Fancies, Friendship and Feelings

Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR etc etc. Only borrowing her world and her characters for fun. (Oh and the Scribe and Parchment is my invention.)

A/N: Written as an attempt to work in JKR’s quote that there is something going on between Ron and Hermione only Ron, boy-like, doesn’t realize it yet—as well as the prediction that Harry’s going to go on a date with a Quidditch team-mate (since I don’t think Cho counts since she’s not on the Gryffindor team). (Plus, I wanted to take pot-shots at H/G…)

For danielerin—in honor of her birthday and because it was inspired by her wonderful fic, “Unresolved”.

Fancies, Friendship and Feelings

It was now or never.

Ron swallowed, wishing he didn’t suddenly feel as if he’d swallowed ten golden snitches.

He had to ask now while they were alone, before Harry got back from his Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore. He knew from experience that after Harry got back, Hermione wouldn’t have any attention left for anything else.

He cleared his throat. “Er, Hermione, can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” she asked automatically, not looking up from her parchment where she was steadily writing what looked like an Arithmancy essay from the complicated-looking diagrams she’d drawn and the fact that her Arithmancy textbook was open in front of her.

This was Hermione, just Hermione. Why was this so hard? This was only Hermione- and yes, he rather fancied her but she was still his friend.

He fancied Hermione. He wasn’t exactly sure why (and Merlin knew he’d been thinking about it often enough) but he did. It had taken him long enough to realize it too, he reckoned, considering it’d probably begun back in 4^th year or so. (Realizing part of the reason he’d hated Krum was one of those hit-by-a-Bludger moments: He fancied Hermione. Bloody hell, he fancied Hermione!! But- but- she was- was just- Hermione! He couldn’t fancy her; she was his friend and- and- she could be really bossy and annoying! But she’d gotten to be really rather pretty- her smile made his stomach feel funny and Merlin’s ghost but when had Hermione started to have a- well, a figure and looking like a, well, a girl… And her legs… Oh sod it! He did fancy Hermione...)

Not that his wayward thoughts about Hermione’s smile or figure or legs or—sod it, there he went again-- made this any easier. If anything they made it harder.

Go on then, spit it out. It’s only Hermione…

Only Hermione; it wasn’t as if she were some sort of Blast-Ended Skrewt…

Although, a little voice in the back of his mind suggested un-helpfully, she could be about as intimidating as a Blast-Ended Skrewt when she was really angry about something, her eyes flashing, her wand out and her voice rising with that dangerous note…

He swallowed hard. Don’t think about that. It’s only Hermione…

“Wannagothogsmeadewime?” he blurted out in one breath.

“What?”

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade on Saturday?” he repeated, forcing himself to speak slower.

She still didn’t look up as she answered rather absently, “Of course. Don’t I always go to Hogsmeade with you and Harry?”

His stomach seized up as the golden snitches he seemed to have swallowed all went mad with their fluttering. “No- I mean- that’s not what I meant. I meant- will you go to Hogsmeade with me- like on a date,” the last four words coming out so fast they sounded like one word, desperately.

Now she looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise- and something he couldn’t identify. “A- a date? With you?”

He nodded.

An odd expression crossed her face. “But what about Harry?”

Ron blinked. “What about Harry? What does he have to do with this?”

Hermione sighed. “We can’t just leave him alone. It wouldn’t be fair. Especially not now. And it’ll be the first time he’s going to Hogsmeade since, well, Sirius.” (None of them had gone on the first Hogsmeade visit of the year back in October because the Order had heard some vague rumors, that turned out to be unfounded thankfully, that Death Eaters were planning an attack on Hogsmeade. So they’d stayed behind though most of the rest of the school still went- accompanied, though most didn’t realize it, by members of the Order as protection just in case.)

He sighed, deflating a little bit. She was right though he hadn’t stopped to think about that before. He’d been too nervous over the entire idea of asking Hermione out to spare a thought for Harry’s reaction. But they couldn’t leave Harry alone…

Then he brightened. “We wouldn’t be leaving him alone. He can go to Hogsmeade with Ginny since she’s not going out with Dean anymore.”

“Oh,” Hermione said slowly. “Well, I guess, if Harry—and Ginny—don’t mind… then yes, I’ll go to Hogsmeade with you, Ron.”

He grinned, his nervousness abruptly vanishing in the heady relief that she’d said yes. “Brilliant!”

“Yeah,” Hermione said although without much enthusiasm.

Ron ignored that and grinned at her as he settled back in his armchair, beginning to read Flying with the Cannons for what had to be the thousandth time.

Hermione made a disapproving noise and he looked up. “What?”

“Honestly, Ron, shouldn’t you be doing your homework? I know you’ve read that before. Have you even started the Transfiguration essay due on Friday?”

He blinked. “No but it’s only Monday! I’ve got loads of time to work on that.”

She didn’t look pleased at his dismissing Transfiguration and for a moment looked like she was going to go into her ‘it’s never too early to start working’ speech but stopped herself. “Then what about Charms? You know we’re being tested on the Listening Charm on Wednesday.”

He shrugged. “I’ll practice when Harry gets back then.”

Hermione frowned but gave up, returning her attention to her Arithmancy. She refrained from saying that Harry was always exhausted after Occlumency lessons (though they were never quite as draining as they had been with Snape last year) and most likely would simply go straight up to bed.

It was just a little while before Harry entered the Common Room, looking, Hermione noticed immediately, rather pale and weary, and threw himself into the armchair next to her and across from Ron.

“How did Occlumency go, Harry?” she asked.

“Fine,” he answered, as always.

She frowned slightly, bending forward so she could see his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he said with a half-sigh and then tried to smile, reassuringly. “Dumbledore said I’m doing better.”

“Well, that’s good then!” Ron said, a shade too brightly. “Say, Harry, I- er- I want to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Well, I- er- I asked Hermione to go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday and she said yes so I was thinking you could ask Ginny to go with you,” Ron said very quickly.

Harry stiffened noticeably, an odd expression Hermione couldn’t quite read crossing his face as he glanced from Ron to her. “Oh,” he said rather lamely.

Harry glanced back and forth between his two best friends, noting Ron’s half-eager, half-tentative expression and Hermione’s slight blush and the way she was avoiding his eyes. Why was he surprised at this? He’d suspected for a while now- since 4^th year to be honest- that Ron fancied Hermione. It was about time he finally asked her on a real date. Then why did it suddenly feel as if the Common Room didn’t have enough air in it and a stone had dropped into the pit of his stomach?

But if this was what they wanted- what Hermione wanted- he’d let them go. Of course he would. He’d even be happy for them. Merlin knew anything to make life happier for any of them was more than welcome.

