The Virtue of Patience

Title: The Virtue of Patience

Author: Goldy

Disclaimer: Still JKR’s. Which is still probably for the best.

A/N: This is the first of five rather short chapters. I wrote this on my livejournal, in response to a request made by Copper and danielerin. Well, sort of. The first chapter was because of Copper, the overall plot is due to danielerin. Hence, the first chapter is a bit of mindless fluff, and the rest of it… isn’t. Confused yet?

Dedication: For Copper and danielerin, for obvious reasons. Especially danielerin, who I’m planning on sending my therapy bills to at a later date.

A/N 2: As a bit of a clarifying point, danielerin’s request would be that Ginny would try, and fail, to break up Harry/Hermione. Now, I’ll freely admit that I’m not a Ginny fan. Do I think that in canon Ginny is evil? No. But if you’re a fan, you might want to skip this one, as she’ll come across as anything but sympathetic here.

“Your feet are cold.”

“All of me is cold.”

“Yes, but why must you leave your feet there?”

“I’m trying to warm them up.”

“By making me cold in the process?”

“You’re whinging again.”

“I do not whinge.”

“You certainly do. ‘Oh, my name is Harry Potter, I do suffer and sacrifice so! How wilt I ever carry on?’”

“Are you quite done?”

“Almost—hold on. ‘I rush headlong into danger, but cannot bear the idea of cold feet! What a terrible life I lead!’”

“Funny.”

“I thought so.”

“Ouch! The hell was that for, Ron?”

“For making me ill to my stomach. Some of us are trying to study, you know.”

Hermione snorted. Loudly.

“Bugger off.”

“Sorry, Ron, can’t move. Frozen in place, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard. Hermione’s feet are cold.”

“See? You whinge.”

“Do not.”

“Hermione, really, how could you forget? Occasionally he even yells.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You know, Harry, Ron’s right. We should be studying.”

“I can’t believe she just said that.”

“Hush, Ron.”

“No, no, we don’t need to study. See, I know all about hypothermia—you’re supposed to huddle naked under a blanket with someone.”

“Harry, I never knew you felt that way about me.”

“Shut up, Ron.”

“Or…”

There was a long moment of silence, as Hermione’s forehead creased into a thoughtful frown.

“I’ve been meaning to take some more hats down to the kitchens… we could get hot cocoa at the same time.”

“Er… would that require moving?”

“Yes, it’s good for you. Gets the blood moving.”

“I think I preferred the blanket idea.”

“Harry!”

“Merlin—I’m coming. No need to get all in a strop about it.”

“Oh, good, I’ll get some silence. Brilliant. Yes, please be off.”

“Well, if you didn’t leave your work for the last minute, you wouldn’t have this problem, Ron.”

“Oi! Harry hasn’t done anything either. Get on his case, not mine.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Harry is coming with me to get hot cocoa.”

“Yeah. So there.”

“You were far less annoying before you started dating Hermione, you know. She, on the other hand, has always been this annoying.”

“Aww, Ron, that was so touching.” Hermione tugged on Harry’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

Dutifully, Harry followed her out of the common room, rubbing his hands together in hopes of returning feeling to his fingers. If possible, the corridors were even colder than Gryffindor Tower.

“Can’t they… I dunno… just turn up the heat or something?”

“Honestly! When are you going to read Hogwarts: A History?”

“Erm… never?”

“There is no central heating system. That’s Muggle technology, Harry. Besides, the castle is far too old to install anything of the sort. Everything is heated by fire and, well, it’s not particularly affective when we have a long cold spell.”

“Is this castle home to the most powerful wizard in existence or not?”

“You can’t just mess with elements. I think it makes perfect sense for Dumbledore to leave things be.”

“Ha!”

“You’re whinging again.”

“I do not whinge.”

They entered the kitchens, which were significantly warmer than the rest of the castle. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the house elves were using magic to keep themselves warm.

Smile bright, Hermione surreptitiously placed her hats down in a pile and nudged them off to the side with her foot. Harry was certain she wasn’t fooling anybody. Most of the elves took one look and immediately backed into a corner.

Hermione looked a little disheartened and Harry put a comforting hand on her arm, glancing around for Dobby.

The house elf was impossible to miss, as he was the only one wearing Hermione’s knitted hats. He beamed at the sight of them, practically tripping over himself in his eagerness to see them.

“It’s Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter has come to visit Dobby in the kitchens!”

“Err… that’s right. Listen, Dobby, I dunno if you’ve been in the rest of the castle recently, but it’s getting awfully cold.”

Dobby seemed to understand. He gestured to the rest of the elves. “Harry Potter, sir, wants hot cocoa!”

There was a flurry of movement and all the elves got to work. In less than a minute, Harry was handed two steaming, re-fillable, un-freezable mugs of hot cocoa. The house elves were all careful to give Hermione a wide birth and Harry could see that she was struggling against discouragement.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Harry said as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. “Tomorrow, if it warms up some… how about if you show me how to knit? We could make them scarves—bet you Dobby would love that.”

She gave a long, suffering sigh. “I don’t think so, Harry.”

“Why not?”

“I know what you’re doing and it’s not working.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Maybe—maybe Ron’s right. Maybe house elves don’t want to be freed. Maybe it’s a waste of time… and—and I’m tired of it. What’s the point?”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“Well, what would you know? ‘Oh, Harry Potter, sir? How can we help you? What can we get you? Can I polish your shoes? Can I bow down at your feet?’”

“Drink some hot cocoa.”

“What?”

“Hot cocoa. C’mon, it’ll make you feel better.”

“I’m not—you’re being ridiculous.”

“Seriously, Hermione. This stuff is really good.”

“Stop it.”

