in time as the beam of green light torched the ground behind me. I leapt to my feet, and with every ounce of my being, I blasted Voldemort into a smoldering pile of bones and robes. It took everything I had, but before I passed out, I couldn't help wonder, if it was that easy to kill Voldemort, why hadn't I tried that years ago?

********

I knew where I was even before I opened up my eyes. The hospital wing had become such a familiar place by now, what with Quidditch accidents and attempts on my life, that I was on a first-name basis with Madam Pomfrey. I opened my eyes to see the blurry faces of almost everyone I cared about peering down at me. The news was good: no fatalities on our side, most of the Death Eaters captured, and Voldemort was confirmed to be dead and gone forever. Life was good.

And then, sensing that we probably needed some alone time, the adults left Ron, Hermione, and me alone. We all shared goofy grins before getting into a massive group hug that lasted for what seemed like a full minute. We talked and laughed for a bit, and then Ron excused himself to check up on his wounded brothers and sister, leaving Hermione and me alone for the moment.

Looking into her shining face, I knew this was it. Finally, my opportunity to tell her how I feel about her had come. Voldemort was gone, and I flying so high on happiness and relief that the fear of rejection was pushed off to the side.

“Hermione?” I asked once Ron had closed the curtain behind him. “There's something I want to tell you.”

“What's that Harry?”

“I love you.”

Her eyes softened and she smiled. “Aww. I love you too Harry.”

I shook my head. “No. I mean, I love you. I'm in love with you.” Her expression changed and her smile faltered, but I was still too happy to notice. “I've been in love with you for years now, but I was too afraid, with Voldemort out there, to tell you before. But now that he's gone, I thought maybe we could give us a chance.”

“Er…what about Ron?” she asked.

I waved my hand dismissively. “Ron knows. I told him last year; or rather he figured it out somehow.” That was a conversation I had been dreading for sometime, but fortunately Luna Lovegood saved me.

She looked troubled. “Er, right then…listen Harry-”

“No, it's okay,” I said, thinking she was still worried about Ron. “Ever since he started dating Luna, he's been over his crush on you. In fact, he's been encouraging me to tell you sooner. Getting downright pushy, he was.”

“Listen…Harry,” she repeated gently. “I think you're delirious.”

I paused, confused. “No, I think I feel fine,” I said slowly.

“No Harry,” she said, a little more firmly. “You've just gone through a stressful experience, and you're emotions are all over the place; you'll feel differently in the morning.”

I shook my head. “No, that's not it. I love you Her-”

“No, you don't,” she interrupted. “Trust me, once you've calmed down, you'll see that I'm right.”

I opened my mouth to protest, when it suddenly occurred to me what was going on, what I was seeing in her eyes. It wasn't happiness that I was in love with her. It wasn't even doubt-mixed-with-hope that I was in love with her. No, the expression in her eyes, written all over her face, was pity. Hermione pitied me. She wasn't in love with me at all, and this was her way of giving me an out, a way to save my dignity. I lowered my head and closed my eyes for a second, internalizing everything as I had done while living with the Dursleys. Then I looked back up at her.

“You're right, of course,” I said, my voice flat and mechanical.

“Yes, you'll see. It'll all be all right at the end,” she replied, trying to give me a reassuring smile while at the same time holding back tears. We then looked anywhere else but at each other, each trying to figure out something to say to break the awkward silence that had fallen over us. Fortunately, after only a minute or two of torture, Ron came back.

“Hey guys, miss me?” he asked happily as he opened the curtain. He smile immediately dropped once he saw our half-hearted attempts to smile back and the tears forming in Hermione's eyes. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly. “Nothing at all. I should go check up on Ginny.” And with that, she left without waiting for a response. Ron watched her leave and then turned back to me.

“What happened Harry?”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. I knew I could make something up, but Ron would eventually find out anyways. “I told her how I feel about her.”

“Oh!” Ron said, his eyes lighting up. Then he remembered how we both looked when he walked in - not exactly the scene of two people in love. “Oh,” he repeated. “Harry…”

“I think I need some time alone. Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah sure,” he said. “I'll…uh…I'll just come back when it's time for dinner, okay?”

“Thanks,” I said.

Ron gave me a supportive punch in the arm before closing the curtains around me as he left. For some odd reason, though I was still in a hospital bed at Hogwarts, I suddenly felt like I was back in the cupboard beneath the stairs.

*****

A/N: Isn't that last line cool? Sounds all deep and meaningful.

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2. Part II

Author's Note: Hello all. Too much work and too little time have made this chapter late.

Oh, and my cool cell phone broke, the one I mentioned in the prior author's note. I dropped it one to many times. It's still under warranty, so hopefully I can get it replaced.

I've rarely written with a beta, as the one I used before seems to have disappeared. Although I think I do okay without one, and can usually blame errors on the informality of hearing someone's thoughts, I think this chapter needs one. Not that there are grammar or spelling mistakes (though there might be), but the flow needs work.

So, with that wonderful endorsement, enjoy!

Chapter Two

So, ever since that day in the hospital wing - or as I like to call it, the day life decided to kick me in the ass again - things haven't been so good for Harry Potter. On the plus side, this was supposed to be the best time of my life: for once, I didn't have the cloud of death looming over my head raining droplets of guilt and despair all over me, nor was I carrying the hopes and dreams of the wizarding world on my shoulders like some wizarding version of Atlas, albeit with less muscles. But on the minus side, I had more attention then ever before, almost like an animal in a zoo, and, of course, there was the little matter of Hermione ripping my heart from my chest and smashing it on the heel of her indifference. Not to mention I seem to be making a lot more analogies when I get depressed, which can be as annoying as hearing disembodied voices that you can't place, or like-

Anyway. The point is, ever since my feelings for Hermione were rejected, life has been less-than-stellar. Things have been rather awkward between Hermione and me, though truth be told, I've seen less and less of her lately. I'm not sure if it's because she feels uncomfortable around me, or if it's because with Voldemort gone, she can finally do all the extra-curricular activities she's always dreamed - Hermione's joined the Arithmancy club, started up SPEW again, tutors the younger kids, works after hours with Professor McGonagall, and, of course, is Head Girl. All the while revising for NEWTs, which thankfully are still half-a-year away. Just thinking about it makes me want to take a nap. I was, however doing my best to move on with my life. I'm a hero, for God's sake, and it would not behoove me to act like some love-struck puppy chasing after some girl who wants nothing to do with me. I had to be strong…tough. I still had my dignity!

So it was with great dignity that I sat with Ron and Luna at the Three Broomsticks on the first Hogsmeade weekend. We were in the back, sheltered somewhat from prying eyes so I could be dignified while I drank myself silly on firewhiskey, but again, it was in a very dignified manner. I had just learned earlier in the day that Hermione was going to Hogsmeade with that little bugger Terry “Oooh, you're so smart Hermione, you should be in Ravenclaw” Boot.

I had succeeded fairly well in dealing with my feelings for Hermione up to that point. Again, living with the Dursleys had taught me to hide my feelings very well; I'm sure I'd make a terrific poker player. But after I heard that Hermione was going with Boot, I figured I could spend the day weeping manly tears as I cuddled in my bed, but Ron and Luna would have none of that. So, since they asked for it, after all, I decided to subject them to my opinions of Terry “Oh Hermione, that's such an advanced spell” Boot and how'd I like to re-arrange his facial features - literally, of course, since I knew a spell that could do that.

Ron and Luna were troopers though; I'm sure this wasn't at all how they'd imagined the day would go. They did a good job in keeping me from blowing up the place, though they weren't quite as clever as they thought they were. When Hermione and Boot entered the Three Broomsticks, Ron and Luna tried to shield them from me. But I saw them anyways. Watched as they laughed and smiled together. I briefly considered sending over a snake to give Terry a little love bite, but I reconsidered when I realized that I just as likely infest the place with hundreds of snakes. So, after Ron helped me back to the Tower (which, by the way, is a lot harder to get to when you're slightly drunk), I fell asleep and dreamt happy dreams of lions eating eagles.

*******

The next morning, I somehow managed to wake-up and get to breakfast. Of course, Neville tripping over his trunk and knocking down the curtains helped a bit. I pushed my way through the throngs of fans that, though dwindling, still congregate around the entrance of the Great Hall and found my seat next to Ron and opposite Hermione.

“Rough night Harry?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. Even though she didn't love me, she still cared for me. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. At first, I still wanted to be friends; Hermione means so much to me, I couldn't imagine life without her. But after last night, I wasn't so sure. If being her friend means I have to sit by and watch her go out on dates, and someday watch her get married to some other guy, well…I'm not sure if I have enough money to get drunk that many times. I mumbled back a response and reached for the pitcher of juice. For whatever reason, the eggs looked utterly unappetizing.

Hermione frowned, but before she could say anything her roommates surrounded her. “So, how'd it go?” Lavender asked excitedly.

Hermione looked uncomfortable, and at that point I focused on my juice.

“How'd what go?” Hermione asked.

“You know, the date with Terry.” This was Pavarti speaking.

“It wasn't date,” Hermione said, and I felt a flicker of hope.

“Whatever,” Lavender said dismissively. “So? How'd it go?”

“Um, fine?” I could imagine Hermione giving me quick, uncomfortable looks.

“Hmmph,” Pavarti said. “I saw you two at the Broomsticks. You seemed like you were having more than just a `fine' time.”

At this point, I very much disliked Pavarti.

“Yeah, and did I see you two holding hands at one point?”