“That’s great,” he said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice as he quickly manufactured a smile and put it on. “I- er- yeah, I’ll ask Ginny if she- er- wants to come.” He managed another, brighter smile. After all, he knew Ginny, even liked her. She had become a friend, was one of the core members of the DA. “That should be fun.”

Ron grinned again. “Brilliant. I-”

Harry interrupted whatever Ron had been about to say. “Sorry but I think I’m just going to head to bed now.” He turned to Hermione. “Will you help me with the Listening Charm tomorrow?”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione smiled and then sobered. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah,” he answered lightly enough. “See you later,” he said to Ron before vanishing up the stairs to the 6^th year boys dormitory.

~*~*~

Hermione spent the rest of the week half-guiltily hoping that there’d be a blizzard or something on Saturday that would make a convenient reason not to go since the carriages couldn’t struggle through if the snow was too deep. But no, Saturday turned out to be one of those bright winter days with clear blue skies, although a rather biting wind.

Harry and Ginny had gotten into a carriage ahead of them and she saw them walking off, talking comfortably with Neville and Luna, it seemed to her, and she had to stifle a sigh before forcing a smile as she turned to Ron. “Where do you want to go first?”

“Honeydukes, of course. And then, Zonko’s. I’m out of Dungbo--” he cut himself off as she began to frown and finished lamely, “I- er- just want to get some stuff Fred and George asked for in their last owl.” He paused, glancing at her. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want to go to Honeydukes too- my parents really love those Tooth-flossing Stringmints so I wanted to get more of them for Christmas. And then, I think I want to get more ink and another quill at Scrivenshaft’s.”

“Great. Honeydukes it is, then,” Ron grinned and they walked there.

Hermione broke the brief silence that had fallen by saying, “It seems like Harry’s doing better these days. He’s stopped going off alone as much.”

“Yeah. He is. He’s stopped blowing up at everyone so much too.”

“Has he,” she hesitated slightly and then continued, “has he said much about Sirius to you?”

“No, but then I haven’t asked either. I don’t reckon it’s good to be asking him about Sirius all the time.”

“But he needs to talk!” she burst out and then stopped as some people passing by glanced curiously at her. She went on in a lowered voice as Ron opened the door to Honeydukes for her. “You know it isn’t good for him to keep brooding about it alone. He wants to talk about Sirius; I’m sure of it.”

Ron shrugged. “He’ll talk when he’s ready, Hermione. Don’t worry.”

Hermione looked rather dissatisfied with that conclusion but subsided and they actually managed to have a good time in Honeydukes. Ron was grinning widely when they left. Now it was beginning to feel more like an actual date. Just him and Hermione talking and sometimes laughing…

And she hadn’t said anything about Harry in the last twenty minutes or so since they’d been in Honeydukes.

Except when she’d wondered several times what Harry and Ginny were doing or when she’d wondered whether Harry would rather have Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizbees or Bertie Botts’ Every Flavoured Beans for Christmas… Or…

But then he frankly realized he’d stopped listening to half of what she said. It was a habit to tune her out when she began talking. At least now she had stopped, seemed content to just walk.

But he had managed to make her laugh! That was a good sign. See, this whole date thing wasn’t such a bad idea, he told himself encouragingly.

He glanced at Hermione as they headed further down the High Street towards Zonko’s, having one of his occasional moments of realizing that Hermione really was pretty now, especially with her cheeks pink from the wind.

He glanced down at her hand, swinging as she walked, and wondered what she would do if he tried to hold it.

Dared he?

He glanced at her face again. She was smiling still, looked happy enough…

Oh, sod it. He was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he?

He reached out to grab her hand and she stopped short, turning to stare at him.

“Ron! What do you think you’re doing?”

He let go of her hand wondering if he could make it seem like an accident. “Sorry. I-er- I thought I saw something on your hand and was going to brush it off,” he said lamely.

She stared at him, obviously not believing him for a moment.

Sod Gryffindor bravery. All it’s done is make her think I’m an idiot. Or worse.

He forced a grin, trying desperately to distract her and then saw it. The perfect distraction. “Let’s go into The Scribe and Parchment. You must have some books you want to buy.”

She immediately brightened up and he let out a sigh of relief that his earlier mistake had apparently been forgotten. “Oh, yes, I do. I even have a list with me, I think,” she said, slipping her hand into her pocket and pulling out a piece of parchment. “Oh, yes, here it is.” She hesitated the barest moment. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I’ve been thinking of getting a book for Mum for Christmas anyway.” he said with complete untruthfulness and trying to sound enthusiastic about the prospect of spending Merlin only knew how much time in a bookstore with Hermione. I think I’d rather have tea with Aragog and all his children, thanks.

But it was only a little while. She had a list. How long could it take? And then they could go to Zonko’s. And then the Three Broomsticks. Merlin knew he’d never felt more in the need for some butterbeer in his life. Was dating supposed to be this- this- difficult?

He could stay in a bookstore for a little while. To make her happy. Right?

Thirty minutes later, Ron was about willing to turn his wand on himself with the Killing Curse.

Only he couldn’t. He didn’t have a hand free to even get to his wand, stuck in his pocket now. He didn’t have a hand free to do anything in fact. He’d been idiot enough to volunteer to hold her books for her (when she’d been holding four books) and she’d given him a brilliant smile of thanks that for a moment made him feel like he’d just defeated a dragon single-handedly—but that had been nearly twenty minutes and eight books ago.

He made a mental note that anyone who wrote books or even thought about writing books should be taken out and killed. Immediately. There were already far too many books in this world, let alone this bookstore.

He glanced down at the stack of books he was holding. Dark Magic- and How to Protect Yourself: New Edition. Better Safe than Sorry: A Guide to Protection Charms. The Rise and Fall of Grindelwald: New and Unabridged edition.

And so it went. Hermione seemed to be starting a personal library collection of every book in print on Defense Against the Dark Arts and the history of the Dark Arts.

She added another book to the stack. You Can Survive Anything: Combinations of Basic Spellwork, Volume 4.

He resisted the impulse to drop all the books and pretend they had gotten too heavy for him to carry. He was going to be sainted for this, he bloody well knew it. Saint Ronald Weasley.

“Er, Hermione, almost done?” he finally asked after what seemed like ten years but was really just over 10 minutes.

“Just a minute, I want to check something.”

Ron was almost ready to swear that he’d somehow died and stepped into some horrible hell dimension where he was stuck in a bookstore that stretched over the face of the earth when finally, Hermione smiled at him as she added yet another two books to the stack. “I’m done now. Just let me check out.”

Oh thank the Fates.