“No—I won’t stop it. This isn’t you. You don’t give up hope, certainly not about S.P.E.W. And you never poke fun at me because of my fame. So… I just think… that you need… some hot cocoa.”

Hermione went silent.

Harry chanced a look at her. She had her arms crossed over her chest and was studying the floor with an intensity that he found mildly unsettling.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “You’re right… it wasn’t fair of me to take my frustration out on you.”

“It’s alright, Hermione. I understand. Believe me.”

“I know.”

“You know something? What you’re doing with S.P.E.W.—I think it’s worth it. I don’t ever want to see you lose hope in it. It’s… who you are. You care… about everything. That’s so important, Hermione.”

She drew in a sharp breath and tugged on his arm to bring him to a stop. “Thank you.” Standing on her tip-toes, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away and smiling. “You taste like cocoa.”

“Imagine.”

She grabbed her mug from his hand and cradled it protectively near her chest. “I like cocoa.”

“I told you it would make you feel better.”

“No, you made me feel better.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t get such a big head about it.”

“Now who’s whinging?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes.”

“I’ll race you back to the common room.”

“I’m not racing.”

“It might be fun.”

“We’ll spill hot cocoa everywhere.”

“So? Re-fillable mugs, remember?”

“Besides—I’m not certain I can move that fast. My feet are rather frozen.”

“Ahh, yes, we’ve been over this.”

“We’re nearly there, anyway. There’s no point in racing.”

“How about we snuggle under a blanket?”

“Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“I’m insulted.”

Hermione smiled and clambered in through the portrait hole, Harry behind her.

“This has been nice, hasn’t it?”

“You mean, it’s been nice and normal, without the darkness of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named interfering?”

She studied him for a moment. “I suppose he’s never far from your mind, is he?”

“No. Not really.”

“I know that you’re afraid of every good thing that happens to you—that there might be a catch. But you can’t live like that, Harry. It’s not healthy.”

“I know. I’m doing my best. Live for the moment, right?”

“Live for the moment. You and me—”

“—and hot cocoa.”

“Yes, that. Of course.”

“I know, Hermione. Really—I do.”

“You know I’m not going anywhere, don’t you?”

“Well, I s’pose if you’ve managed to put up with me this long—you might as well stick around.”

“Might as well.”

“Now—let’s find a blanket. You have cold feet, remember?”

From the entrance to the girls’ dormitories Ginny watched the two of them settle down by the fire. They exchanged a few choice words with her brother before sitting on the couch—close, but not too close.

It was all too impossible.

Harry and Hermione simply did not make a proper couple, Ginny was sure of it. They were best friends. And they were much better suited for each other as best friends than anything more than that.

But Ginny was prepared to wait.

She’d been waiting on Harry for years—patience was her strongest virtue and she was immensely proud of it.

Most importantly, she knew they couldn’t last forever.

When Harry Potter and Hermione Granger decided they were more than friends, the entire world seemed to be watching.

What they saw was a bitter disappointment.

As far as most people could tell, nothing had changed. Harry and Ron never got into a fistfight. The trio still went to Hogsmeade as a trio. Harry and Hermione weren’t prone to showing affection in public. She still nagged him about homework. He still ignored her in favour of playing Quidditch with Ron.

And so, after the initial news broke, gossip quickly died down. Harry and Hermione were simply far too boring.

In Ginny’s opinion, the problem was that Harry and Hermione were much better at being best friends than they were at being a couple.

At first, it had given her hope. Soon they’d admit that they weren’t suited for each other—that they were best friends and nothing more. With it out of their systems, Ginny would give Harry a few weeks to move on before revealing her own feelings for him.

But they never split up.

The longer they went on, the more frustrated Ginny became.

She’s been waiting on Harry for ages. Since she was a little girl she’d known there was something about Harry that set him apart. He was different than other boys his age. He cared. He would do anything for someone else, not because he had to, but merely because it was who he was. Harry’s personality was one that drew others in—that made others desire his respect and attention. Ginny desperately wanted to be the girl he bestowed his attention on.

She tried moving on. But she’d quickly learned through Michael and Dean that most boys were after one thing and one thing only. So she’d been drawn back to Harry, knowing that it would be different with him. Harry cared. He’d respect her—that’s how he was.

It all made sense. After liking him for years, she’d grown out of her earlier infatuation with him. Her feelings for Harry were no longer based on his simple virtue of being The Boy Who Lived. Now she liked him for Harry and Harry alone. Best of all, he was someone who she knew would be accepted into her family without question. Her mother would be delighted. Ron wouldn’t dare give him the third degree—they were best mates, after all.

After Harry got over his crush on Cho Chang, Ginny was certain that it would be easy. They were on the Quidditch team together. He was treating her like a friend—no longer Ron’s little sister. She’d grown into her body and was no longer an awkward, adolescent teenager.

Then they happened.

Harry and Hermione were so good at being discreet about their relationship, Ginny suspected that no one would have suspected anything had Malfoy not caught them snogging when they were supposed to be serving detention for Snape. From that moment on, the rest of the school was determined to catch them at it again.

Harry and Hermione simply did not deny or confirm the rumours that they were together. After a while, most students accepted that they were a couple, left it at that, and returned to more fascinating gossip.

Best friends.

They were best friends—Ginny knew. They lacked that spark, the passion that belonged to other people. They worked better as friends—and it was high time they realized it.

As May dawned, Ginny began to feel the clawing sensation of desperation. Graduation was only a few weeks away.

Ginny was running out of time.

Once Harry left Hogwarts, he would begin training in earnest to fight Voldemort.

Ginny was afraid she wouldn’t see him unless she gave him a reason to. She knew that Harry, Hermione, and her brother were moving into a flat together after they graduated.

