The List

I'm back! Basically my best guy friend and I have a mental list of everyone who thinks that we're going out, and it literally includes just about everyone we know (our parents included). We're truly like brother and sister (I swear. No, I'm not blind like Hermione was in I'm Not Neurotic, I promise you, it's just platonic), but I thought it would be an interesting idea to spin with Harry and Hermione... And so I give you the prologue.

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The Top Ten Reasons not to Create “The List”

1. Waste of paper. A huge waste of paper. Do you realize how many people think we're going out Harry? We're all going to die from a lack of oxygen because all of the trees will be needed for this stupid list of yours.
2. It's pointless.
3. Why laugh over the fact that everyone in our school thought we were going out when we can talk about the group of mad men and women who were out to kill us?
4. The likelihood that either one of us will end up married is very small, considering the fact that everyone we meet seems to think that we are head-over-heels in love with one another.
5. Ginny
6. It's also a waste of ink. You're going to regret this when you can't finish your essay for potions and Professor Snape gives you a month's worth of detention.
7. If anyone on the list dies, people might assume it was actually a hit list.
8. You should be catching up on your assignments, not creating other ways to procrastinate.
9. You'll loose the list anyway.
10. If we do end up married, I'm sure our significant others will love to hear that everyone believed that we belonged together. I think that would make a simply lovely toast. “To Hermione and Har—. Sorry about that. I always thought that when I made this toast, Hermione and Harry would be the ones getting married. Anyway, I wrote the toast back in sixth year, and I figured there was no point in throwing it out. So John, just ignore me while I recount Harry's life. Feel free to insert your name for his and switch around all of the details…”

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"Some relationships start with fights... But, usually only in romantic comedies. Life's not the movies."

~Takayuki Ikkaku, Arisa Hosaka and Toshihiro Kawabata

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It started out innocently enough. In fourth year, Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger's boyfriend at the time, accused one of said woman's best friends, Harry Potter, of being on more than friendly terms with his girlfriend. Of course, Harry denied it vehemently. Nevertheless, after Viktor Krum left, the relationship, save for a few pen pal letters, was over. A year later Cho Chang, Harry Potter's girlfriend, accused Harry of being romantically involved with Hermione. Once more, Harry denied that there was any truth behind the idea. A few months later the two broke up. Cho had told Harry that she was upset with Hermione for placing a hex on Cho's best friend (who had destroyed their secret Defense Against the Dark Arts organization), Harry defended Hermione, saying that he believed the hex was, “Brilliant.” Needless to say Cho threw another fit, and that was the end of that.

It was sixth year that things began to get out of hand. Everywhere they went they were followed by whispers. Their classmates constantly asked them how long they had been going out, and when they replied that they were just friends, their fellow students almost fainted out of disbelief. Even their mutual best friend, Ron Weasley, had given them a questioning stare accompanied with the ever so popular, “Are you sure that you two aren't a couple?”

By seventh year (the year, coincidentally, when the two were assigned Head Boy and Head Girl and given a tower to themselves) it had gotten to the point where it didn't matter whether or not Harry or Hermione said that the two were just friends. No one believed them. It was while Hermione was ranting to Harry about this very subject in their common room that Harry had the brilliant (and ultimately disastrous) idea.

“Let's keep a list!” Harry announced, clearly very proud of his idea.

On the other hand, had Hermione been drinking a gobletful of pumpkin juice, it would've been anywhere but in her mouth.

“Excuse me?” Hermione challenged, looking at Harry as if she barely knew him.

“Let's keep a list,” Harry repeated, his elbows, which propped up his chin, resting on his knees. “Of everyone who thinks that we're going out.”

“Do you want to tear down an entire forest?” Hermione asked, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“Don't tell me that you're going to start a Society for the Protection of the Environment,” Ron muttered, who was busy playing chess with his little sister, Ginny, on a rug in front of the fire.

“Oh just shut up already,” Hermione snapped at him. “I get it. You're absolutely narrow minded and you hate S.P.E.W. Always have, always will.”

“I don't hate spew,” Ron said offhandedly as his bishop tackled Ginny's knight. “I just think it's pointless.”

“Well that makes me feel loads better,” Hermione drawled.

“Can we get back to my list idea, please?” Harry groaned impatiently.

“If you were going to call anything pointless, Ron, now would be the time to do it,” Hermione huffed.

“Actually, I think the list is a good idea,” Ron shrugged as Hermione's mouth fell open.

“What?”

“I agree,” Ginny said. “Maybe if you saw how many people actually believe that you're going out, you'd realize why you're in love with one another.”

“We are not in love with each other, Ginevra,” Hermione said in her “I've heard this way too often and so now I have a robotic response” voice.

“And that's exactly why the entire school in addition to my mum thinks that you two have been a couple for the past two years,” Ginny replied sarcastically. She grinned happily as her other knight managed to take out an inattentive Ron's queen.