And so he waited, pasting a patient smile on his face, as Hermione checked out and calmly proceeded to spend enough money on books to buy one of the cheaper brooms or several year’s worth of Chocolate Frogs. She really was mental. Completely barking mad. To spend so much money on books when Merlin knew she had access to plenty of them in the Hogwarts library.

He finally ventured a question as they walked out of the store, Hermione smiling quite cheerfully as she carried one of the bags of books, while he carried the other (which had, thank Merlin, been charmed to be very light). “Hermione, um, what are all these books for? Doesn’t the Hogwarts library have enough books?”

She turned to stare at him as if he’d just asked her what year it was or some other equally obvious question. “They’re for Harry,” she said in the same tone of disbelief.

“I- ah, hate to break this to you but Harry might not want so many books. He’s not- like you,” he added, biting back the word, “mental” which he’d been tempted to add before the “like you”.

“Honestly, Ron! Don’t be such a gudgeon! I meant, they’re to help me help Harry, to protect him. I’m worried about him,” she added, her tone softening.

Of course. Harry. It was always Harry. Harry sodding Potter.

“Look, can we just not talk about Harry? We’re on a date, Hermione, can’t we talk about, well, other things that really matter? More date-like topics?” he finally snapped, unthinkingly.

And then stopped at the look on Hermione’s face.

Oh, bad move. Very bad move. Very very bad move. Very bad, very stupid move. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Sodding bloody hell. He’d royally messed this one up.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he hastened to explain. “Of course I worry about Harry too; he’s my best mate and I’d never want anything to happen to him. I- I just- I just think you should give the whole worrying-about-him thing a rest every once in a while. You’re not his mum and he’s not a baby,” he said.

She didn’t seem so willing to forget, her hands going on her hips and her eyes flashing in that way that he thought of as her ‘Danger Ahead’ look. “We’re his friends, Ron, his best friends! And have you forgotten that tiny thing called the Prophecy that says he has to kill or be killed? He needs us! There’s nothing that matters more than that!”

Ron got the distinct impression that disagreeing with her at this particular moment on this particular subject would make her do him bodily harm so he said nothing.

Had he thought she reminded him of a Blast-Ended Skrewt when she was this angry? Make that a manticore. Two manticores, possibly. Two angry manticores—and maybe a basilisk on top of that.

“Why don’t we go to Madam Puddifoot’s?” he suggested desperately. “I’ve never been; have you?”

“No,” she answered flatly.

“We can go together now, then,” he said in a rather pathetic attempt at sounding enthusiastic.

“Fine,” she said with about as much eagerness he’d show to a suggestion of going to live in the Forbidden Forest with Aragog.

“Fine.”

On second thought, Ron decided within a few minutes of walking in, Madam Puddifoot’s had been a bad idea. It was bad enough that it was full of couples who all seemed completely engrossed with snogging or simply staring dreamily at each other. Worse, every single eye in the place had turned to stare at them when they walked in and had watched them sit down at one of the tiny tables. Were still watching them as they sat, Hermione gazing around with ill-concealed distaste at the incredibly colorful and loud Happy Christmas banners and the little elves dressed in green flitting around, along with the fairies who were busy throwing confetti at everyone.

Hermione snorted when the elves began singing Christmas carols in high-pitched voices. “This place is disgusting,” she said after a minute.

He rather agreed—although he wondered if he might not like it much more if he could just be part of one of the snogging couples— but he did want to get to some place where they wouldn’t be stared at by everyone. Everyone who wasn’t busy snogging, that is. Besides, right now, agreeing with Hermione and keeping her in a friendly mood was important. He’d mucked things up enough. “Yeah. Want to go to the Three Broomsticks instead?”

“Yes, let’s.” And she almost, sort of, smiled at him as they left hurriedly.

Okay, that was a good sign. Now if he could just be careful, he’d survive this date with his body parts intact and his friendship with Hermione intact too.

The thought made him mentally stop short. His friendship with Hermione intact? That was all he really wanted to happen after today. He just wanted to be friends.

He’d been insane to think that they could date. She would drive him insane. Or kill him. Or he’d kill her. Or something equally not good.

She was good as a friend, great in fact. But with Harry around. Not to be alone with her and certainly not to be anything more than a friend. Never mind the fluttery feeling he got in his stomach sometimes when he looked at her, or how pretty she had gotten to be… She was just too—Hermione-like, for lack of a better term—for anything to happen beyond friendship.

He sighed in relief having come to this realization as they stepped into the Three Broomsticks.

He saw Dean and Seamus and Neville immediately and promptly headed there. He needed other people around.

Hermione smiled and glanced curiously around. “Have you guys seen Harry?” she asked.

Dean glanced warily at Ron before answering, “Oh, he and Ginny were here earlier. Had a little lunch and butterbeer before leaving just before you came.”

“Oh.” There was an odd note in Hermione’s voice but Ron dismissed it from his mind.

“Are Harry and Ginny really, er, you know, on a date?” Neville asked curiously.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said just a shade too quickly.

“Not today they’re not,” Ron agreed before changing the subject quickly. “What did you think of the last Quidditch game against Ravenclaw? Their bloody Beaters are too good.”

Seamus immediately responded and even Neville looked interested and the conversation stayed on Quidditch for the rest of the afternoon.

~*~*~

Harry wondered where Ron and Hermione were. He hadn’t seen them since they’d gotten off the train at the Hogsmeade Station.

Were they having a good time together? Maybe they’d decide it was a lot more fun to just be the two of them and not have to worry about him all the time… He ignored the sinking feeling he got in his stomach at that thought. Of course he wanted them to have a good time… They were his best friends; what kind of friend would he be if he had a problem with their having fun?

“Don’t you think so, Harry?”

The sound of his name jerked his attention back to Ginny who was really being very nice and he realized with a pang of guilt that he’d stopped listening to what she’d been saying although she’d been talking about her thoughts for strategy at the next Quidditch match since it would be against Slytherin.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said quickly, hoping he wasn’t agreeing to anything too outrageous and deciding he would pay better attention in the future. It was hardly fair to Ginny to keep drifting off like this given that she was really giving up her day in Hogsmeade with her friends to keep him company.

“Hey, do you mind if we go up to the Shrieking Shack?” he asked quickly.

“No, we can go now,” she agreed promptly.

He managed a smile at her. “I- er- I want to look at it since I haven’t really before,” he explained untruthfully and stifled a sigh.

Ginny didn’t know all the associations the Shrieking Shack had for him and he found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he was with Hermione who did know and who did understand.

It was hard to be back in Hogsmeade now when everything seemed to remind him of Sirius.