Ginny was determined that when that happened, Harry and Hermione would be as they should be.

Friends. Nothing more.

***

“Can I ask you something?”

Ginny shifted in the entrance to Hermione’s Head Girl room, keeping a pleasant smile on her face. Hermione was sitting cross-legged on her bed, bits of parchment and opened books spread out around her.

“Sure,” Hermione said, closing her book and piling her things out of the way to make room for Ginny.

“It’s about Harry,” Ginny said neutrally, watching Hermione’s face for a reaction.

“Harry?” Hermione repeated. “Is he—is everything all right?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Ginny said quickly. “I was just… wondering some things. About you two. I mean, I know you like to keep to yourselves and everything, but…”

“You’re curious?” Hermione said. “Yes, lots of people are.”

“Well, you don’t seem that close,” Ginny said. “And—and I care about both of you. I just—you never talk about these things, Hermione. You should. I know you’re worried about Harry’s fame and—and You-Know-Who, but it’s normal to want to talk about it. So I just thought… I’d ask.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “Well, yes, it is the sort of thing one generally goes on about, isn’t it? I suppose I’ve never felt the need. It’s Harry, my best—”

“Friend,” Ginny finished tiredly. “Yeah, I know.”

Hermione seemed amused. “Alright, if it’s just you. I don’t mind. What would you like to know?”

Ginny grinned. “How far have you gone?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” Hermione muttered. “I’m hardly going to answer that.”

“Is he a good kisser?”

Hermione went pink. “Honestly, Ginny… when you said you wanted to ask me about Harry, I didn’t think it was going to be that!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ then,” Ginny said.

Hermione seemed to relax and she gave a small laugh, focusing all of her attention on Ginny. “I refuse to give you an answer.”

“Okay,” Ginny said, shrugging. She found Hermione’s eyes and dropped her voice. “Do you—do you love him?”

Hermione was silent for a long time and Ginny tensed up, waiting for the answer.

“I think…” Hermione whispered, getting a far-off look in her eyes. “I sometimes think I’ve always loved him. I don’t think I quite remember what it felt like… before.”

“Then how do you know it isn’t just friendship?” Ginny blurted. Realizing what she said, she rushed to explain. “Err… I mean, does that worry you? That because you were friends for so long, you’re confusing it with something else?”

“Goodness, I don’t know,” Hermione said. “But it feels like the most natural thing in the world, what I have with Harry. I imagine that’s due in part to our friendship.”

“Oh,” Ginny muttered. “Do you—do you ever wonder if Harry—”

“Has different feelings for me than I do for him?” Hermione finished, raising her eyebrows. “Of course I do, almost constantly. He’s never said it, you know. Oh, I suspect he does love me and is only restraining himself from saying so out of some misguided belief that if he loses to Voldemort, it will be less painful for me. Daft boy.”

Ginny stared at her clenched hands in her lap, unable to keep looking at Hermione.

He’s never said it, you know.

She took a deep breath. She had to know. She had to understand how they worked.

“If… if Harry ever found someone else… would you be able to let him go?”

At first, Hermione didn’t give her any reaction and Ginny was afraid she wouldn’t answer. Finally, Hermione started worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and Ginny realized that the question had affected her more than she was letting on.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “That’s what love is, isn’t it? Putting someone else’s happiness ahead of your own? If—if Harry was happier with someone else then—then I’d love him enough to let him go.”

“And still be friends?”

Hermione heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, Ginny. It’s a… it’s a rather painful thing for me to think about. Let’s just hope I never have to worry about it.”

A/N: I feel like I should give a bit of a warning before this chapter. Things are going to get angsty for a while. My attempt at having a plot, I suppose. Thanks for everyone’s reviews.

When they had their first fight, Ginny was ready.

She’d been waiting for this moment for six years.

And this wasn’t a mere disagreement—this was a real fight.

A fight that signaled the end.

No one was entirely sure what happened. It had been late at night, but the evidence of it had been clear the next morning.

Harry and Hermione weren’t speaking to each other.

And Ginny’s patience rewarded her in the end.

She’d been there when Harry snuck down from the boys’ dormitories with the Invisibility Cloak and the Maurader’s Map. She was with him when he went to the Three Broomsticks—for the sole purpose of getting pissed.

She sat next to him when he stared forlornly into the shot glass Madam Rosmerta had set down in front of him. She waited by his side—for hours, without speaking, without trying to reach him.

She stayed with him when Hermione had abandoned him.

“Watch out for him, will you?” Madam Rosmerta whispered at one point. “He’s of age, but I’ve never seen him… like this before. What happened?”

Ginny felt a flash of hatred towards Hermione. This was all her fault, after all.

And now Ginny was left to pick up the pieces.

“Oh, you know…” Ginny said. “He’s got a lot of responsibility.”

“Don’t I know it,” Rosmerta muttered.

Ginny gave her a weak smile before turning back to Harry. He was staring at the alcohol in front of him, a befuddled expression on his face.

“I dunno what I did wrong,” he whispered.

It was the first words he’d spoken and Ginny immediately sat up straighter.

She’d been patient.

He needed her now.

“It wasn’t you, Harry,” she said. “You two weren’t meant to be.”

“I s’pose… I always knew this would happen in the end. Nothing good… nothing good in my life ever stays.”

“That’s not true,” Ginny said. I’m still here.

“Of course it’s true! There’s—there’s something wrong with me. I drove her off.”

“You did not,” Ginny said. “This stuff happens. It just… didn’t work out.”

“Hermione needs more,” Harry said softly. “She needs someone that—that won’t die… that can tell her he loves her. Someone who can actually say it. Not me.”