Lavender I didn't like so much either.

Though Hermione denied the hand-holding incident. They continued to talk about yesterday. For some reason, I just couldn't help but just sit there and listen. It was a little like watching an accident happening - I couldn't turn away. Except in this case, it was my own accident that was happening, and I just sat there watching the train getting closer and closer, wondering if it would just knock me to the side or crush me underneath its wheels.

Eventually the bell rang, mercifully cutting the conversation short. “Are you guys coming?” Hermione asked Ron and me when neither of us had made a move to leave.

I looked up at her and managed a smile. “Yeah, be just a second.”

Ron nodded. “You go on ahead.” After Hermione left, Ron put a hand on my shoulder. “It'll be okay Harry. You'll see, it'll be okay in the end.”

I nodded morosely and gathered my books. “Yeah, I know.” As I followed him out, though, I couldn't help but be heartened by the fact that throughout the conversation, Hermione never referred to yesterday as a `date.'

******

As was the trend in my life, any time I felt good about something, it was bound to be ruined within a month. In this case, it was even shorter. It was our second Quidditch match of season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. We were the heavy favorites, since almost all of the Ravenclaw starters from last year had graduated. A lot of first-timers were out on the field, like Anthony and Mandy as chasers, and Boot as seeker.

I had a number of options in how I could treat this match. On the one hand, I could completely and utterly humiliate Boot, showing him how real seekers play the game. On the other hand, given that their team is weak overall, I could end the thing quickly and save them some embarrassment.

I ended up going for something in-between. Although the Quidditch Cup generally goes to the team with the best win-loss record, total points come into play when there are ties. So, it was smart to rack up a few points before winning the match.

So, in reality, I was thinking about the team when I out-flew and out-maneuvered Boot in the skies. In all honesty, humiliating him just was a small a fraction of the reason, say about 75%. When we had built up a 300 to 30 lead, I ended the misery and caught the Snitch.

The usual happy teammates and housemates surrounded me when I landed. But someone was missing - Hermione. She'd always been one of the first to congratulate me after a win, or comfort me after the rare loss, but she was nowhere to be found. Even after our win over Slytherin, when things were really awkward, she was still there to give me a friendly pat on the shoulder. I scanned the crowd for the familiar bushy hair until I finally spotted her.

She was with Boot. They were talking in low tones, Hermione clearly consoling him after the loss. It was then that I knew I had no chance.

I knew I should take the high road and be happy for her. She found someone who shared her interests and made her happy. Wasn't that the important thing? Of course I wanted her to be happy - but why couldn't she find happiness as a 90-year spinster virgin who never goes out on dates? Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently it was.

******

Fortunately I had something to keep me occupied soon after: Quidditch scouting had arrived. Scouts from all the professional teams gathered at Hogwarts while the seventh years showed what we could do. The scouts came in waves and took real, hard looks at everyone; even the sixth years were invited so the scouts could get an idea for next year.

The one interesting thing about the `auditions' is that we all had to use the same broom. Apparently, the scouts wanted to make sure that the talent was on display, not broom technology, so we were all using Cleansweeps. For someone like Ron, who only used Cleansweeps, it was no problem. But for me, it sometimes felt as if I were flying in slow motion. I still feel that I performed well, flying better than any other student, but it was frustrating at times. For weeks before the try-outs, I flew the Cleansweep in order to get used to the differences. And, of course, during try-outs I never touched the Firebolt, which was safely locked away in my trunk. I missed the ability zoom around in the skies, that feeling of freedom. The feeling was still there with the Cleansweep, but it was muted somehow. And with everything that's been going on with Hermione, I itched to get back on the Firebolt.

My tryouts ended about two weeks early. No one had requested a second look at me, and while normally this would be a bad thing, I knew I was in good shape. First of all, I had caught the Snitch each time, and second of all, I knew my fame would at the very least get me a seat on the bench; For years my fame had been a bother, it's about time I used it to my advantage, right? I waited for Ron until try-outs were over, and then we excitedly went up to our room.

“What're you so happy about?” Seamus asked when we got in. “Did you get picked by a team already?”

I shook my head. “Teams can't make formal offers until the spring.”

“Then what's all the fuss about?” Dean asked.

“My try-outs are over, which means I can fly my Firebolt again!” I said happily, shooting Ron a look of triumph.

Neville just shook his head, obviously not appreciating what it feels like to be shackled to the ground when all I wanted to do was soar. I started to rummage though my trunk.

“Are you going to fly now?”

“No,” I said, “but I want to take her out and make sure she's ready.”

Ron went to get his broom servicing kit while I continued to go though my trunk. Strangely enough, I couldn't find it. I looked again. And then again. And then I overturned my trunk, my things spilling out everywhere.

“Harry!” Ron said, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“My broom's gone! Someone took my broom!”

“What?!” Ron came over and sifted through the pile. When he finished, I gave him a look. “Hey!” he said, raising his hands in defense. “It wasn't me, I swear!”

“Well, it was someone who has access to this room.” I said, growing angry and turning my attention to my three other roommates. Once they realized what I was implying, and seeing the dangerous look on my face, they all paled considerably, even Dean, which was a rather impressive feat.

“It wasn't me!”

“I didn't do it!”

“I don't even like flying!”

I gazed at them intently until I was satisfied that they were telling the truth - leglimency does have its advantages. “All right,” I said, “I believe you.”

All four of them sighed in relief, but the fact remained: my beloved Firebolt, my first and only present from Sirius, was missing.

*******

A/N: Nothing more to see here, move along. But don't forget to review before you do.

Okay, I lied; maybe just a bit more. So, is it just me, or does it seems as if the enthusiasm over HP fanfic seems to be dying down a bit? I know that I personally read less these days. I think I'm just less interested in “standard” fluff, where H/Hr go through the standard “but it's Harry or Hermione! I can't have these feelings for Harry or Hermione! She or he is my best friend!” and then one of them trips on a rug, the other catches them, and they kiss. I'm also less interested in angst, because I don't like watching them suffer too much, and I've read one to many stories where Harry goes into some suicidal depression after Sirius died (which I don't buy, by the way). And finally, I think I'm too lazy to read novel-length fics anymore.

Or maybe I've just read too many fanfics that all the plots seem to run together, and now I need a really different plot to get me interested?

Either way, I'm not too worried, since I'm guessing that by the summer, they'll be a new reason to be excited about HP fanfic.

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3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Long time no write, how's everyone doing? Wow, has it really been two months since my last update? Eek!

Well, I do have an excuse. Not only had work been crazy, but I also got myself a new job, so I've been busy on interviews, thinking about interviews, worrying about interviews, etc. Then, after I got the job, I've been busy transitioning all the crap off of my desk onto someone else's. Now that I have a moment, here's the next chapter. It's more of a transition chapter then anything else. And warning, there's some naughty language in this chapter.

Chapter Three

Once the shock of the situation had worn off, my mind turned to the next logical topic: which spell or combination of spells was I going to use on the person who took my broom? Although Unforgivables were out of the question, popping boils sure sounded good. Or maybe some sort of disfiguring spell, something that would move the person's ears to the back of their head and their nose to the top. Or maybe -

“Er, Harry?”

Somewhat annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of my diabolical planning, I answered gruffly, “What?”

“Er, why don't you try summoning it?”

I cocked my head to the side. “Summoning it?”

Ron nodded. “Sure. After all, you summoned your broom from the dorm room all the way to Quidditch pitch, and that was in fourth year. You're much better at it now.”

I nodded slowly, slightly impressed. Sometimes there's more to Ron than just Quidditch, candy, and girls. Okay, not really - that's why he's so predictable. Raising my wand, I focused on my Firebolt and said, “Accio Firebolt!” There was a tense, dramatic pause while all of us waited for the broom to come flying in from any direction. But after a minute, it was clear that the broom wasn't coming.

“Try again?” Neville suggested.

I waved my wand again. “Accio Firebolt!” But nothing happened. Since my spell should've been strong enough to summon my broom from all but the most powerful of restraining spells, either Dumbledore of Voldemort must've stolen my broom. But since Voldemort is dead, and Dumbledore has a much cooler broom, that didn't seem likely. I could think of only one other reason why my spell failed: my broom was destroyed. A split second after that thought entered my mind, something nearby caught on fire, which Seamus quickly put out with his wand.

I rounded on them, causing them to take a collective step backwards. “Who the hell would take my broom?” I roared while they all cringed. “What slimy, underhanded, sniveling, cowardly little son of a -”

And then the answer came to me. Ron and I locked eyes for a split second before we both uttered the same name. “Malfoy.”

We both nodded in a moment of masculine understanding. I quickly rummaged through the pile of my things and pulled out the Marauders Map. A quick promise-to-do-no-good later, and I saw that Malfoy was currently on rounds with Susan Bones. I shared a satisfied grin with Ron, and then we set off to find the little bastard, the other guys right behind me. I was halfway across the Common Room when I heard my name called.

“Harry! Harry! What happened? What's going on?”

I turned, surprised to see Hermione running down the stairs to us. “Huh? Wah? How did you know anything was the matter?”

“Harry, you were throwing off so much magical energy that everyone could tell something was the matter. Now, what's wrong?”