He stared at the battered old house from the closest point they could get to it thanks to the fencing around it and wondered how much dustier and dirtier it would be now. It had been ragged enough in 3^rd year; he could only imagine what 2 and a half more years of complete neglect had done for the interior. Had it really been only 2 and a half years since that night when he’d really met Sirius and found out the truth about Wormtail?

“Harry, are you alright?” Ginny’s voice broke through his thoughts and he started slightly, turning to look at her.

“What- oh, yeah, why?”

“You looked really disturbed about something,” Ginny said.

“Oh, I- er- I was just thinking…” He trailed off and then he did remember something he’d been (rather morbidly, he supposed) wondering about, more and more since beginning to really practice Occlumency, which would distract her. “Ginny, what- what was it like to be possessed by Voldemort?”

Ginny went a little pale but otherwise didn’t react. She turned away to look at the Shrieking Shack herself. “It- it was weird. I’d find myself in places with no memory of how I’d gotten there and there’d be long gaps of time that I just couldn’t remember at all and then there were the things like the feathers and blood and stuff and I didn’t know how they’d gotten there either. I started wondering if I were going crazy or something except at those times when I was still me and I tried to tell you or Ron about some of it but then I couldn’t.” She stopped and then glanced at him, the tiny beginning of a smile on her face. “I never told anyone about this.”

“What was he- that is, Tom Riddle- like? I- he didn’t talk that much to me.” Harry asked, not quite sure why he was asking this or what difference it would make except that it was interesting because Riddle was Voldemort and it was something to think about besides Sirius. And it was also probably the easiest thing to talk about with Ginny.

Ginny paled even further. “He- he seemed so nice at first. He listened when I talked to him and asked questions and really seemed interested in what I had to say.” She blushed, glancing at Harry again. “I- er- I talked about you a lot.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “He wanted to know about me; it was just convenient that you wanted to talk about me,” he said rather flatly.

“I- I know, Harry. And oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean- I didn’t think he could really do anything!” And for a moment Ginny looked and sounded almost as she had when she’d been 11 when he’d found her in the Chamber.

Harry forced a tight smile. “It’s ok. If not you, he would have found another way. It wasn’t your fault.” He paused. “Thanks for telling me, though.”

“No problem,” Ginny said, seeming to be herself again. “Besides, if anyone has a right to know, it’s you.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Harry admitted reluctantly. He looked back at the Shrieking Shack- was it possible for any building to look more gloomy and depressing? And he could hear Hermione’s voice in his head saying, “Don’t think about it so much, Harry; it’ll only depress you and you have other things to concentrate on. Sirius wouldn’t want you to just wallow like this when there’s so much else for you to think about. He- he’d want you to go on, go on living, go on trying, go on having fun. You know he would.” And she was right. She’d been right when she said it to him yesterday though he hadn’t been willing to acknowledge it and had only snapped at her- and she was still right.

He managed a smile, turning fully away from the Shrieking Shack. “Want to go to Zonko’s for a quick stop before heading back?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“Oh and remind me not to get on your bad side. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of one of your Bat-Bogey Hexes- judging from what you did to Malfoy.”

Ginny grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll save those for people I really don’t like. Or Ron- if he starts acting like too much of a prat,” she added and they both laughed.

They managed to have a good time in Zonko’s and it wasn’t until later when they were leaving that Ginny turned to Harry, looking suddenly rather flustered as she hadn’t been before. “This was fun and all, Harry, but I- er- you- we should just be friends, I think.”

Harry blinked. “Yeah, of course, friends.”

Ginny sighed a little and smiled. “I know you only asked me because of Ron and I didn’t mind, really I didn’t and I’ve had fun,” she assured him quickly, cutting off his instinctive denial (although it would have been a lie- because it was true he had only asked her because of Ron- and Hermione- and he’d rather spend the day with Ginny than with Neville—being around Neville was awkward now because of the thought that kept intruding that if things had been different, Neville could have been the one with the destiny to kill or be killed—and he could just be normal, just Harry Potter…) “But really, you’re too much like another brother now,” Ginny finished.

He smiled. “Really?”

She smiled too, looking very relieved. “Yeah, really.”

“I think I’d like that,” he said simply.

She grinned. “See, now I get to have another brother only one who doesn’t have red hair!”

Harry laughed as they headed towards the Hogsmeade Station only to stop when he saw Ron and Hermione, standing with Dean, Seamus and Neville.

Hermione smiled when she saw him and his stomach suddenly seemed to flip. She smiled—she was so pretty when she smiled especially on cold days like today when her cheeks were tinged with color from the wind… She looked happy to see him but he couldn’t see whether she’d enjoyed her date with Ron or not. Had she? She was carrying a bag of books so she must have gone to The Scribe and Parchment (with Ron?) but had they really enjoyed their date? Had she had fun being with Ron all day and not with him?

And what would he do if she had?

Maybe Ron and Hermione would start dating for real now- and he’d be left alone. They would want to spend time together, just talking or snogging (his stomach twisted oddly at that thought)- and he’d be left alone.

Would Hermione laugh more if she were with Ron? Ron tended to be funnier than he was and with Ron, Hermione wouldn’t really have to worry about him that much and she could just be his girlfriend and- and-- And he’d be alone. But if it was what they wanted, he wouldn’t say anything, would even be happy for them. He had to be.

Harry forced a smile and tried to act as if nothing whatever was wrong as he said hi to Neville and to Luna who had drifted towards the Gryffindors as she tended to do.

For the first time ever, Ron thought he understood Hermione’s thoughts better than Harry did—at that particular moment at least.

He hadn’t missed the slight faltering of Harry’s smile as he glanced between them or the flicker of curiosity mixed in with a dash of nervousness as he did so. Clearly Harry was dying to know how their date had gone—and just as clearly, Hermione had no idea that Harry even cared.

So maybe he’d been a bit of an idiot (well, maybe more than a bit) to think he and Hermione could be more than friends but he wasn’t entirely dense nor was he blind—and he understood now.

He saw the way Hermione smiled at the sight of Harry and the slight tinge of uncertainty in her expression as she saw Harry laughing at something Ginny said—and he understood.

Hermione was too- too- well, too bloody scary sometimes for one thing. They’d never be able to get along as more than friends; they were too different. Hermione would smother him with her fussing and her worrying and her bossiness—and he would probably drive her insane too. But more importantly, Hermione was also completely in love with Harry.

Everything she did-or nearly everything- was done to help him; that was why she worried about him so much (old Mad-Eye Moody had nothing on Hermione as far as “constant vigilance” for Harry was concerned). And how had he somehow failed to realize that almost every single one of the conversations he and Hermione had ever had when they were alone were about Harry? That was all they ever seemed to really talk about. Harry. Always Harry. (He was amazed Hermione hadn’t taken to worrying about the rate at which Harry’s hair grew— it was probably about the only thing about Harry he could think of that Hermione didn’t seem to worry about. She worried about everything else- what Harry ate, his schedule, his homework, his dreams, his fears…) And Harry was certainly what Hermione cared about most. Even more than she cared about classes and studying- which was saying a lot.