Ginny was left to pick up the pieces.

But she was patient.

Patient Ginny—waiting on Harry Potter for six years.

“Listen to me, Harry,” she said. “Hermione is your best friend. Everyone knows it. You tried being more—it didn’t work.”

His eyes were lost when he turned to look at her.

“You think so?”

She nodded, feeling tears prick the back of her eyes. She didn’t want to have to hurt him like this.

“I’m sorry, Harry. But… maybe it’s good, that you’re learning this now, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I s’pose.”

He nudged his glass with his fingers and sighed. “Probably better this way.”

“Exactly. You’ll find someone else, Harry. I know you will.”

Harry blinked a few times, the same lost look on his face. He put a few galleons down on the counter. “Let’s go back to the castle. You shouldn’t have come out with me—you could get in trouble.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ginny said. “I’ll—I’ll always be here for you, Harry. I promise.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

Ginny remained undaunted.

“Are—are you going to have your drink?”

He gave a weak smile and stood up. “Can’t. I still hear her voice in my head. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

As they made their way towards Honeydukes, Harry stared very hard at the ground, deep in thought.

“I should have told her,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for Ginny to hear. “I should have—every day.”

“Told her what?”

Ginny already knew and Harry didn’t give her an answer. She felt cold inside.

It was killing her to listen to him.

But she wouldn’t leave him. She’d never leave him.

The pale cast of the moon left most of the Hogsmeade shops looking warn and tired in the shadows. Harry was no more than a dark shape next to her and Ginny shifted a little closer to him. For the first time, she realized the danger in them being out late at night.

“Harry? I think it would be a good idea of we thought about getting back.”

Harry looked around him. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure we’re fine,” Ginny said.

“If Hermione knew I was doing this, she’d—” Harry stopped. “Well, I don’t reckon she’d be very happy with me.”

Something in Ginny seemed to snap.

Hermione.

It all came down to Hermione.

Patience.

She was tired of waiting.

“Listen to me, Harry,” Ginny’s voice was calm, and she tugged on his arm so he’d face her. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but you should know. Hermione… she—she doesn’t love you. I’m sorry, Harry. But she doesn’t love you, not like you think she does.”

Despite the darkness, she felt like she was seeing Harry’s face with perfect clarity. Her stomach twisted in guilt at the misery that shined from his eyes.

No.

Ginny set her jaw.

It was better this way.

“She—she doesn’t love me?” he repeated.

Ginny refused to look away. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Are you…” his voice was no more than a whisper. “Are you sure?”

Ginny looked at him for a long time, his eyes begging her to tell him that it wasn’t true. Her nails were digging into the skin of her wrists from her clenched hands.

That’s what love is, isn’t it? Putting someone else’s happiness ahead of your own?

Fucking Hermione.

Ginny knew she was right.

This was the way things were supposed to be.

She would not give in.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure. Hermione does not love you.”

“You can’t know that.”

His desperation was quickly changing to fury, but Ginny refused to back down.

This was right.

This was the way things were supposed to be.

“Of course I know,” she said briskly. “It’s a girl thing. She told me.”

There was a lump gathering in her throat. He couldn’t understand what this was doing to her—hurting him like this.

If Harry was happier with someone else then I’d love him enough to let him go.

That was it—Hermione could live with it, watching Harry with someone else. Hermione was strong enough.

But Ginny wasn’t.

Harry’s eyes had a glazed, defeated look in them. He quickly turned away from her, making his way to Honeydukes.

“Harry,” her voice quivered as she rushed to catch up to him. “I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this. I just thought you should know the truth.”

“It’s fine.”

His voice was emotionless.

“Are—are you in… shock?”

“I’m fine.”

They were silent as Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over them. The only person in Honeydukes was a bored looking clerk, flipping through a magazine behind the counter.

Harry wrenched open the trap door in the cellar, tearing the cloak off once they were in the passage to Hogwarts.

He looked startled by his violence. “Let’s go.”

Ginny nodded, feeling sick from watching his pain.

She was doing the right thing.

Hermione didn’t need him the way she needed him.

Ginny could stand by him in a way Hermione couldn’t.

The right thing.

“Harry… stuff like this happens. You two’ll eventually get past it. She’ll always care about you—you’re her best friend.”

Harry stopped and whirled around. His jaw was clenched tightly. “It’s not that easy! I can’t make what we had go away—I can’t pretend what we had was nothing. I—I drove her away, Ginny. It’s the only… the only thing that makes sense. It was my fault.”

Right thing to do.

Right thing.

“Harry—listen to me carefully. Hermione does not love you. The rest of it—it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t love you.”

Harry flinched and his eyes flickered shut, face screwing up in his attempt to shut out his feelings.

“Stop,” he said. “I know. I’m sorry, Ginny… I just can’t… I can’t take it…”

He swallowed and continued on ahead of her.

He’d never understand what it was doing to her to hurt him like this.

Never understand.

But it was right.

Harry and Hermione’s relationship was crumbling before her, hit hard right at its very foundation.

Harry would need time now—Ginny understood that.

She’d wait for him.

She’d been waiting years—she could wait a bit longer.

Harry would come around—she was sure of it.

Patience was rewarded.

Harry stopped, waiting for her to catch up.

“Ginny… do you think… do you think that—that there’s someone else?” his voice trembled as he finished. He was barely holding himself together.

Ginny felt a pang of victory.

It didn’t matter what she said—his eyes told her that he already believed it.

She’d broken Harry Potter’s faith in Hermione Granger.

Even as Harry awoke, he fought to stay asleep.

He knew as soon as he woke up it would come back—the sick, twisting feeling in his stomach, the burning in his throat, the stinging in his eyes.