Only after she said that did I notice that everyone in the Common Room looked slightly nervous, or even fearful. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Someone took my broom. Someone, I might add, who is going to know what it means to cross Harry Potter. Someone who is going to see, firsthand, why I was able to defeat Voldemort. Someone who will truly understand the meaning of the word `suffering.' Someone who is going to feel my wrath, like the heat from a thousand burning suns, like a tidal wave of destruction that will -”

“Harry! Harry! Let's try and focus here, okay?” Hermione said, interrupting me mid-rant. So much for calming down. “How do you know it's gone?” she asked, her voice a little shaky from my flare-up of anger.

“It's gone, Hermione,” Ron said. “We looked everywhere, and Harry even tried summoning it.”

Hermione's eyes went wide at that; she no doubt understood what my failed spell meant for the broom. “Then…where were you planning on going?”

“We know who took it,” Ron said, a little smugly.

“What? Who?”

“Malfoy,” I spat.

Hermione gave a strange sort of laugh. I glared at her, which stifled that quickly. She composed herself. “Malfoy?” she asked, incredulously. “What makes you think Malfoy took your broom?”

“Who else then?”

“Listen to yourselves. Malfoy? How on earth could Malfoy have gotten into Gryffindor Tower? And if he could, why would he only take your broom?”

I shook my head slightly, unable to believe I was having this conversation. “Are you kidding me? I'm sure there are tons of ways to sneak into the dorms!”

“Oh? Name one.”

Argh! Stupid Hermione and her logic. “What? Are you suggesting that someone in Gryffindor stole my broom?” I challenged.

“No, of course not,” she said in an overly calm voice. “Maybe you simply misplaced it.”

“Misplaced it?” I repeated. “Never!”

“Look, all I'm saying is maybe you should sleep on it. You might find it in the morning, or maybe it'll turn up.”

I suppressed a growl and stole a glance at the Map. Malfoy was nearby - I could practically smell the nasty cologne he wears. “Forget it Hermione. Malfoy took it.” I turned and started walking towards the exit, with Hermione close behind.

“And if he didn't? What then?” she asked.

“If he didn't,” I replied as I put one foot through the portrait hole, “then he'll get a beating for old times' sake.”

“Harry, you can't do this!”

“No? Watch me.”

“Harry, you can't just go out and beat him up! He's prefect, and it's after hours.”

Without turning back, I waved my hand dismissively.

“Harry, if you go out there, I'll…I'll…I'll take points from Gryffindor!”

That stopped me in my tracks. I turned around slowly and walked back towards the portrait hole, where Hermione stood defiantly. I noticed all the other Gryffindors were crowded around the portrait holes, watching with rapt attention. Ron was standing behind Hermione, looking shocked. “What did you say?” I asked.

She stuck her chin up. “I said I'll take points if you leave after hours.”

“You wouldn't…I've been out after hours loads of times. You've never taken points off before.”

“That was then. Things were different back then. This now.”

I stared at her, and then suddenly laughed. “You wouldn't,” I repeated. “Not from your own house,” though what I really meant was `not from me.'

“Try me,” she dared.

I looked over Hermione's shoulder at Ron, and he only shrugged. I regarded Hermione carefully, then repeated, “You wouldn't.” I turned around and started walking again.

I hadn't gotten further than three paces when I heard her say, “Ten points from Gryffindor!”

An audible gasp went up from the direction of the Common Room. I turned around and looked at Hermione, my emotions all over the place. Had she really taken points from me? There were literally no words to describe what I was feeling, so I didn't even try. One crisis at a time, and this one would have to wait in queue behind the broom. “Fine!” I spat. “But you're not stopping me.” And with, I turned and started walking down the hall.

I half expected more points to be taken, but instead I heard Hermione say, “Oh no you don't, Ronald Weasley! One crazed boy roaming the halls is enough. You get back into the Common Room this instant or I'll take more points from Gryffindor.”

I turned the corner, so I didn't hear his response. A few seconds later, I heard footfalls behind me and assumed he had either convinced Hermione to let him go or had taken the hit to our point total. So it was with great surprise that I turned and found Hermione walking beside me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“If you're going to be too thick-headed to listen to reason, then it's my responsibility to limit the amount of trouble you can cause,” she replied, not looking at me.

I didn't know how to interpret that statement, whether she meant it as a friend or not, so instead I referred to the Map and found my bearings. I changed course, and within minutes I heard Malfoy's snotty voice echoing off the halls. A second later he spotted us.

“Well, if it isn't the great hero and the great Head Girl,” he said in his usual contemptuous voice. “Out for a little stroll, I -”

But then he found it hard to talk, what with my fist crashing into his jaw. He fell to the ground and then scampered backwards, drawing his wand as he went. Before anyone could react, he cried out, “Stupify!”

I blocked the red beam of light with my hand using a fancy little shielding charm that Dumbledore taught me. Essentially, it was a far more powerful version of the standard shielding charm, but with the drawback that it covered a much smaller area - a circle with a diameter of about a foot. Not very useful to most wizards and witches, but, hell, I wasn't the youngest Seeker in a century because of my good looks. I learned to cast the spell so that it stayed on the palm of my hand, and I had little trouble blocking spells coming from a single opponent. If I could use it successfully against Voldemort, then Malfoy shouldn't be a problem.

Speaking of the pointy-headed bastard, he scrambled to his feet and started throwing more curses and hexes at me. I walked towards him, blocking his spells until I was right in front of him. Then I swatted away his wand and gave him another punch to the jaw, knocking him to the ground. I was about to pounce on him and give him a real beating, Muggle-style, when Hermione latched herself onto my arm.

“Harry! Stop it!”

I tried to shake her off, but she was holding on tight. “Let go Hermione!”

“No! You're acting crazy!”

“Yeah, no shit,” came an angry reply. Malfoy wiped the blood off of his chin and looked up at us. “What's come over you Potter? What the hell was that for?”

“You little -” I tried to lunge at him again, but by this time Hermione was standing in front of me. I tried kicking him, but he was out of range. “You stole my broom, you little fucker!”

“You're outta your mind, Potter! I didn't touch your precious little broom!”

“Liar!”

“Fuck you!”

“No, f-”

“Harry!” Hermione interrupted, before I could get my clever retort in. “You have ways of knowing if he's lying, remember? Is he?”

I glared at Hermione - always using that damn logic. I took a deep breath and looked at Malfoy. “Did you steal my broom?” I asked in a low voice.

Malfoy crossed his arms in front of him. “No I didn't.”

And then I knew he wasn't lying. Sure, I still hated the bastard, but I guess that meant I couldn't hit him again. “Fine,” I said, and then turned to walk away.

“ `Fine?' `Fine?!' That's all I get? You come over here and hit me for something I didn't do, and all you say is `Fine?!' ”

“Consider it payback for six years of having to deal with your shit,” I called back as I continued walking. Hermione and I walked wordlessly back to Gryffindor Tower; she being smart enough not to say `I told you so.' Only when we got back to the Common Room did the anger-fueled adrenaline wear off, and I noticed that my hand hurt. A lot. I looked at it and hissed at the sight of blood on my knuckles.

Hermione came over and gingerly took my hand, examining it. “Sit down and wait here,” she said gently, but firmly. She took off towards the girls' dorm and returned shortly with a familiar sight - a bowl of murtlap. She placed the bowl in front of me, and I sighed as I dipped my aching hand into the bowl.

“Thanks,” I said.

She nodded, and then said hesitantly, “You know…I was only trying to-”

“It's okay,” I interrupted. “I understand.” We smiled at each other, and, at least for the moment, things seemed normal between us. And while I was happy about that, the question still hadn't been answered: where the hell was my broom?

A/N: Ah, the mystery deepens. Or maybe not, if you already know who stole the broom. Or maybe, if you know who stole the broom but don't know why.

Anyway, I start my new job on Monday, so I'm not sure when the next update will be. Hopefully quicker than two months though; I have some fun angst in store!

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4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: So, an update after two weeks isn't so bad, right?

So, the new job's going great, thanks for asking. I managed to cobble this together during downtimes. Just as an FYI, my chapters generally average 1,700 words in length. I don't know why it works out like that, but in invariably does. This one, however, is almost twice that, so rejoice!

Chapter Four

After that night, things between Hermione and I improved a little. I still wasn't sure how to deal with the fact that she took points from me (and what that might mean about our changing relationship), so I took the easy way out and pretended that it never happened. Somewhat to my surprise, Hermione, Ms. “Let's talk about our feelings until you want to poke your eyes out,” never mentioned it either. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, so in the end I decided to ignore that too.

This is not to say that all was peachy in my life. After all, my Firebolt was still missing. After about a week of terrorizing the general student populace with threats and suspicions, apparently the staff had had enough, and Professor McGonagall took me aside for a little chat, “asking” me (in the same way that a lioness “asks” a zebra to be her next meal) to act like an adult. So I did…eventually. But looking on the bright side, I was able to smack Malfoy around and not get in trouble for it. Well, not counting the points Hermione took from me, but I'd trade 10 points for the chance to hit Malfoy any day.

It was about a month later when I received another shock. I was finishing up a Transfiguration essay after dinner in a secluded little corner of the Common Room, having procrastinated beyond my usual standards. Ron had abandoned his essay long ago, and, of course, Hermione had finished hers even longer ago. I was trying my best to work on the essay, but it was difficult with the sounds of the other Gryffindors (Ron included, that lazy bastard) having fun on the other side of the room. I was seriously contemplating giving up when I heard a small fizzle sound.

“Mr. Harry Potter sir?” came a quiet, tentative voice.