And Harry- well, Harry was the one who understood Hermione, who listened to her, who let her worry about him and never seemed to mind her fussing. Harry trusted Hermione, depended on her—and, he rather suspected, Harry loved Hermione too.

It was Harry and Hermione who should be more than friends—and all it had taken him was this one rather awful date in Hogsmeade to realize that. It was Harry and Hermione—and it really always had been.

Disclaimer: See Part 1.

Author’s note: The H/Hr sequel.

If the last chapter was on Why R/Hr and H/G are wrong, then this one is on why H/Hr is Right- and why Hermione can never be with anyone besides Harry.

For Goldy and for Amethyst J.- happy birthday, dear!

~Part 2~

Something More, Something Different

Harry had developed a new preoccupation. Hermione. Or more specifically, Hermione and Ron. Hermione and Ron and their relationship.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was that bothered him about the possibility that his two best friends might be more than just friends. It wasn’t that he was jealous- was it? He just knew it bothered him somehow, gave him an odd feeling to think that Ron and Hermione might start dating for real.

But he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t ask and they didn’t say.

All he could ask, as casually as possible, was “How was your day?” when they’d been walking back to the Gryffindor Tower together after getting back to Hogwarts that day.

“It was fine,” Hermione said quickly and Ron agreed.

“Where did you go? I didn’t see you around,” he asked, with an attempt at nonchalance that was a partial success.

“Oh, we went to Honeydukes first and then to The Scribe and Parchment and then to Madam Puddifoot’s, quickly, before we went to The Three Broomsticks and joined Dean, Seamus and Neville there,” Ron answered.

Hermione glanced at him curiously. “Did you and Ginny have fun today? It sounded like we just missed you when we went to the Three Broomsticks.”

Harry glanced automatically at Ginny who was laughing at something Luna said and smiled slightly at the thought that he had something like a sister in her, before answering, “Yeah, we did actually. We went to Gladrags first because Ginny said she wanted to look at some of the latest robes there and then we went to Honeydukes and then to the Three Broomsticks.” He hesitated slightly, sobering and lowering his voice, “We went up to look at the Shrieking Shack; I wanted to see it.”

Hermione moved a little closer to him, putting a hand on his arm, compassion and understanding softening her gaze. “Oh Harry…” she sighed.

He answered her unspoken question automatically. “I’m okay,” he assured her. “I’ll be fine.” He would tell her later, he decided, that he’d realized she was right to tell him that Sirius would want him to go on. She had been right; she was always right…

And that had been all they’d said about their date—and he just couldn’t ask what he wanted to know, if they were going to begin dating more, if they had realized they were more than just friends…

He watched them as much as he could, unobtrusively, in the next week trying to see any signs that their relationship had changed, but couldn’t see any indication of it.

But then, a small voice in his head reminded him, he didn’t know what they did in those times when he was gone, during his Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore or the extra lessons in DADA with Moody or with Lupin…

And if they were dating, surely they’d want privacy to show their feelings?

Would they even tell him if they were dating, he couldn’t help but wonder with a rather sick feeling of curiosity. Maybe they wouldn’t… Maybe they’d be afraid it would bother him or that it would distract him from his training…

Because it did bother him somehow- the thought that Ron and Hermione might become more than friends, might start wanting to spend more time alone together, without him… It did bother him.

He had suspected that Ron fancied Hermione; he hadn’t really stopped to wonder about Hermione’s feelings but now he could think of little else.

Did Hermione fancy Ron too? She didn’t treat Ron any differently than she ever had; she still bickered with him, argued with him… But then if she didn’t fancy him, why had she agreed to go on a date to Hogsmeade?

He felt as if a sudden rock had settled into the pit of his stomach. Hermione—fancy Ron too? Hermione—like Ron as more than just a friend, care about Ron that way? Could she? Did she?

He glanced at her as she frowned over a book on the history of the Dark Arts.

He wished he could smooth the frown from her forehead. He hated to see that little wrinkle between her brows that said that she was worried or confused or uncertain about something—it was the look she had most often when they talked about Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

She glanced up but he cut his glance away, hastily looking back down at his Transfiguration textbook lying open (if unread) on his knees. He didn’t know why he did but somehow he didn’t want to meet her eyes, almost as if he were afraid of what she might see in his expression—and he didn’t want her to know he’d been looking at her.

He ventured another glance and saw that she’d turned back to her book. He looked over at Ron, lounging beside him as he half-heartedly scribbled away at the essay they had due in Transfiguration.

Did Hermione like Ron as more than just a friend?