The truth.

Hermione does not love you.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, half expecting to see Ginny in front of him.

I didn’t want to have to tell you this.

She does not love you.

Hermione does not love you.

For a moment, Harry couldn’t breathe. All the air seemed to get caught in his lungs until his chest hurt. He rolled on his side, letting out a huge sigh that seemed to echo around the dormitory.

The rest of the boys were long gone. Harry was thankful that they knew enough to leave him alone.

Boys never knew quite what to do in situations like this.

“You’re cutting yourself off, Harry. Don’t you see? You’re pulling away. I know you think you need to, but that’s not the way. That’s not the way to defeat Voldemort!”

“What the bloody hell would you know about it? Your name wasn’t plastered all over some fucking prophecy before you were born! You have no idea what I might have to do to defeat him.”

“Live for the moment! Don’t you remember any of that? We don’t know what’s going to happen, we can’t predict the future, but we have today… we always have today.”

“This isn’t about us! This is about me and Voldemort, so stop acting like my life is yours to control!”

“I’m not trying to control you! I need more from you!”

“And I need to be ready!”

Seven years of friendship and it had been the worst fight they’d ever had. The last thing he remembered was leaving her in tears as he’d stormed away.

He thought things were salvageable.

She does not love you.

A sort of panicked despair clung to him and he stared at his dormitory, so very familiar in its shapes, and could barely see it all. Without Hermione’s love, he wasn’t sure what he had left.

He dragged himself to the window, feeling slow and lethargic. Outside, the grounds were quickly changing to summer. Flowers and green grass dotted the landscape and leaves were breaking out on the trees.

His seventh-year Care of Magical Creatures class was walking back from Hgarid’s hut. Ron and Hermione were the last to reach the castle, hanging behind the others and whispering frantically with each other.

Normally, Harry would be with them. The three of them always hung back from the rest of the students, content to remain in their trio. Neville once commented that it was the most maddening thing—trying to break into their friendship.

She’s your best friend.

Best friend.

You tried being more—it didn’t work out.

No—Harry couldn’t go back. The idea of being around Hermione and knowing her feelings didn’t run as deep as he once thought left him feeling cold and sick.

If he didn’t have to see her, he could pretend.

If didn’t have to see her, he could still hope.

***

“Hey, mate.”

Ron stood awkwardly in the dormitory, feeling stupid.

This stuff did not fall under his area of expertise.

But he was worried and Hermione was worried and Harry had a tendency to either take off or start yelling when he was upset—so Ron had little choice but to try and talk to him.

“Hi,” Harry said. He was sitting on his bed, back leaning against the wall and arms slung around his knees. “What’s going on?”

“You, er… skived off all your classes today.”

“I know.”

“You, uh… coming back tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

“You haven’t eaten anything in a while.”

“I don’t care.”

Ron sighed and sat down next to him. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“No.”

“Fine.” Ron waited a moment. “Hermione’s worried about you.”

“I doubt that.”

Ron snorted. “What are you? Mental? Worrying about is one of Hermione’s favourite things to do—right behind homework, chasing after house elves, and irritating the hell out of me.”

Ron waited for a reaction—he didn’t get one.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Ron paused. “I mean, you had a row… it happens. Hermione and I have been getting in rows since the day we met. Go talk to her—you’ll get passed it.”

“It’s not like that,” Harry said. “I can’t—I can’t see her. You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t,” Ron said. “This isn’t like you—hiding out like a coward.”

“Go away, Ron.”

Ron swallowed. He had no idea what to say. His role when it came to comforting Harry had always been that of distraction. A game of Quidditch, exploding snap, chess. The emotional stuff had always been Hermione’s job.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Harry said, voice a whisper. “Magic. I can’t do anything. I tried. But nothing’s working. No matter how simple the spell.”

Ron sat up straighter. “What?”

“I dunno what’s wrong with me,” he said. “But I tried earlier… and I can’t.”

“You can’t do magic?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it… is it because of the fight you had with Hermione?”

“Sort of,” he mumbled. “Ron… if I can’t do magic… how can I…”

“Defeat You-Know-Who?”

Harry nodded. “I just can’t focus on it… it’s like there’s nothing there to—to use…” Harry sounded frustrated. “It’s hard to explain.”

Ron was at a loss. “Maybe we should talk to someone about this, Harry. It’s serious, don’t you think? Dumbledore… or… or…”

“Hermione?” Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to bother her with something this stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“I’m sure it’s only temporary,” Harry said, not sounding like he particularly cared. “It’ll come back. And I’ll be able to fight Voldemort. Don’t worry.”

Harry didn’t say anything else, just stared ahead with a lost, empty look in his eyes.

To say Ron was disturbed would be putting it mildly.

**

Hermione hated it when she fought with Harry. It rarely happened, but when it did, it was as though they were exploding and unable to control the emotions bursting out of them.

Fighting with Ron she did every day—constantly, without even realizing it. It was normal. It was how they communicated.

Fighting with Harry left her crying and miserable.

Three days.

They hadn’t spoken in three days. And today, he hadn’t even bothered to go to class.

It worried her. She knew how Harry was. He was hurting. And when he was hurt, he retreated into himself. He pushed others away—while at the same time hating being left alone.

But it had to be something more than their fight. He wouldn’t skive off classes and skip meals… not if it had just been a fight. It had to be something more.

She pushed her uneaten dinner off to the side, feeling tears sting her eyes.

She couldn’t do it anymore.

She had to see him.

Making that decision made her feel better. That was how she was—she needed direction. She needed a goal, something to shoot for.

She needed Harry.

She’d come to depend on their relationship in ways that caused her physical pain when they were apart. It was the small things she missed, the things that everyone looked for and always failed to see.