I turned in surprise. “Dobby?” It was very rare to see a House Elf where there were a lot of people, unless it was in a service role. In fact, House Elves generally avoided such things, as it was not considered “appropriate” to be seen in the wizard culture. That explained Dobby's quiet demeanor, but it didn't explain the large bandages that were wrapped around his head. “What happened to you?” I whispered.

“Dobby has been very, very bad and deserved to be punished,” he whispered.

I considered probing further, and possibly trying to convince him that smacking oneself in the head wasn't proper, but it seemed like to much effort at the time, what with my essay glaring up at me. “Alright, fine,” I said. “What can I do for you?” I asked, wondering why he was here.

But of course, I should have been more aware of my phrasing. Dobby started weeping quietly. “Haw pter s knd n gnrs t off tdo smthn fDobby!” he said between sobs and sniffles. After five years of being around Dobby, I was able to translate that to, “Harry Potter is so kind and generous that he offers to do something for Dobby!”

I patted him gently on the left shoulder, the only spot I could see that wasn't covered in bandages. “Shh, it's okay Dobby. What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Dobby has been a very bad elf because he has violated…” and he went on and on a bit about how bad he was. I learned early on to let him get through it, otherwise he'd never get to the point. Eventually he said, “…and Dobby deserved punishment because he took this to give to Mr. Harry Potter,” placing something on the table.

At first glance, I thought it was wand, or at least a slightly broken wand. I picked it up and turned around in my hand. “Dobby?” I asked, confusion evident in my voice. “What is this…”

And then I knew what I was holding. “Dobby,” I said, still looking at the shard of wood that could only have come from my Firebolt, “Where did you find this?”

I turned to face the little House Elf and was surprised to see him cowering in the corner, afraid of me. I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Dobby,” I said again, but it still sounded a bit menacing. I tried again, putting on my best smile. “Dobby? Hi, how are you? So, where did you find this?”

But Dobby shook his head. “Dobby cannot say, Mr. Harry Potter sir. It is against school rules for House Elves to take-”

“Cannot say?” I parroted. “Cannot say!?” I realized my voice had gotten a little loud and tried to take another deep breath. By this time, though, I had attracted the attention of the rest of the Common Room.

“Hey Harry, you okay?” Ron asked, slowly approaching my table.

I took another deep breath and handed Ron the piece of wood from my Firebolt. “Sure, fine. Look what Dobby found.”

Ron took the piece of wood and examined it. After a moment, he said slowly, “Harry, is this…”

“Yes it is.”

“Um…where did Dobby find it?”

“He won't say,” I said in tightly controlled voice.

“He won't say?”

“He won't say. He'd have to beat himself if he did.”

“Oh.”

Since I didn't want Dobby to punish himself (at least not yet), I tried to think of another way to get him to tell me. Suddenly I had an idea. “Ron, can you go get the map from upstairs?”

“Sure,” he said, and then ran off for our dorm room. I sat there silently with Dobby when Hermione appeared.

“Harry? What's going on?”

Without looking at her, focusing all my energies on controlling myself, I said, “Dobby found a piece of my Firebolt, but he won't tell me where because he'd be violating a House Elf rule.”

After a second, Hermione said, “Oh.” After another second, she said, “Harry, you're not thinking of making him talk, are you? Because-”

“No, I'm not,” I said, finally looking at her. She seemed relieved to hear that. “I do, however, have a plan.”

Hermione no longer looked relieved. “Harry…” she said slowly.

Before I could reassure her that my plan was Elf-friendly, Ron appeared with the map in his hand. He handed it to me, and I saw that he had already promised the map that he would misbehave. I spread the map on the table and beckoned to Dobby. “Here Dobby, come take a look at this.”

Dobby looked at the map. “Oooooo…Harry Potter Sir! This is a-”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “We're going to play a little game, Dobby. DO you like games?”

Dobby squealed and clapped his hands. “Oh yes! Dobby loves games!”

“Okay, great. The game is called…um…hot/cold.” Ron looked curious, but I could practically hear the wheels churning in Hermione's head as she was trying to figure out where I was going with this. “It works like this: whenever my finger gets close to the place on the map where you found my Firebolt, you say `Hot.' Whenever my finger gets further away, you say `Cold.' Understand?”

Dobby nodded slowly. “Dobby thinks so.”

I smiled encouragingly. “Okay, let's begin.” I placed my finger on part of the map labeled `the Great Hall.'

“Hot!” Dobby shrieked, startling all of us.

“You were in the Great Hall when you found my Firebolt?” I asked skeptically, once my breathing had returned to normal.

Dobby shook his head. “No sir. But Dobby wasn't outside.”

“Oh, no Dobby. You see, you should start with `warm' or `cool' first. The closer I get to the place where you found the Firebolt, you say `warmer' or `really warm,' and then you say `hot' then `hotter' then `really hot.' DO you understand now?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. He looked at my finger, still on the Great Hall, and said, “Cool,” looking awfully proud.

“All right,” I said, taking a deep breath, hoping that this would work. I next placed my finger on Gryffindor Tower.

“Cool,” Dobby said, creating a sudden sigh of relief around me. I look up, surprised to see practically all of Gryffindor Tower standing around the table. I returned to the map and started moving my finger around the castle. There was a disappointed moan from the crowd when Dobby said that the Slytherin dungeons were cool. I found the trail when Dobby said, “warm,” and then “really warm” and then “really really warm” and so on. By the time he got to “really really really really really really really warm,” Ron interrupted him and requested that he use the word `hot' instead. The trail led me to the west side of Hogwarts, and my finger circled around and around until I got to a single room. There were a couple of names in the room, but I wasn't sure exactly what the room was used for. I did, however, know what part of the castle the room was in, as it was clearly labeled: Ravenclaw Tower.

As I sat there, my finger firmly planted somewhere in Ravenclaw Tower, I couldn't help but hear Hermione's voice in my head: “Harry, now don't go off without thinking. We need think sensibly. We need to take this to the professors; they'll take care of it. Besides, you can't just go barging into another House and start destroying things just because Dobby found a piece of your broom in there. For all you know, some poor Ravenclaw might have picked it up accidentally from somewhere else and brought it into their Tower. Are you listening to me Harry? Harry?”

I looked up at Hermione, slightly startled, as she waited patiently for me to answer; I guess her voice wasn't just in my head after all. I started to nod. After all, she was right, I had to have a clear head and not just rush out of here all half-cocked…

Ah screw it! Since when did I ever think things through? It's pretty much worked for me in the past, so why change now? I stood up and surveyed the Common Room, every face turned toward me. I looked over to Dobby. “Dobby, was the rest of my broom in the same room?”

Dobby nodded.

“Right then.” I looked directly at Hermione. “This isn't a matter for the professors. This is personal.” A path cleared for me as I walked towards the portrait hole.

“Harry! You can't-”

“It's not after hours, Hermione,” I shot back. “I can take a walk if I want to.” I started trekking through the corridors, only slightly aware that there were a quite a few Gryffindors behind me. Or perhaps not so slightly aware, as Ron and Hermione were having quite an argument behind me. I came to a sudden stop just before the portrait that protected the entrance, creating a small pile-up behind me. I glared over my shoulder at the assembled Gryffindors and received a few sheepish looks in return.

Because, no matter what I tried, I couldn't get Hermione's voice completely out my head (and the fact that the real thing was only a few paces away didn't help any), I wanted to be sure that my Firebolt was in there. Placing the wood shard on the palm of my hand, I cast a spell. It was a simple searching spell that almost all mothers knew - if you had something that was part of another (like the lid to a jar, or a piece of a broomstick), the piece that you had would orient itself in the direction of the rest. I had a grim little smile as the broomstick shard pointed directly towards the portrait hole.

I walked up to the portrait, the inhabitant looking rather nervous. “What…what is the meaning of this?” she asked. “Why are all you Gryffindors here?” I took one last look at the Marauders Map to make sure I had the right password before muttering it silently to the portrait - no point in letting all of Gryffindor know the Ravenclaw password.

The woman in the portrait looked uncertain. “This is highly irregular. I don't know how you came to know the password, but you just can't-”

I was too irritated to argue with a painting. I knocked hard on the frame to get her attention. “I gave you the password. Now open up, or I'll open you myself.” The painting, choosing discretion over valor (and plus I did have the password) opened slowly. I walked through, followed by a dozen curious Gryffindors.

The Ravenclaw Common Room pretty much looked like I expected it would: lots of dark cherry wood and teak, bookcases all over the places, and most of the inhabitants were studying. Or, at least they were studying seconds ago. Now, every Ravenclaw was staring at me and the Gryffindors behind me.

After a moment of silence, Anthony Goldstein, the Head Boy, broke away from the crowd and approached me. “Er, Harry…Hermione…um, what's going on?”

I ignored him while I cast another search spell on the broom shard. The shard moved slowly until it pointed towards a set of stairs leading upwards, which I hoped led to the boys' dormitory and not the girls'. By this time, Luna had joined us and was talking quietly with Ron, while Hermione and Anthony were in a discussion. I didn't much care about what they were saying, as my only concern was my broom. While I hoped that the only thing wrong with the broom was the shard, I feared the worst. After all, having the broom in little pieces would definitely interfere with my summoning charms. I started walking when I felt a restraining hand on my shoulder.

“Wait, hold on Harry,” Anthony said. “Hermione told me what's going on, and I think we should call Professor Flitwick.”