And just what was it about that idea that made him feel so odd?

~~~~

“She’s mental, Hermione is,” Ron said when Hermione left dinner early saying she wanted to look something up in the library, shaking his head a little as he turned his attention back to the trifle he was demolishing for dessert. “She’s probably read nearly every book in the entire library by now and you should have seen the number of books she got in Hogsmeade the other day. Competely barking mad.”

Harry stopped to stare at Ron, frowning slightly, before he blurted out unthinkingly, “But don’t you fancy her?”

He stopped. Oh Merlin, he hadn’t just asked that. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Ron seemed to consider this for a moment and then he shrugged slightly. “I thought I did,” he finally said.

“You thought?!”

“Yeah. I dunno. She was just Hermione, you know, the one girl I really knew and she’s always been there and she’s gotten rather pretty, y’know. I kinda figured—of course I fancied her…”

Harry stared at Ron as if Ron had just sprouted a second head or announced that he was really madly in love with Professor Trelawney. Hermione—only rather pretty? And he only thought he fancied her?

“Then you- you don’t—not really--” Harry finally stammered, feeling rather as if his world had tilted on its axis.

Ron chewed for a moment before finally looking at Harry, looking amused at Harry’s sudden inability to form a complete sentence. “No, I don’t, not really. Figured that out at Hogsmeade; she’d drive me insane after a bit. And she is really rather scary and all, y’know. Besides,” he said deliberately, an odd expression entering into his eyes as he looked at Harry, “she doesn’t fancy me. I’m sure she likes someone else.”

Likes someone else? She did? Who?

His fork, laden with a piece of apple crumble, stopped halfway to his mouth. Harry was sure, in some small detached portion of his mind, that he must look rather like an idiot, staring at Ron with eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “She fancies someone else? Who?”

Ron tilted his head as he studied Harry curiously. “I don’t know,” he prevaricated. “Who do you think it is?”

Harry frowned slightly. How did girls show that they fancied someone, anyway? Ginny had shown it by blushing and never being able to say anything in his presence. Cho had shown it by smiling flirtatiously at him and seeking him out—and then by kissing him. But he couldn’t remember Hermione doing any of that. He couldn’t remember her blushing much around anyone; she didn’t giggle like a lot of other girls seemed to; she didn’t flirt. She was just- Hermione. And she fancied someone? “I don’t—I never--” he began uncertainly. “I don’t know.”

Ron shrugged, reaching for the last remaining chocolate éclair. “If you really want to know, just figure it out. Or you could just ask her, you know.”

“I couldn’t do that!” Harry blurted out automatically. “I don’t need to know; I just wondered because it is Hermione and she’s our friend and all…” he said hurriedly, if less than completely truthfully. Of course it was true but he did need to know, somehow, who it was that Hermione fancied. He didn’t know why but he did need to know.

He just needed to figure it out…

Hermione was still in the library when he and Ron returned to the Common Room after dinner and he threw himself into one of the plushy armchairs to think. The part of his mind that spoke in Hermione’s voice told him he really should start working on homework but he ignored it, rationalizing that he’d never be able to concentrate with this new question in his mind. After the events of last year, he had a harder time not listening to his inner Hermione-voice (especially with the thought of Sirius and what might have never happened if he had listened to her)—but just this once, he decided to ignore it. Ironic that it was Hermione herself who was proving to be the distraction.

Hermione fancied someone, but surely he could try to figure out who it was on his own. After all, he knew the same people she did.

He doubted it was either Dean or Seamus; she never really talked to them much from what he’d seen, only a little in passing. Neville—she talked to him, yes, helped him out in Potions and in their other classes when she wasn’t helping him and Ron, but Neville? He couldn’t see Hermione liking someone so clearly not her equal. Neville was part of the simple kindness she extended to everyone.

Ernie MacMillan? He talked to Hermione, sought her out quite a bit, it seemed and as the Hufflepuff Prefect, they talked often enough—but she never sought him out and he remembered quite clearly seeing a rather irritated expression crossing her face sometimes when he called her name, although it was quickly gone.

Terry Boot? He certainly seemed to fancy her with the way he talked to her, the way he smiled at her sometimes, the way he was always telling her she belonged in Ravenclaw with how smart she was. Annoying git. Harry glowered unconsciously at the fireplace. As if all there was to Hermione was brains. She was smart, brilliant even, but she was so much more than that; she was brave too, as brave as any Gryffindor, and loyal. His expression softened slightly as he remembered all her help in 4^th year, her staying with him even though she disapproved of his insisting they go rescue Sirius last year—her courage in saying Voldemort’s name though no one else did and Ron still flinched and shuddered at the sound. No, Hermione couldn’t fancy Terry Boot; she could do better than that git.

But then who?

He thought of the Slytherins and then stopped to laugh at his own stupidity in even thinking of them. Hermione would never—could never—fancy any of them! Malfoy- he smirked a little at the memory of how she’d slapped him in 3^rd year. Besides, Hermione hated Malfoy; she knew exactly what kind of cowardly git he was. Not to mention that Hermione would have to be either insane or stupid to fancy any Slytherin git who would call her a name like Mudblood, he thought, glaring into the fireplace at the very word. How dare they—how dare anyone call Hermione something like that! But she showed them all with being the head of their class in everything, he thought with a sudden, fierce flare of pride in her.

No, it couldn’t be any Slytherin; the very idea was ludicrous.

But then who?

At that moment, the portrait door swung open and Hermione walked in, carrying a stack of books and looking, he noted, a little tired.

She headed over to where he and Ron were sitting, lounging on two armchairs across from each other, and sat in the remaining one, next to his.

Ron rolled his eyes slightly at the books. “More books, Hermione? Have you left any books in the library at all?”

“Oh honestly, Ron, don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said shortly. “I just had an idea I want to look into.”

Ron subsided with a shrug, before looking hopefully at Hermione. “Will you let me look at your essay for Charms?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Have you even started that essay yet?”

“Er, no,” Ron admitted and then grinned cheekily, “why else do you suppose I wanted to look at yours? Inspiration and all.”

“No you may not look at my essay,” Hermione said sharply. “I won’t help you cheat.”

Harry grimaced as Ron’s mention of the Charms essay reminded him of yet another essay he had also due at the end of the week, a Potions essay; it was supposed to be three feet long, their longest essay yet, and he knew Snape would be only too happy to mark him off if he was even one inch short.

Bugger.

He reluctantly pulled out a piece of parchment and his Potions textbook, knowing Hermione was about to relent and say that she would read their essays over when they were done, at least. Which meant he had to have an essay written.

He scribbled away about the uses and variations on the Relaxing Potion, forcing his mind to stop any futile speculation about who Hermione could fancy, for the next few hours until his hand grew cramped.

He finished his essay quickly once he knew he had reached the three foot mark (and going over by another inch or so to make sure Snape couldn’t take off points for the length at least), with very little idea of what he’d written but trusting Hermione would help him.

She always helped. He’d have gone barking mad stuck in the Potions Dungeons with Snape without her by his side to provide a friendly face, encouragement, and some surreptitious help.

“Here, Harry, let me read that over for you,” Hermione offered.

He gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Hermione.”

She smiled back. “No problem.”

He watched her as she read, frowning here, fixing a paragraph or a line there. Her hair fell into her face and she pushed it back impatiently only to have another strand of hair fall down. He had a sudden impulse—an insane impulse—to put out his own hand and brush her hair back away from her face and then blinked. Where had that thought come from?