The roll of his eyes when Ron descended on a meal like a crazed dog. The slight touch of his hand on her arm when they passed Malfoy in the hall. Him sitting quietly next to her for hours in the library—not speaking, not touching, just being there because she was. His company when she did her Head Girl rounds because he worried when she was alone. The way he’d touch her knee or brush his hand over her hair when they were doing homework—small gestures that told her he cared.

Three days.

Three days and she couldn’t stand the idea of being without him.

Some part of her had hoped that he’d make the first move towards reconciliation.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter if she feared her feelings ran deeper than his. He was still hers.

She was on her way out of the Great Hall when she ran into Ginny.

“Hermione!” she said. “You’re exactly who I wanted to talk to!”

“Oh, hi, Ginny.” Hermione fought impatience. “I’m sorry, can we talk later? I—I have to do something important.”

“Er… I guess… I just, I wanted to see how you were doing.” Ginny peered into her face anxiously. “Especially after we talked… you must be feeling awful. I can’t believe Harry’s purposely avoiding you… it’s such an insult to your relationship.”

Hermione stared. “He’s… Harry’s avoiding me?”

Ginny looked horrified. “Oh… you thought… you thought it was because he was—”

“Hurting,” Hermione whispered. “I didn’t… he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny moaned, eyes wide. “After what you told me the other day, I just thought…. Oh, I thought you knew. I can’t even imagine what this must be like. After suspecting that he didn’t hold the same feelings you did—Hermione, I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Hermione felt as though the floor had been pulled out from under her. Here it was—her greatest fear.

Harry could never love her the way she loved him.

She’d worried over it for years. She’d agonized over it during his crush on Cho Chang, during years that he’d never shown any kind of feelings for her beyond friendship. She felt it everyone time she looked in the mirror and a bushy haired, bookworm stared back at her. Why would Harry want her when he could have so many girls? Girls who were prettier and more athletic and…

No.

Hermione clamped down on her self-doubts, pushing them to the furthest corner of her mind where they belonged.

She wouldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it until she looked into Harry’s eyes and she heard him reject her.

Hopeful, her mind whispered. Thinking with your heart.

But she had no reason to believe Harry didn’t want her.

Not when his actions over the last year told her over and over that he cared for her.

That he loved her.

“You must be so upset right now,” Ginny said. Hermione’s eyes snapped to the girl in front of her—she’d completely forgotten Ginny was still there. “I can’t believe he let you think for so long he—no, I shouldn’t say it. I… can I get you something? I’m here for you, Hermione. If you need me, I’m here.”

Hermione forced herself to swallow past the hurt. Strong. She was strong.

“I think I should go talk to him.”

“No!” Ginny said. “No. He doesn’t want to see you. Trust me. Stay away.”

“I—”

“Hermione!”

Ron skidded to a halt in front of her, looking pale.

“Ron… goodness… what’s going on?”

“It’s Harry,” he said, agitated. “I dunno what you did to him, but he’s in bad shape. For the love of Merlin, go talk to him. I know you’re both right stubborn when you put your minds to it, but he needs you—”

Hermione didn’t listen to the rest.

She was already on her way.

My heart is yours to fill or burst,
to break or bury, or wear as jewelry,
whichever you prefer.
-Hands Down, Dashboard Confessional

Hermione entered the seventh-year boys’ dormitory full of purpose—she would talk to Harry and they would work things out, like they always did. So sure of herself, she was momentarily stunned when she found it empty. Disappointment flooded through her and she blinked back tears of frustration.

She grit her teeth, reminding herself to keep it together. It would be no use falling apart now, not when it was essential that she remain calm. She would stay where she was until Harry came back. They had to talk—one way or another.

She sat down on Harry’s bed, clasping her hands together in her lap. She peered around the dormitory, unsurprised to find that the boys were complete slobs. Ron had clothes and parchment flung on his bed, Neville had a variety of objects piled in a mess, and Dean and Seamus’s area was in a similar state of disarray. Only Harry showed any kind of neatness, something Hermione suspected was left over from the Dursleys.

Thinking of Harry caused her chest to tighten and she squeezed her eyes shut. She could smell him, his scent clinging to his sheets. She felt like he was near and she slowly opened her eyes, realization dawning on her.

The dormitory was still empty.

“Harry?” she whispered.

Nothing.

“Harry… please, I know you’re here. I just want to talk. I… Ron said you weren’t doing well.”

Nothing.

“I miss you,” she said. “I hate this—not speaking.”

Hermione bit her lip, eyes passing over the empty room.

“If—if it’s because you don’t want me anymore… then—then I understand. Just tell me that… don’t hide, not from me…”

Hermione trailed off, Harry had appeared in front of her, clutching the invisibility cloak in his hands.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Harry…” she whispered, thrown off by the sight of him. She fought the urge to reach out to him and she kept her hands held tightly together in her lap.

“Yeah?” he said. “What do you want?”

“I… I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t,” he said flatly.

Hermione fought against the tears in her eyes. He seemed so… different. Cold and withdrawn.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yes!” he said. “Just… go, will you? I can’t do this now. You can’t expect to just… just… come here and make everything better! Talking isn’t going to help anything. I just need to be left alone!”

“Ron said you needed me.”

“Ron was wrong,” Harry snapped. “Go the fuck away, Hermione. I can’t deal with you being here.”

She nodded, throat too tight to speak. Harry wasn’t looking at her—hadn’t once since she’d come to speak to him. He was studying the wall above her head, body rigid.

Hermione felt like she was standing at the top of a steep hill. If she did or said the wrong thing, their entire relationship would go crashing to the bottom.