I looked at the hand that was still on my shoulder and then looked at Anthony. He dropped his hand almost immediately. I resumed my march towards the stairs, the way clearing before me. I had just reached the first step when some part of me, the part that was still paying attention to my environment, registered that someone had said `stupefy.' I then became very aware of that when I felt the spell strike me in the back.

Normally being stunned isn't so bad. I mean, one moment you're awake and lucid, and the next you're opening your eyes, confused and wondering what happened. Sometimes you might get a headache, but that's rare.

Now, getting stunned and resisting it is a completely different story. It actually feels like getting stung by a bee - everywhere. It starts where the spell struck you, and then spreads all over your body. It isn't pleasant at all, and getting stunned in the back at that moment didn't help my mood. I spun around, only to face another shock.

Facing me, wands out and their faces clearly showing their surprise that I wasn't unconscious, stood Anthony and Hermione. This was the second time that Hermione betrayed me over this damn broom! Okay, so maybe `betrayed' is a strong word, but I was seething. I walked quickly towards the two of them, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors shuffling backwards as I approached. I stood before them, the Head Girl and Head Boy, and then savagely whipped my hand out, knocking their wands out of their hands and clattering across the room.

“Har-” Hermione began.

“Don't!” I said angrily, my finger pointed in her face. I couldn't deal with this, at least not yet. If I tried to process the fact that Hermione attacked me, I would get overwhelmed. I had to focus on the broom first, and then on Hermione's actions. I glared at them both, daring them to speak, before I walked up the stairs. I heard footsteps behind me but was past caring as I cast another search spell. I followed the broom shard until it pointed me towards a single door.

Without knocking, I opened the door to find two very surprised Ravenclaws, Mike Corner and Terry Boot, sitting at their desks. I stepped into the middle of the room, a few people following in behind me.

“Harry?”

The shard was pointing towards a trunk, though I didn't know whose. I extending my hand outwards, I said, “Accio Firebolt,” knowing my summoning spell would work this time as I was so close. The trunk shook for a second before the top flew open, spreading clothes, book, and other small bits of parchment and quills in the air. To my horror, though, the `small bits of parchment and quills' started flying towards me, and I realized that I was looking at the remains of my broom.

Various splinters, shards, and twigs, along with three larger pieces (two from the handle and one from the tail), flew towards me and landed in a messy pile at my feet. I just stared at the pile, unable to believe that this heap of wood was the Firebolt that Sirius gave me. I noticed a few scraps of parchment intermingled within the wood, no doubt dragged when the pieces of wood were summoned. I fished one out and looked it over. It was an old homework assignment, and my eyes narrowed as I read the name at the top.

Terry Boot.

I looked over at Terry, and he froze. Then he made a dash for the door. I whipped out my hand, pushing back the people in the doorway and slamming the door in their faces. I crumpled the parchment in my hand before throwing it aside and approached Boot.

“Hold on, hold Harry! Listen to me for a second,” he said quickly, raising his hands in front of him.

I continued to approach him as he walked backwards and sidled along the wall. Suddenly Anthony appeared in front of me. “Now wait a second Harry. I know you're upset, but-”

Over his shoulder I saw Boot make another run for the doorway, so I flung out my fingers, banishing him across the room and into the opposite wall. I heard a shriek but ignored it.

Boot picked himself up from the wall and drew his wand, shakily pointing it at me. “Wait Harry, I don't want to hurt you.”

I couldn't help it - I barked a short laugh moments before banishing him again. He dropped his wand when he hit the floor. I kicked it towards him and gave him time to point it at me again before banishing him again into another wall. I was starting to enjoy myself when Hermione suddenly jumped in front of me.

“Harry! Please don't do this!” she pleaded, tears evident on her face.

I pushed her aside as I approached Boot again. I was a little bored with banishing him, and was considering which spell to use when Hermione jumped in front of me again.

“Hermione! Get out of the way!”

“No!” she said. “This isn't right! You can't do this Harry!”

I looked at her incredulously. “Are you kidding me?! That bastard steals my broom and busts it into pieces, and you say this isn't right?”

“No, it's not,” she said, now openly crying. “It's not Terry's fault, Harry.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Oh really? Whose fault is it then? My broom's for falling apart?”

“No Harry,” Hermione said, her voice unsteady. “It's my fault. I'm the one who took your broom.”

A/N: Right…so, um, I guess you might consider that a cliffhanger, but if so, it's a really small cliff. More like a hill.

I'm sure that it comes as no surprise that Hermione took the broom; well, some might have thought Terry stole the broom. And the why isn't that big of a deal either. The rest of the story will focus on Harry's reactions and whether or not they can repair their friendship.

I know a lot of people are probably not that favorably disposed towards Hermione right now. In an author's note later I'll probably explain her behavior, since I doubt it'll come up from Harry's POV. Just keep in mind that desperate people do desperate things, and Hermione was desperate that Harry not find out who stole his broom.

Oh, and my analogy of being stunned is like being stung by a bee is from another fic I read long ago, one of my favorites. At least, I think it is (the quote, I mean); it's been so long since I read that part that I might be mistaken.

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5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: I feel as if I'd written myself into a corner, or something like that. All of you are expecting a good reason for Hermione's actions, and I fear that the reason I provide isn't sufficient. I'll go more into it at the end of the chapter.

I mentioned before that this story is based on a challenge. It's called “Harry's Broken Broom” and can be found in PK's forum. I haven't followed it very well.

Anyway, this one's a shorter chapter; sorry, that's how the page breaks (get it? Page break? Whoa, where do I come up with them?!). But the next one should be longer, so in the end, it's really of average-length.

Chapter Five

I felt as if I had been blindsided by a raging Hippogriff. I stared at Hermione in shock, and I could only come up with one response: “What?”

But then I came up with another: “Why?” I tried to think of a few more, and I did move my mouth up and down a few times, but my thought processes had come to a screeching halt.

Hermione, on the other hand, had plenty to say. “Harry, listen, okay? It's not as bad as you think; I mean, it's bad, but it's not that bad. Oh dear. You see, Terry's parents are going to buy him a new broom and he was curious about your Firebolt and asked me to ask you if he could try it out for a minute. And I tried, I really tried to ask you before, but, you know, things have been a little…awkward between us, and I could never find the right time. But Terry kept bothering me about it because his parents wanted to know right away, and I know that's no excuse, but I figured with tryouts here that you wouldn't need it and wouldn't miss it, and I could just borrow it for an hour and return it to you. And I would have, except Terry isn't nearly as good a flier as he thinks he is and he crashed. I would have told you right away, but Terry was so afraid that you'd be mad at him and kill him and he promised that he could have it fixed because his uncle has a broom shop and could fix it, but then his uncle said he couldn't do it so I said we should tell you but Terry said he could find another way, and then tryouts ended early and you found out and…and…and I'm so sorry Harry! I've never been more sorry in my life, honest! But it'll be okay, because Terry can get it fixed and then everything will be fine. I mean, it won't be fine right away, but it will be fine eventually because we've been friends for so long and I know that-”

“Fine? Fine?!” I roared, startling her and causing her to take a step backwards. “You actually think that everything will be fine?!”

Hermione wiped at her eyes. “Yes! I mean, no, I mean eventually things will-”

“Things will never be fine between us, understand? Stay away from me, Hermione.”

I pushed past her towards Boot, but then I felt her hand on my arm. “Harry, please-”

I moved so quickly she didn't have a chance to react, my face suddenly inches from hers. “Walk out of here while you're still can, Hermione,” I said in a low voice, almost a whisper. She stood still for a moment with wide eyes, though if it were from fear or surprise, I didn't really much care at the moment. Then she fled for the door. I looked around at the rest of the people gathered in the room. “And that goes for the rest of you too…get out!”

While the rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were smart enough to bolt, apparently Anthony didn't have the sense to know when to use discretion and when to use valor. “Now, Harry,” he said after a moment, in a voice dripping with calm and reason as he gestured about the room, “I think we should call Professor Flitwick now…I mean, don't you think you're enough trouble as it is?”

My hand flexed for a moment as I considered banishing him through the open doorway. But then reason prevailed. I smiled. “Sure Anthony, that's a good idea.”

He looked taken aback. “What?”

“Yeah, you should call Professor Flitwick. A student shouldn't be able to just walk into another House and start tearing up the place, right?”

Anthony was smart enough to look suspicious at my sudden change in attitude. Ron, on the other hand, looked as if I'd just said that Quidditch was a silly activity with rules that made no sense. “Er…right Harry, I'm glad you see things my way,” Anthony said, moving towards the door.

“However,” I said, “I'd hate for Professor Flitwick to find out that the Head Boy and Head Girl attacked a fellow student, in the back and unprovoked, no less.”

Anthony turned and looked at me.

“Surely there must be some sort of penalty for that. Do you think they'll lose their badges, Ron?”

Ron stifled a smile and tried to look somber. “Oh, at least! I can't imagine Dumbledore would let them stay as Head Boy and Head Girl after something like that.”

Anthony looked between us. “But-”

“And after Hogwarts, surely any potential employer will notice that, though you started the year as Head Boy, you didn't finish it as Head Boy,” I continued.

“And,” Ron said quickly, “when they find out that you attacked Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world…well, I don't fancy your chances of getting a job once that tidbit gets out.”

Anthony just stood silently in place. “Hey Ron,” I said, “Would you mind getting the professor? I'd like to get all the punishments over with, and I'm sure Anthony feels the same.”

Ron nodded and put his hand on the doorknob when Anthony said, “No wait! I, uh, don't think that's necessary. This is probably something that we can take care of without the professors, don't you think?”