She finished reading his essay and looked up with a smile—a smile he could swear he felt all the way down to his toes. “It’s good, Harry. I don’t think even Professor Snape could find problems with it now.”

He smiled back. “Thanks, Hermione,” and reached for the parchment. Their hands brushed and his breath caught as she (hurriedly, it seemed) drew her hand back and busied herself with one of the books she’d brought back from the library.

He found himself staring at the top of her head, wondering why he could still feel the warmth from her hand brushing against his in that fleeting touch.

And he knew.

The one person he’d been forgetting about in all his wondering who Hermione could fancy.

Himself.

He’d been forgetting himself.

He had a sudden memory of 4^th year, of Krum pulling him aside to ask, “I vant to know vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny.” Heard again Krum’s suspicious tones as he said, “Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often.”

Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often… For about the first time, he thought of those words without the flicker of amusement at Krum’s pronunciation of Hermione’s name, thought of what it could mean…

He’d insisted to Krum that it was only because he and Hermione were friends.

But could it- could he have been wrong? Could Hermione fancy him?

His mind was beginning to spin with thoughts, memories, moments, things she’d said and done in the past few years crowding into his mind.

Oh my God, Hermione fancies me!

The way she’d still come to every Quidditch game in 3^rd year when she was taking so many classes she needed a Time-Turner to get to them all… The way she’d hugged him when he arrived in Grimmauld Place… The way she’d been so frantic with worry over his hearing in the Ministry last year… The way she’d thought of having the interview with Rita Skeeter to tell everyone the truth of what had happened in the graveyard because she knew how much he hated the distrust of the other students… The way she tended to sit next to him at meals in the Great Hall… The way she smiled when she saw him…

Oh lord…

He leaped up out of his armchair, suddenly too uncomfortable to remain sitting there with only a little more than a foot separating him from Hermione. “I- er- I think I’ll head to bed now,” he said and then thanked heaven that his voice sounded relatively normal. “Night,” he said, trying not to look at Hermione.

Ron glanced up from frowning rather ferociously down at his blotted parchment. “I’ll be up in a bit.”

Hermione gave him a concerned glance. “Is your scar bothering you?”

“No, I’m fine!” he said quickly and so forcefully she looked slightly surprised.

“Ok. Goodnight, Harry.”

And he fled the Common Room and Hermione’s presence, cursing how jittery he suddenly felt around her.

This was Hermione, for God’s sake! He didn’t feel jittery around her; he’d always felt comfortable with her! She was his friend. His best friend.

She was- she was his haven. She and Ron were the two people he felt most comfortable with, the people he could be himself with. What would he do if that security was taken away from him?

Hermione fancied him?

Hermione fancied him.

Now what?

Did he just go on, pretending he didn’t know? Did he just let their friendship go on the way it always had been?

That was an appealing thought. He- he didn’t want to lose Hermione’s friendship, didn’t want it to change or become awkward or uncomfortable.

But- but—how did he feel about Hermione?

Maybe (the idea was almost terrifying but he couldn’t get it out of his mind)—maybe he wanted more than just friendship…

Did he?

How did he feel about Hermione?

She was his best friend—but she was his best friend in a different way than Ron was his best friend.

He didn’t know how to express it; he just knew it. It wasn’t something he’d thought about (up until now); it was just the way things were.

She was just different- just Hermione. He trusted her, respected her opinion, cared about what she thought of him. He liked her; he cared about her… And he did think she was pretty. He liked to see her smile and hear her laugh. He knew the way her eyes lit up when she made a new discovery—or when she was very pleased over something—and watched for the things that made her eyes light up that way, the expression that always made him feel better himself.

But with all this—did he fancy her?

How am I supposed to know that? A tiny voice in the back of his mind grumbled. He had no experience with fancying girls; Cho had been the only other girl he’d ever fancied. And he knew he didn’t feel the same way about Hermione as he had about Cho.

Then again, he remembered how awkward and uncomfortable he’d always felt with Cho (he didn’t want to feel that uncomfortable around Hermione if that’s what it meant to fancy a girl); he remembered how he’d never known what to say or do because… Because, he suddenly realized, he had never really known Cho, never really talked to her and she had never really known him. She didn’t really know him; she didn’t know about Sirius or the Order or- or anything. All she knew was what everybody else in Hogwarts knew, the mixture of truth and speculation and gossip that always seemed to be going around about him.

Hermione was different. She really knew him.

Once again, he heard her voice in his head, uncertain and yet determined to say what she thought, “…you do… sort of… I mean—don’t you think you’ve got a bit of a- a- saving-people thing?”

He grimaced at the memory, feeling a surge of self-anger but tempered this time by his thoughts on Hermione.

She’d been right; she’d been so right. Because she did know him. She knew when he was hiding something, knew when he was lying (or at least, she usually did), knew when he was troubled.

She knew him—and she fancied him. (He had a moment of wondering rather wildly why she still cared when he could be such a stubborn git, not to mention being a rather dangerous person to be friends with.)

She was—what?

It had bothered him to think that she and Ron might begin dating, bothered him to think that she might fancy someone…

It had nearly killed him to think that she was dead in the Department of Mysteries… He remembered that moment of stark mindless panic only too well, followed by the heady relief of hearing Neville say he could feel her pulse…

And he remembered the way his stomach had flipped when she’d smiled at him after Hogsmeade, with her eyes bright and her cheeks pink from the cold…

He- he liked Hermione in that way. He really did. It wasn’t only a fancy like what he’d felt for Cho; it was different, more than that.

And it was different, more, than only friendship too. Friendship was what he felt for Ginny and Luna and Neville…

What he felt for Hermione was—something more. Something different.

Something undeniable. And it was real. He knew that somehow. He still got annoyed at her sometimes, still got angry at her sometimes—but underneath even his annoyance and his anger, he still cared… Cared so much, at that.

And he wondered why it had never occurred to him before. (Of course before, when he’d thought Ron fancied Hermione too, he would never have even tried to think of Hermione as anything other than his best friend.)

He remembered Cho’s voice, shrill with tears and anger and jealousy, as she said, “Oh, you’ll talk to Hermione Granger! But you won’t talk to me! P-perhaps it would be best if we just… just p-paid and you went and met up with Hermione G-Granger, like you obviously want to!” and her hard “Oh yes, I forgot—of course, if it was darling Hermione’s idea-”

Cho had been jealous of Hermione. Of course, at the time, he’d never really thought of Hermione in that way, never tried to characterize his feelings for her… Until now.

And now he knew.

What was he supposed to do about it?

He had no idea how to go about confessing his feelings for Hermione, had no idea how to act with a girl he fancied, cared about, as much as he cared about Hermione. The sum total of his experience with a girl he fancied was with Cho- and he had no desire to repeat that experience, thank you very much. Plus, this was Hermione; he couldn’t imagine ever feeling as nervous and ill-at-ease around her as he’d constantly felt around Cho. What he had felt for Cho was nothing like what he felt for Hermione—had never been anything like it. Hermione had always been more important to him, first as just his best friend and then as more… She’d just always been there…

What should he say? What could he say?

“I like you- as more than just a friend- and I think you like me too. Fancy a snog?”