“That’s it, then?” she said and her voice trembled. “That’s it—everything is over? Because—because of one fight?”

“Of course not!” he said. “You know exactly why things are over. I can’t do it, okay? I can’t deal with it! I can’t even look at you.”

She flinched, feeling something inside her ache. A tear slid down her cheek and the sight of it only seemed to anger Harry further.

“Don’t pretend like you care!” he yelled. “I know you don’t. So leave. Please—just—leave.”

Startled, Hermione stared at him. He seemed dangerously close to the edge. “Why are you saying these things to me?” she whispered.

Something in her voice had him looking at her and his eyes seemed to soften at the sight of her tears. He swallowed with difficulty, backing up another step. “Because—because…” he faltered for a moment, looking lost and vulnerable. “I’m trying to keep myself from going mad. It’s too difficult… having you here.”

Her own pain seemed to disappear in the face of his, and she was approaching him before she’d even realized she’d moved. He looked trapped at the sight of her coming closer to him.

“Harry,” she said. “Why… why did you just say that?”

He looked anguished. “Hermione, go away. It’s too hard… having you here…”

“Just… answer me something,” she said. “Are you angry with me because you don’t… you don’t care about me anymore?”

“Of course not!” he said hoarsely. “It’s you who doesn’t love me!”

His words left her frozen in place. Their eyes met and realization seemed to dawn on both of them at the same time.

“You mean…” Hermione said. “You thought that I… and I thought you… Oh, Harry…”

“You don’t… I mean, you still…” Harry stopped, looking pleading.

“Of course I love you!” Hermione said, laughing through her tears. “How could you even… Harry, the way I feel about you…”

“Really?” he said. “You’re not just saying that?”

“Honestly!” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Whatever gave you the ridiculous notion that I didn’t?”

Harry’s mouth bobbed open and Hermione could see the change in him as her words sunk in. His eyes brightened and his entire body seemed to slump with relief.

“I thought…”

“I know…”

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “I can’t take it if you’re not.”

She felt a wave of sadness, disappointed that he could lose faith in her—in them that easily.

But it was Harry, and that’s who he was—always believing himself to be unworthy of love. And he was staring at her with a mix of desperation and hope that had a lump gathering in her throat.

“Harry, I love you in all the ways it’s possible to love another person—I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

She wanted to ask him how he could doubt that—how he could ever doubt that. But before she could get the words out, he had his arms around her, holding her tighter than she’d ever been held in her life. He pressed his face to her neck and she felt him tremble once, violently, but she held on to him and slowly he began to relax.

All she could think was that he needed comfort—he heard her words, but it would be a long time before he’d truly allow himself to believe them. It tore at her to think about what he must have gone through—thinking that she didn’t love him.

They slipped to their knees, but held on. She couldn’t think to do anything but whisper her love into his ear over and over again.

He’d given it up so easily and she knew it would be so much more difficult for him to believe he had it back.

So she held him and stroked his hair and whispered to him, swearing to herself that she’d never let him doubt her love again.

***

“One more hall?”

“One more hall.”

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during her Head Girl rounds. He knew they were both still trying to recover from the emotional strain of the last few days, but it wasn’t like her to be so silent.

“Classroom check,” she said, tugging on his hand.

Harry stopped. “Can I do it?”

She gave him a look of exasperation. “Honestly, you haven’t let me do a single spell this evening. I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. I am Head Girl, after all—I’m supposed to do it.”

“I know… it’s just…” Harry paused. “When I thought you didn’t… well, you know…” Hermione nodded and Harry continued. “I lost my ability to do magic. All of it… it was like all my power just disappeared. So I s’pose now… being able to do it again…”

“I understand,” she whispered.

Harry blushed. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“Of course it’s not stupid!” she said. She smiled and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I think it makes perfect sense.”

Harry felt rather lightheaded as she pulled away, suddenly forcibly reminded that it had been a very long time since they’d shared a proper kiss.

“Well, go on, then,” Hermione said, gesturing to the classroom.

“Right.” Harry opened the door, Hermione hovering behind him. He cleared his throat. “Lumos!”

He couldn’t quite help his twinge of pride at seeing his wand light up on command.

“Well?”

“It’s empty,” Harry said, shining the light around the room.

“Good.”

Harry turned back around, startled to find that Hermione had shut the door.

“Er…”

“Privacy, you know,” she said.

“Right,” Harry said. “Good point.”

“Thought so.”

“Do you lock the Head Boy into empty classrooms when you do rounds with him?”

Hermione took a step closer to him. “No. Just you.”

“That’s reassuring.”

She took another step closer.

“Besides, the Head Boy is Ernie Macmillan.”

“Also a valid point.”

She reached him and placed her fingers on his mouth to shush him. He closed his eyes and after a moment, her lips replaced her fingers in a kiss that was soft and gentle. He moved closer to her and the feel of her body against his own had him deepening the kiss. Her lips parted for him and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, aching to taste her.

Her arms encircled his neck and she pulled away, face so close to his that he could feel the warm puff of her breath. “I love you. I’ll say it every day, if that’s how long it takes for you to believe me.”

Having her so close to him was driving him crazy so he pressed his lips to her forehead, then the tip of her nose. He kissed the corner of her mouth and she smiled.

“I love you, Harry,” she said again.

His heart was pounding so hard, Harry was certain she could hear it. The doubt still clung to him, and it was difficult for him to shake away the gnawing despair he’d felt only a couple days ago.

But she was here.

She was with him, arms wrapped around his neck, lips inches away. She was with him and seemed determined to prove her words.