“Good. I'm glad you see things my way,” I said, parroting his own words from moments before. Then I stepped closer to him, my eyes narrowed. “Now shut up and get the hell out of here before you start to annoy me.”

Anthony blanched and then quickly made for the door, Ron shutting it behind him. I turned back to look at Boot, who hadn't moved from where I had last banished him. “Harry, I'm-”

“So, what happened, eh Boot? Thought you were good enough to take my broom for a spin?”

“I-”

“But you couldn't, could you? It was way too much broom for you to handle, eh? Lost control and crashed, did you?” And then I remembered the time last month when Boot had been in the hospital wing after an accident at Quidditch practice. I remember feeling bad for the guy, having been through more than enough Quidditch-related accidents of my own. I didn't feel bad for him anymore.

“Harry, I-”

“Shut it!” I said, raising a hand to rub my temples. I suddenly felt very tired - tired of all of this, though I was amused to see him flinch when I moved my hand. I just wanted it to be over. And besides, I couldn't think of a suitable way to punish the guy. I didn't want a replacement broom from him, or really anything from him that would remind me of this whole event. I had already flung him across the room a couple of times, and doing something nastier than that really wasn't in my nature (especially since most of the anger that I was feeling had ebbed away). After a tense moment of silence, I looked back at Boot.

“Watch your back, Boot, and take care not to do anything that might upset me,” I said and then left the room. Playing mind games with the kid was all that I had the energy for. I stepped into the hallway, which immediately cleared of people. Ron followed and closed the door behind us.

“That's it?” he asked, the disappointment clear in his voice.

“Yeah, that's it,” I said as I slumped against the wall. By now, the full weight of what Hermione had done finally sunk in. She actually stole my broom to give to him! And then lied about it when she knew that I was looking for it! And then took points from me when she could have just told me that Malfoy didn't have it! And then she actually tried to stun me when-

“Ron, what are you doing?” I asked curiously; he was fidgeting so much that it distracted me from my thoughts.

He looked anxious. “Well, I'm…um…I mean I'm trying to…”

I straightened, suddenly alarmed. I tried to back up, but I was already against the wall. “Mate…you're not trying to give me a…a hug, are you?”

Ron shrugged helplessly. “I, uh…well…isn't that what friends do when something like this happens?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, they do…if you're a girl.”

“Oh, right…um, want me to get Ginny then? Or maybe Luna? She's right downstairs; I can just run down for a second and-”

“No, no,” I said, waving my hands. “That's all right. Just a friendly - manly - pat on the shoulder should be fine.”

Ron gave me an encouraging smile and patted me on the shoulder. “It'll be okay, Harry.”

I nodded and put my hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.” I knew that it was really the only thing he could say at the moment, but I somehow doubted it would be true. And for the first time in my life, I actually wished there was a cupboard somewhere nearby where I could hide for a bit.

*********

A/N: Okay, here's where I unsatisfactorily attempt to explain Hermione's behavior, at least as how I'd envisioned it. Skip if you're not interested.

For years, Hermione's spent her time worrying about Harry and Voldemort. She's been so focused on keeping Harry alive, that she never really looked at him as anything other than the best friend that she has to keep alive. She hadn't had the opportunity to reflect upon her own feelings of Harry, and whether or not they go beyond friendship. So, that's why she rejected Harry in the first place - she's stuck in that “I think of him as a brother” mentality (which, personally, I feel that Harry's kiss with Cho may have started Hermione on the path away from friendship, but I digress).

In addition, she hasn't had the chance to lead a normal life. Even though she looks down on the antics of Lavender and Pavarti, she's still a girl and likes “girl” things (what those might be, though, is a complete mystery to me). With Voldemort gone, Hermione sees that she is now free to be normal. That's why she starts a “relationship” with Terry Boot. They've never actually dated (which Hermione may eventually tell Harry, if I remember later), but certainly a young girl like Hermione, who's used to being called a bookworm, will feel flattered by the attentions of a guy who's always complemented her intellect and respond accordingly. She's basically just flirting and enjoying the moment, like many teenagers would, rather than think about the future, which is what she's been doing for six years.

So when Terry asks Hermione to borrow Harry's broom, she says sure. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, except Hermione knows Harry probably wouldn't react all that well after she denied his expression of love. So, while she tries to ask, she just can't build up the courage because she knows a) he'll say yes because he's just like that, and b) he'll be hurt by her request. But when Harry has to go through pro scouting and must leave his broom behind, Hermione figures it's the perfect opportunity to just take the broom for a couple of hours and return it. It would have gone perfectly, had not Terry crashed it.

Have you ever had something unpleasant to tell someone, but put if off? And the more you put it off, the harder it was to tell them? Well, that's where Hermione found herself once Harry realized his broom was missing. She couldn't bring up the courage to tell Harry that night (which is why she wanted him to sleep on it so she could think about what to do), and after taking points off in a moment of desperation, it became that much harder to come clean.

I hope that's sufficient. If not, then you're free to say so, but the story moves on regardless.

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6. Part VI

Author's Note: Oops! I made an error in the last chapter; or more accurately, I left something out. Thanks to kofoo, I realized that I forgot to mention what happened to the pile of wood that was formerly Harry's broom. Let's just pretend that Ron gathered up the remains and took it with them, giving it to Harry later on. Okay? Good.

Oh, and in the spirit of “suspension of disbelief,” do not try and make any sense of the timing of events. I'm not even sure what month they're in right now.

Onward!

Chapter Six

The next month was a study in conflicting emotions. I hadn't spoken with Hermione since the day she told me she had stolen my Firebolt, and, in fact, had studiously ignored her. I didn't go out of my way to avoid her though; occasionally we sat near each other during classes or meals, but to me, she no longer existed.

And that was the hard part. On the one hand, I was still so angry with her by her…betrayal. At least with the Dursleys, I always knew where I stood, and while Dumbledore's manipulations hurt me, he was never as important in my life as Hermione was.

But on the other hand, when I wasn't angry or bitter (which wasn't too often), I missed her desperately. Not even counting the fact that I had fallen in love with her, she and Ron had always been the one good constant in my life for the past six years. I could always count on them when it mattered, and the three of us spent the vast majority of our time together. Now it was just Ron and me, and when it wasn't just Ron and me, then it was me and everyone-else-who-wanted-to-be-near-the-Boy-Who-Lived. It was those times especially, when I was surrounded by dozens of people who only knew my scar, that I really missed her.

And on top of all that, there were the times when all I wanted to do was to comfort her. Though I did an admirable job ignoring her, and though she was pretty good at masking her feelings, there were times when I noticed her looking rather depressed. I know it sounds weird, the thought of providing comfort to someone who so completely deserved what she was feeling, but I couldn't help but feel the urge to console her; I guess you just can't turn that off after six years, though I tried my best. But I just couldn't help it when she just looked so miserable.

*************

“Man, she looks miserable.”

Ron and I were playing a game of Wizard's Chess in the Common Room a few hours before dinner, about two months after the truth came out. I glanced over my shoulder to where Hermione sat surrounded by her books, looking absolutely miserable. “She looks fine,” I said, lying through my teeth.

A few moves later, Ron said in a voice full of forced-nonchalance, “So, I heard she hasn't talked to Terry Boot since that day.”

I shrugged as I studied the chessboard, hating myself for feeling that glimmer of hope. What the hell did I care if she stopped seeing Boot? Right? She was part of my past; I had nothing to do with her anymore. Severed all ties. Kaput. She was nothing to me…so why, then, did I have to continually remind myself of that?

When I didn't reply, Ron hunched over the chessboard and continued, “Actually, I heard from Ginny that she doesn't really talk to anyone now…pretty antisocial, is what I heard.”

Again, I made no response. I didn't need Ron to tell me that - it was pretty obvious that, aside from her Head Girl duties and during class, Hermione was keeping to herself.

“The other day, Luna was saying that during the prefect meeting, Hermione-”

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice tight. “Is there a point with all of this, or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

Ron straightened. “Well, you know I like hearing myself talk,” he said, trying to keep things light. “I'm just trying to make conversation. That's all. I was just going to say is that Hermione's been really quiet lately, which is really odd. You know how she is-”

“Do I?” I interrupted, “do I really know her?”

Ron looked taken aback. “Of course you know her. You know her better than anyone else here, myself included.”

I shook my head. “The Hermione that I know would never steal my broom and bust it up-”

“Now hold on there,” Ron said suddenly, and rather emphatically. “You know that Hermione didn't break your broom.”

“No? Well, it wouldn't have happened if she hadn't taken the broom in the first place!”

Ron nodded somewhat reluctantly. “True, but she didn't mean for it to-”

“What's with you?” I hissed, careful to keep my voice low; I hate creating scenes. I noticed we had garnered the attention of a few Gryffindors nearby. I glared at them and then waved my hand in the air, casting a privacy spell that would both keep our conversation private and create a haze that would obscure us from view. I turned back to Ron. “If this were your broom, you'd be livid! And you're one to talk - you've gotten mad at her for much smaller things before!”

“Yeah, but that's me!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that's how `Hermione and Ron' operate. One of us does something to make the other angry, we yell, we get over it, and then it's rinse-and-repeat. That's not how `Hermione and Harry' work.”

“Oh really?” I challenged. “And exactly how does `Hermione and Harry' work?”

“First, you two hardly ever fight, and then when you do, you actually talk things out.”

I glared at him for a moment before turning back to the chessboard. “That's all in the past,” I muttered.