Even his under-developed sense of romance cringed at that particular suggestion. And it wasn’t as if all he wanted from her was a snog. Yes, he wanted to kiss her (he did—and his entire body seemed to heat at the thought of kissing her) but it was more than just the fact that her lips were pink and full and that her lower lip was ever so slightly fuller than her upper lip, making her lips look that much more, well, kissable…

This was Hermione- he cared too much, she was too important to him to mess things up because he said or did something wrong. He couldn’t mess this up—because if he did, it might mess up more than just the hope of more than friendship with her; it would mess up their friendship too. And he knew he couldn’t stand that.

He turned over in bed, his thoughts beginning to slow in that way they did when he was getting sleepy—and he drifted off to sleep to dream of her… Her smile that brightened his day, her little touches that comforted him—her lips that had distracted him more than he cared to admit, the way she looked when she was excited or happy with her cheeks pink and her eyes shining, the tiny frown of concentration that formed between her brows sometimes when she was reading or studying that always made him want to smooth it… The way she walked… Her figure which he’d tried so hard not to notice (and quite obviously, he’d failed in that endeavor)… All the things about her which he knew so well after these past five and half years that made her who she was…

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

On second thought, Harry figured that just blurting it out in the hallway while on the way to Potions and surrounded by a bunch of other people, probably didn’t rank very high on the romance meter.

He hadn’t meant to! It had just- sort of- come out by itself without his consciously thinking about it.

He couldn’t have told her before at breakfast because, well, Ron had been right there and Hermione had been late for breakfast anyway. They’d left the Great Hall together since they had Potions together while Ron had Muggle Studies and Hermione had started talking about how she thought she might have found a charm that might work to help increase the blood-protection Harry had received from his mother and he’d been looking at her and seen again just how pretty she looked when she was excited over a discovery she’d made with her cheeks pink and her eyes glowing and her lips parted in a smile… And he’d realized again just how much she did to help him, for his sake, and how thankful he was that he had her by his side and…

And he’d just blurted it out when she’d fallen silent, just like that. “I like you.”

She’d given him an odd look and he’d started babbling, trying to explain. “I mean, I really like you- not just as a friend but as, well, you know. I like you like that. I care— about you. I- er- I just wanted to tell you,” he finished lamely, avoiding looking at her and instead looking down at the stone floor of the hallway.

She still didn’t say anything and he finally couldn’t stand it anymore and looked up to see that her eyes were suspiciously shiny as she stared at him.

Oh God, she was going to cry! “Hermione!” he hissed in a panicked whisper, “don’t cry! Please don’t cry; I didn’t- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

She sniffed a little, blinking rapidly a few times, while he held his breath, and then she smiled at him so brilliantly it was his turn to blink and stare, forgetting to keep on walking, his feet abruptly stopping their motion, as he forgot, too, that there were people around.

A warm hand- her hand- slipped into his, tugging him forward so he automatically resumed walking.

But she kept her hand in his.

He glanced at her as they walked. “Er- Hermione…” he began, a little hesitantly. She was smiling and her hand was in his and he had thought she fancied him but—whatever it was, he just couldn’t feel sure anymore. Not now that he knew just how much he cared about her.

“Yes, Harry, I care about you too.”

His heart leaped and he stopped walking again. “Really?”

Again she tugged him forward to make him continue walking. “Really,” she said softly but firmly. “We’ll talk about it later, Harry. For now, we need to keep walking or we’ll be late for Potions,” she said in something approaching her normal tone.

He listened to her- as usual.

He just had no idea how he was going to survive Potions when his heart was beating so fast and all he could think about was Hermione… (She cared about him! She’d said she cared about him too! And she’d smiled and was holding his hand and her hand was so warm in his and it felt- right- somehow to be walking holding Hermione’s hand like this and God, she was so pretty when she smiled like that. Had he ever seen her smile that way before?...)

He made a valiant attempt to concentrate in Potions- they were working on the Disguising Potion that day- and Snape looked just as disagreeable as always as he snarled at them to start making the potion from the directions in the textbook.

He was acutely (amazingly) aware of everything Hermione did and only just managed to work on his potion by dint of trying to copy what she did—and found that one advantage to being so preoccupied was that he hardly even heard Snape’s insults and jibes which meant he didn’t care overly much about them. (Which was probably frustrating the hell out of Snape, come to think of it, which was a decided, and unlooked-for, benefit.)

But even so, he could have sworn Potions dragged on for what seemed like a year before it finally ended. But end it finally did, and all it took was a look and he and Hermione headed up to the Room of Requirement for the little space of time they had before it would be lunch-time followed by Charms and Quidditch practice and then dinner and homework; so they both knew this was likely the only chance they’d have to talk alone until that night.

The Room of Requirement looked rather like the Gryffindor Common Room this time, with the same big squashy armchairs and one couch, where they sat down, both suddenly a little unsure, a little uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally said.

“Sorry, for what?” A slight frown crossed her face as she studied him, even as she shifted slightly closer.

“Sorry for just blurting it out like that. I- I didn’t mean to; I- er- I wanted to do it better, wanted to say it nicer than that.” Harry could feel his cheeks flushing uncomfortably. “Wanted to make it more- er- romantic, I guess,” he finished, looking down at where her leg was touching his; he could feel heat positively radiating from every inch where her leg touched his.

“Oh, Harry…”

And then before he had time to wonder if the words were a good or bad thing, she had thrown her arms around him and he fell backwards on the couch, his arms automatically going around her. He’d take that as a good thing, he thought fuzzily.

Her voice was slightly muffled in his shoulder as she said, “That’s so sweet! But it doesn’t matter, Harry. It was perfect just the way you said it—but I love you for wanting to make it romantic.”

He stiffened, his mind fixating on her words until he almost forgot to notice that she was lying half on top of him and he could feel nearly every inch of her upper body pressed against his and- and…

He lifted one hand to touch her cheek, making her look up at him and meet his eyes. “What did you say?” he faltered in a near whisper.

Her gaze softened. “I said, I love you,” she said softly, emphasizing the last three words.

He stopped breathing, as he stared at her, her words echoing in his mind. I love you…

His mind reeled. Was that what he felt for Hermione? Was that what this was- this feeling, this caring about her, the way he felt as if a cold hand was squeezing his heart at the thought of anything happening to her? Was that what this was- to hear her voice in his head, to want to be with her, to think about her when she wasn’t there? Was that what this was that made it so different from what he’d felt for Cho? So different than the friendship he felt for Ginny and for Luna? Was that what this was?

What else could it be?

“I- I think I- I l-love you too,” he added, stammering a little and amazed at the warmth he felt at just saying the words.

He did love Hermione. She was- she was so important to him. He needed her…

She smiled, her eyes shining like he’d never seen them before and- dear Merlin, she was beautiful… And she was still lying on top of him.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to her lips (God, her perfect lips…) and almost of its own accord, one hand slid up her back to her hair, bringing her head down… His lips touched hers, his eyes closed—he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel her breath tickling his cheek, taste her…

Had anything ever felt so good- so right- as having Hermione in his arms, his lips on hers, knowing she loved him and he loved her?

No—and nothing else ever could…

Because this, right at this moment, this was perfect.

The End