“I—I love you too, Hermione,” he said—finally. She drew in a breath, hardly looking like she believed him. “And… all that stuff, that we were fighting about? I reckon you were right. I can’t cut myself off. I can’t… I can’t do this without you. I’ve never felt worse than I did when I thought I’d lost you. Voldemort could’ve finished me off in a second, if he’d wanted. So… I just thought… you should know.”

His only answer was her mouth crushing his.

**

A half hour later they emerged from the classroom, clothing slightly more rumpled than when they’d gone in, hair sticking up in all directions, and lips tender and swollen.

Harry was grinning as they walked back to Gryffindor tower.

“I got you to snog in an empty classroom.”

“You did not! Other way around, more like.”

“Well—whatever. It was still brilliant.”

“Was rather nice, wasn’t it?”

“‘Nice?’ I’m injured.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.”

“I’m a bloke, you know. We’re sensitive about these things.”

“Obviously.” Hermione shook her head. “I give detentions for what we just did.”

“You should abuse your power more often.”

“I’m shocked that you think so.”

They trailed off into a comfortable silence as they climbed the staircase. Harry marveled at how different it felt, merely accompanying her on her rounds—something he’d done hundreds of times in the past. But their relationship seemed more stable, somehow. He felt a confidence in it that had never been there before. There was hope for the future—hope that they could survive what was coming.

“Harry?” her voice was hesitant and he immediately felt a sense of unease. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you think that I didn’t love you? Not that I’m accusing you of anything, but if you believed everything that someone said about our relationship…”

“I know,” Harry said heavily. “It… it was Ginny actually.”

“Ginny?’

“Yeah.” Harry paused, thinking. “I’m sure it was just a mistake. I s’pose I figured she’d know what she was talking about. Guess not.”

“Ginny?” Hermione said again, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s… strange…”

Harry frowned at her. “What is it?”

Hermione shook her head and smiled warmly. “Oh… just thinking. It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

***

Ginny Weasley was patient.

She’d been waiting for six years.

She could wait a little longer.

She may have lost this round. She accepted it. But it wasn’t over.

Ginny Weasley had been waiting for six years.

She would not give up.

“Ginny.”

Ginny looked up, startled to find Hermione in the entrance to her dormitory. Ginny glanced around, uneasy to find that the rest of the girls were gone. Ginny felt a flash of worry, but she smiled warmly, trying to look politely puzzled.

Hermione stepped into the dormitory, shutting the door behind her. Hefting her chin, she said, “Let’s talk.”

“I’m busy at the moment.”

Hermione’s gaze was piercing. “Don’t bother, Ginny. We both know why I’m here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hermione spoke deliberately. “You will not go near him again. You will not speak to him again.”

Ginny felt a flash of anger. “You have no right,” she hissed. “You can’t control him. He’s not yours. Don’t you understand that?”

“No, Ginny, it’s you who doesn’t understand.”

It was maddening the way Hermione was standing there—calm and collected. She should be worried—angry—upset.

Harry didn’t belong to Hermione.

“The one thing Harry had,” Hermione said. “The one thing he could count on was that I loved him. And you took that way from him. You took that way from him and that is unforgivable.”

“He’s not yours,” Ginny said. “He doesn’t belong to you.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “It doesn’t matter, Ginny. It doesn’t matter. He had my love and he never had to doubt that. And you took that way from him. I will not allow you to do so again.”

Ginny hated her.

She hated the way Hermione stood in front of her, chin hefted and wand out. She thought she was superior. She thought she was better.

She was wrong.

Hermione didn’t love Harry the way she did.

Everything Ginny had done had been out of love.

“I love him too,” Ginny said, feeling tears prick her eyes.

Six years.

She’d been waiting for six years.

And she still didn’t have him.

“You don’t understand,” Ginny said. “I did what I had to! You two don’t belong together! You’re best friends—you’re only best friends!”

Hermione was unmoved.

“You have no comprehension of what love is, Ginny.”

Her eyes were full of pity.

Ginny hated her.

“You made a mistake,” Hermione continued. “I don’t care about what you did to me, but I will not tolerate you purposely hurting Harry. You know what he grew up with. You know how little he thinks of himself. You used that. You struck him where it would be most painful.” Hermione paused to let her words sink in. “And you failed. Harry never turned to you. He never will, Ginny. Harry loves me—me, Hermione Granger, best friend and bookworm. It will never be you.”

Ginny was breathing very fast.

“I’ll wait,” she said. “I’ll wait for him.”

“You’ll be waiting forever, then,” Hermione snapped. She shook her head. “I hoped you’d feel… something…. Guilt, shame, remorse… anything.”

“I did what I had to!” Ginny cried. “Do you think it was easy for me? To hurt him that way? It wasn’t! But I had to! It would have been better in the long run. I’m sure of it. You don’t love him like I do.”

“No,” Hermione said. “And I never want to, either.” She pursed her lips, looking smug and oh-so-superior.

Hermione Granger always thought she was so much better than everyone else.

“Harry and Ron don’t know what you did,” she said. “And I’m not going to tell them, Ginny. Ron, because he’s your brother and I don’t want him to feel like he has to chose. Harry… because he thinks you’re his friend. And he has so few of those. I can’t take that away from him. But I know, Ginny. I know exactly what you tried to do. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget that when you see me, when you see Harry. You will never break us up, Ginny.”

Ginny was shaking with suppressed rage.

Smug. Superior. Haughty.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “No, I can’t. But you will stay away from Harry, I assure you.”

Hermione turned to go.

Tears of frustration and anger gathered in Ginny’s eyes.

Hate. Oh, yes. She hated Hermione Jane Granger—always thinking she was superior to everyone else.

“You think you’re better than me.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Hermione said, one hand on the doorknob. She smiled sweetly at Ginny over her shoulder. “I know I’m better.”

The End