“So that's it, then? Seven years of friendship down the drain just because she borrowed your broom?”

“`Just?'” I repeated. “You don't think that it was a big deal? You think I should just forgive her and pretend that it never happened?”

“I didn't say that,” Ron said. “What I'm saying is that…listen, all I know is that you're miserable, she's miserable, you both are making me miserable, and everybody would be so much happier if you two were back on speaking terms again.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he quickly added, “No one's saying that you should forgive her right away, but honestly Harry, have a little perspective. She took your broom and thought she could return it right away, and then she panicked when Boot crashed it. It's not like she pretended to be your pet rat for a decade and then turn out to be the man responsible for the deaths of your best friend's parents.”

The only response I could make was to nod; you can't argue with something like that.

“Besides,” Ron continued, “You would never have noticed it was gone if Boot hadn't busted it up; don't make me remind you of all the things that we've done and haven't told Hermione about. Now, compare that to all the times that she stood by you, pulled your arse out of the fire, and kept you from doing something stupid and likely fatal for the past six years…are you telling me that all of that doesn't deserve a second chance?”

I buried my head in my hands, trying to process it all.

“Plus, there are…other factors…” Ron said uncomfortably.

I looked up at him; I could tell he didn't want to talk about what he wanted to talk about, and I had a feeling that I wouldn't like these `other' factors, whatever they were. But I had to ask. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, would you be so worked up over this if Hermione had taken your broom and given it to Ginny to fly?”

“Ginny wouldn't have crashed it.”

“That's not the point, and you know it. I'm just saying maybe the fact that she gave it to guy is making this bigger than it should be.”

I grumbled something incoherent and tried to return my focus to the game. Ron kindly shut his trap, apparently having said everything he wanted to say. I was still so angry at Hermione for what she did, but Ron did have a point, didn't he? For six years, Hermione was my best - but no, of course he didn't have a point, this was Ron we're talking about. The day that Ron starts making sense about feelings and emotions is the day that…that…Hermione steals my broom?

I stood up. “I need to think.”

Ron nodded. “Where are you going?”

“Outside. To work on the broom.”

“Oh…okay. See you at dinner?” I nodded and reached for my bag. But with the discussion fresh in my mind, I couldn't help but glance over at Hermione as I headed for the portrait hole. She looked at me for a second, a thoughtful look on her face, before I looked away.

*************

After leaving the Common Room, I headed outside where I settled myself underneath a tall oak by the lake. Once seated comfortably, I began emptying my bag around me, ready to begin work rebuilding the broom.

Oh, I knew that it could never be returned to its original condition; that, in fact, it probably wouldn't fly, and if it somehow managed to leave the ground, it would fly worse than the original Cleansweep. But that wasn't the point. I had already purchased a new broom for Quidditch, but I just couldn't leave this one for kindling - there was too much sentimental value attached to it.

So every day, I would spend a couple of hours attempting to rebuild the Firebolt. When it was nice outside, I would sit underneath this tree and work on the broom; otherwise, I would find a quiet spot somewhere in the castle. An unforeseen benefit of this was that I actually got some quiet time; people seemed to know not to bother me when I was working on the broom. It was also a task that required focus and concentration, and this prevented me from dwelling on my relationship - or lack thereof - with Hermione.

This not to say that it was a fun process. I knew next to nothing about how a broom works, so I often found myself referencing several different books as I put together the Firebolt, piece-by-piece. I pulled out the pieces of the broom and tackled the same problem that I had faced for a couple days now. I was trying to join two pieces together, but I couldn't seem to find the right spell that would both fuse the wood together and preserve the portion of the braking charm that was contained within that section of the broom. It was frankly maddening. I made a noise of disgust as another spell failed when a voice interrupted me.

“Need some help?”

I looked up, surprised that someone had actually approached me. I was doubly surprised to find it was Hermione, looking about as nervous and self-conscious as I'd ever seen her. I was about to tell her off, or simply ignore her, when some of that old Harry Potter came through, and I couldn't help but think she looked so damn adorable. I shook my head, both in the negative and to ward off those types of thoughts. “No thanks.”

I returned to the broom, but she hadn't left. I ignored her, but after a few moments of silence she spoke up again. “I think if you make a twirly motion counterclockwise with your wand, it should work.” I looked at her again, and she shrugged nervously. “I read it in a book,” she said.

I suppressed the urge to chuckle - such a Hermione thing to say - and tried the twirly motion she suggested. Even though I was upset with her, the problem with the broom was so frustrating that I would probably take advice from Malfoy at this point.

“No, like this,” she said. I looked up as she began to take a step towards me, paused awkwardly, and then stood still. She then demonstrated the motion.

I mimicked her actions, and to my delight, the pieces stuck together. I couldn't stop the grin from appearing on my face, but it faded when I looked back at her. “Thanks,” I said, and then returned to ignoring her.

After a second, she spoke again. “If you like, I mean, if you wouldn't mind, I think…well, I've been reading a lot about broom repair, and I could help, if you think it would be okay…”

I looked back at Hermione as she stammered on, unconsciously playing with the hem of her robe. I was going to tell her no thanks, or something perhaps a bit more snarky, but her uncharacteristic fidgeting made me pause, my earlier conversation with Ron somehow springing to mind.

And then I knew that this was one of those moments that I would always look back on in life, one of those `what if' moments. If I told her to go to hell, would I regret it later? If I accepted her help, would I regret it sooner? I somehow knew that if I said no, she'd leave and we'd never be friends again. I probably wouldn't see her much after graduation, and the times when our paths would cross would be awkward and uncomfortable. And that made me a little sad. Like Ron said, she'd done so much for me, sacrificed so much for me over the past six years. Could I really let that go so easily? True, she stole my broom and - damnit, she stole my broom and gave it to Boot! I couldn't just let that go either!

But saying no to her now was like slamming a door on our friendship. And I couldn't be sure that, years later, I wouldn't find myself wishing that I could reopen that door, but unable to because of all the years of baggage piled against it. I didn't want to be friends with Hermione right now, but who knows how I might feel years from now?

So I looked at Hermione and nodded. She smiled, looking visibly relieved as she sat beside me. As we worked on the broom together, we didn't talk except to show each other different techniques and to offer advice. And after we left for dinner, we didn't talk or pretend that things were okay. In fact, very little changed at all, but it was a start.

A/N: Yay! So now everyone's happy and cheery and they'll snog next chapter, right? Ha! Not so fast there. A few more bumps in the road yet to go.

Okay, so here's where I respond to reviews in a general manner, so you can skip if you wish.

Still here? All right then.

Issue #1: Another oversight on my part is how others in Hogwarts might react to Hermione and Terry's actions. Essentially, I'm going to ignore that. Probably stemming from the fact that I don't think too much about my plots beyond the H/Hr romance, I simply never considered what might happen if/when everyone else found out. So, feel free to believe whatever you want - that no one else really knows the whole story, or that everyone knows. Sorry, I know it's an unsatisfying answer, but like I said before, the story moves on regardless.

Issue #2: Overall, people seemed to accept Hermione's reason for doing what she did. That's not to say that it was a justifiable reason (I'm not condoning it), but it should be, at least, a believable reason and somewhat realistic.

For those of you who don't buy it, I think it's rooted in the fact that it's too OOC (though Hermione's lack of respect for Harry's feelings is not as OOC as you might think, which I'll get to later). I'm not saying that Hermione would actually do any of this, but I believe it's within the realm of possibility that someone who's been so focused on such heady matters as life and death for six years might cut loose for a few months. Everyone who's been to college must know one or two people who were straight-laced and responsible in high school, but then, when given the taste of freedom that college brings, is always the first in line at the keg.

And, let's face it, Hermione's not perfect; in fact, she can be downright insensitive sometimes. Two examples immediately come to mind:

One, the way in which she nagged Harry about Occulmency. She should know that a) dealing with Snape sucks and b) exposing your mind to Snape sucks even more. And yet, rather than encourage Harry, she nags him.

But that's small potatoes compared to her plan for Harry to be interviewed by Rita. Now, I know it turned out well (and was probably a very shippy scene…I can picture it now, Harry struggling to recount the event, supported by Hermione…), but really, it could easily have gone in the other direction. This was the most traumatic experience in Harry's life (up to that point) that he's only shared with three people, and I can't believe that Hermione expected Harry would just simply show up, see Rita, a witch he does not trust, and just spill the beans to the world, without any type of advance warning or preparation. Harry could easily have gotten angry and just left. But Hermione does that sometimes - she loses sight of Harry's feelings when she thinks she knows what's best. And don't think that she's quite learned her lesson yet, at least not in this story…

Okay, this will be the last I babble on about the subject, I promise!

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7. Part 7

Author's Note: Everyone read HBP? If you have, then allow me to channel Dave Chappelle for a minute:

Who's portrayal of Hermione is OOC now, <bleep>?

Looks like I'm much more insightful then I ever imagined, and that the Hermione in this story is more in-character then you ever imagined, eh?

Yeah, it breaks my heart too.

Ahead is a short (1,700ish) chapter, with only one more likely to go. Sorry if this sounds rushed, but I want to finish my WIPs and get cracking on the post-HBP world.

Chapter Seven

I wasn't sure what I expected on that first day that Hermione helped me with the Firebolt - whether this was a one-time effort, the proverbial extending of the olive branch, or whether she would offer to help once or twice more.

I never imagined that, two weeks later, she would have sat patiently by my side every day, working on the broom, the majority of it spent in silence.

The first day after she offered to help, I returned to my place under the tree without even sparing her a second thought. Well, not entirely true. I couldn't stop thinking about her and wondering if she would appear to help, but at the same time I was still angry with her. I was a veritable potpourri of conflicting emotions - hoping she would help and wanting her to leave me alone.

A few minutes after I had sat down, right after I arranged everything on the ground, she appeared. We locked eyes for a second before she sat across from me and wordlessly picked up pieces of the broom. I watched her for a second before grabbing my own pieces. Again, like the first time, we didn't speak much, but if I have to be honest, I was pleased that she showed up. Though I hid it well.

On the third day, we had a pretty big exam to study for. I took a break to work on the broom, and wondered idly whether or not Hermione would show again. The exam was a wildcard - she could be spending her night in the library to study, or at the same time she could have studied for the exam for the past week and have time to spare. But, just like before, she suddenly appeared just as I had taken everything out of my bag. And, just like before, we worked on the broom in virtual silence.

By the start of the second week, I actually found myself nodding at her before leaving the Common Room, my bag slung over my shoulder. She nodded back and began packing her things away, and we walked to the tree together. It was odd, walking beside Hermione without either one of us even attempting to make conversation. There were times, when we were sitting next to each other, that I could easily forget everything that had happened and just enjoy being with my friend again. It was almost as if I had to remind myself to be angry with her even while handling the broken pieces of my broom.

Finally, by the end of the second week, I could no longer overcome one of the lessons that the Dursleys taught me - never be an inconvenience. Though in my head I knew it was only fair that she was helping me (it was her fault, after all), I couldn't help but feel that I shouldn't be a bother to her. It was something that the Dursleys beat into my skull day after day, year after year, and I couldn't break from habit. Rink a bell, and I'd probably start salivating.

So, as we were packing up to go to lunch, I cleared my throat. “Er, not that I don't appreciate your help, but you don't have to keep coming out here day after day.”

Hermione looked at me in mild surprise, no doubt taken aback by the fact that I'd spoken to her using more than four words at once. She gave me a small smile. “I don't mind.”

“No, really,” I insisted, “it's not necessary. I mean, you've done enough already.”

I was somewhat surprised when I saw how she reacted to my statement - hurt and surprise registered on her face - before I realized how it might have sounded. And while it's true that I could easily have meant it that way, I honestly wasn't trying to rub it in.

“Wait, I didn't mean it like that,” I said quickly. “What I meant was-”

“No, you're right,” Hermione said in a firm voice. She took a deep breath and then looked in my eyes. “I have done enough. I…” she paused, made a few attempts to speak, and then turned to face the lake.

I tried to fill the uncomfortable silence, “Hermione…”

“It's hard for me to admit when I'm wrong,” Hermione said, as if I'd never spoken. “And it's doubly hard when I'm both wrong, stupid, and hurtful.” She turned to face me. “I'm sorry, Harry. I never meant to hurt you. I…I have no excuse for what I did,” she said, still maintaining eye-contact.

I fidgeted nervously. Having someone apologize to me is a relatively new experience; in fact, before this, I think I've only had one real, heartfelt apology before. “Er, it's okay,” I said reflexively. “You're already helping me rebuild the broom.”

Hermione shook her head. “It's not the broken broom that matters - not that the broom wasn't important - but it's the fact that I broke your trust, which is so much more valuable.” She looked as though she might burst into tears right then, but then she sniffed and seemed to compose herself. “Ever since we were eleven, you've placed your trust in me, and I've never let you down before. Over and over, through the years, we've been there for each other, through petty fights and life-threatening situations. And then, with one act of stupidity that quickly compounded into multiple acts of stupidity, I ruined it all. And even when I knew that I was hurting you, I only thought about myself and trying to cover my tracks.”

As she's saying this, I have wonder where she's going and why. This isn't the way that I deal with things. I don't talk about them. I don't dwell on them. I just push past them, and yet here's Hermione, dredging it all back up by talking about trust and feelings and junk.

Girls.

“Listen,” I begin, but Hermione cuts me off again.

“I've taken you, us, for granted, Harry. I see that now. I see a lot of things, now that I've thrown them all away.” Hermione wiped at a tear, and then looked me directly in the eyes. “I know I can't fix this with just words, but I promise you, that I will do whatever it takes to earn back your trust; that is, if you want to try and be friends again.”

After a second I realized that she was waiting for an answer. But by this point, there was only one answer to give. Maybe it was because I always believe in second chances, or that the Hermione of the past six years doesn't match up with the Hermione of a month ago, or maybe I was just a glutton for punishment. Either way, the answer was simple, “Yes,” I said, “I'd still like to be friends.”

Hermione's lower lip trembled, and then she launched herself at me, arms going around my waist as I staggered backwards. I patted her awkwardly on the back until she pulled away. She gave me an embarrassed smile and rubbed a spot on my robes that had gotten damp from her tears. “Sorry about that,” she said softly.

“It's okay. It won't leave a permanent mark, and it'll be back to normal in no time, you'll see.”

She looked at me, and we both knew that I wasn't just talking about the tear stains on my robe. Hell, I can be all deep and symbolic when I want.

***********

Over the next couple of weeks, things seemed to settle down between Hermione and me. At least on the surface, we both seemed to come to an unspoken agreement to put the whole thing behind us and to try and rebuild our friendship; after all, she's already apologized, and she's helping me to rebuild the broom, so there's not much sense it rehashing the past.

Of course, if only it were that easy. One thing that I've always been good at is holding grudges; letting go of that anger and resentment towards Hermione would take a lot of work on my part.

I was running late for dinner one day, having had to subject myself to another interview. As I entered the Great Hall halfway through dinner, I detected a noticeable buzz throughout the air. I sat down in my customary place, next to Ron and Hermione. “What's all the excitement about?”

“Dumbledore's announced the ball!” squealed Pavarti from my other side.

“The ball?”

“Yeah,” Lavender said, eyes sparkling in excitement. “The Graduation Ball! I've been looking forward to it for seven years,” she sighed.

My stomach fell. A ball? Great, that's all I needed after everything else that's gone on this year - another chance for teenage angst and awkwardness where I'll no doubt be near the center of attention.

“Hey Harry, I have an idea…” Hermione said.

I looked at her. “What's that?”

“I know how you must hate the idea of going to a ball…” she said.

“True enough.”

“Well, I was thinking we could go together,” she said cheerfully.

My mouth dropped in disbelief. After everything that happened... “Together?”

She nodded. “I know we've been through some bad times this year, but…well, wouldn't you rather go with someone you know, where's there's no pressure or awkwardness, someone who can understand why you hate the attention you'll no doubt receive?”

I had to admit that she had a point, but still! No pressure or awkwardness? Did she forget that tiny little incident where I professed my undying love for her and she shot me down?

“Harry?” she asked, suddenly looking uncertain and shy - and adorable, which proved to be my undoing.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, “I think that's a great idea.” I smiled while internally berating myself for being so weak.

Just then, Terry Boot appeared behind us. “Erm, hi Hermione,” he said nervously.

“Boot,” I acknowledged in a cold tone.

If Terry was nervous before, he looked like he was going to have to scourgify himself in a second. “H-H-Harry.”

“Hi Terry,” Hermione said.

Hearing Hermione's voice must've pulled Terry out of his stupor, for he managed to collect himself. “Um, I was…uh…wondering if you'd…uh…like to…you know…go to the ball with me?”

Before I could form any emotional reaction to that, Hermione spoke, “I'm sorry Terry, but I'm already going with Harry.”

“With Harry?” he asked doubtfully.

I grew angry; `with Harry?' What's that supposed to mean? I stood. “Yeah, with me. You have a problem with that?”

Terry's eyes widened, and had I not been angry I probably would've been amused. “No, of course not…there's no problem…er, uh, I'll see you later.” And then he scampered off.

I sat down, Hermione apparently deciding to ignore my testosterone moment. I turned to her, a little irritated. “You still talk to that guy? After everything that happened?”

She shrugged. “It really was my fault, after all. Plus, he's brilliant in Arithmancy.”

I sullenly turned towards my plate. “Yeah, brilliant,” I muttered under my breath.

***********

A/N: Next chapter coming soon. Some HBP thoughts ahead, so move along if you haven't read it. Actually, it's odd that I have HBP thoughts since I'm only on page 77 right now, but whatever.

Something must be afoot! You can't say JKR is a horrible writer based on book six when you've said she's a wonderful writer based on five other books. She's said before that she rewrote chunks of book 5 to lay clues…well, there were no clues to H/G or Hr's personality change, so there must be a reason. If we went straight from GoF to HBP, then it'd make more sense, but OotP tells me something else is going on here. I'll wait for JKR's interview with Leaky and Mugglenet before I begin the tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth.

But even if H/Hr doesn't happen by book seven, they have the rest of their lives to get together (assuming they all live). After all, how many relationships that start in high school end up in marriage (excluding my own, two of my best friends, and two other good friends)? How many marriages end in divorce? Looks like H and Hr are just taking a detour on their way towards each other.

Besides, a few of my fics are post-Hogwarts, as are some of the greatest novel-length fanfics (e.g., Lori's POU, Paracelsus' Restitution, Ebony's TiP/PL), and most of them have R/Hr occurring in the past. And if I can still ship Buffy/Angel, then I can certainly ship H/Hr.

I'll no doubt have more thoughts once I actually read the book.

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