“Just ignore them,” Harry reminded Hermione. “Anyway, the point of the list is just for fun. So that when we're married and have children, we can get together and laugh about how many people were stupid enough to believe that we were together.”

“I think you can revise that statement to, `So that when we're married, we can show our children how stupid we were not to realize what everyone else already knew,'” Ginny insisted.

“So, what do you say?” Harry asked Hermione, choosing to ignore Ginny's comment.

“I say that you're never going to give up on this stupid idea, and if you want to do it, then go on right ahead,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I still think it's pointless.”

“And I bet that you two will have gotten to second by the time we reach Easter Break. Third by the time you're out of Hogwarts. Or maybe if you're lucky- ”

"Ginny..." Hermione warned.

"What?" Ginny asked innocently. "I'm just saying. I mean, you two can barely keep your hands off one another as 'just friends.' There's way too much sexual tension. I wouldn't be surprised if you had sex after the first- "

This time, Harry joined in as Hermione screamed, “For the love of Merlin, Ginny, shut up!”

*****

So, worth continuing? If it is, keep in mind that I will update VERY SLOWLY. This year is tough, and I do NOT want to drown.

All feedback welcome!

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Well, I got chapter two out faster than I expected, but as I said, still expect slow updates. Teachers are pumping out a lot of homework until winter break, when things will hopefully calm down so that we can study for those lovely things called finals.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I realize that the chapters are short, but they just seem to end where they do, and once I'm at that point, where it seems like a nice conclusion, I simply can't write anymore...

For those of you who also read I'm Not Neurotic! The Diary of Hermione Granger, you should probably recognize that my characterization is basically the same (except Harry isn't quite as...insane...this time). I'm rather fond of these characterizations, especially Ginny. I like a know-it-all Ginny (in a different way from Hermione), who is so full of herself it's disgusting yet you love her for it anyway...well, at least I do. You may also recognize some jokes (such as the initials one) that I reuse...those just happen to be some jokes of which I'm horribly fond, so forgive me for reusing my material once in a while.

As always, please review, as it means a lot. I can't begin to tell you how amazed and honored I was to receive 63 reviews for my first chapter.

Anyway, please, enjoy!

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The Top Ten People Who Believe that Hermione Granger and Harry Potter are Dating

As recorded by Harry Potter

1. Ginevra “Ginny” Weasley
2. Ronald “Ron” Weasley
3. Terry Boot
4. Molly Weasley
5. Mrs. Granger
6. Luna Lovegood
7. Professor McGonagall
8. Draco Malfoy
9. Cho Chang
10. Viktor Krum

*****

“Love is a friendship set to music.”

~E. Joseph Cossman

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As was custom on Saturdays, Harry and Hermione spent the day not in the Head's common room, but in the Gryffindor Tower. It was a way to make certain that they weren't cut off from their fellow seventh years and, apparently, a great opportunity for said fellow students to demand to know how far Harry and Hermione had gotten.

At the moment, however, no such accusations had arisen, and Hermione was taking the time to examine Harry's so-called list.

“Oh come on, Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “That list is completely wrong—”

“Is not,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“—and you know it.” Hermione crossed her arms across her chest as she finished, a sure sign that she was going to remain stubborn, as per usual.

“You can't honestly think that they're all wrong!” Harry exclaimed, clearly slightly frustrated.

“They are,” insisted Hermione. Harry raised his eyebrow at her. “Okay, so maybe a few of them are correct, but really - Cho? Viktor? Malfoy? Professor McGonagall? My mum?”

“Cho and Viktor both believed that there was something going on between us when we were going out with them,” Harry explained rationally. “Professor McGonagall asked me just last week what I planned on getting you for our five month anniversary (she suggested a jewelry store in Hogsmeade), Malfoy wanted to know if Ron and I were still friends now that I was going out with the...well, you know what he said. And I'll have you know that the last time I met your mother, she said, and I quote, `The Bar on St. Agnes would be a marvelous place to hold a wedding. Hermione's been fond of Italy since she was a little girl, and the beach there is simply breathtaking.'”

Hermione's mouth dropped open. “I never heard her say that to you!”

“When we came back last year, she pulled me over to the side while you were talking with your father.”

“Oh I'm going to kill her,” Hermione seethed. “How could she do something so underhanded? I already told her during winter break that we were not, under any circumstances, going out!”

“She's probably just hopeful,” Harry shrugged, dabbing his quill his ink well and then returning to the parchment in order to underline Ginny's name five times and mark it with a star.

“Oh don't be conceited,” Hermione said as she made a disgusted face. “You may have saved the wizarding world, but you're not that great.”

“Try telling that to the five hundred girls who send me fan mail everyday,” Harry said, giving out an exasperated and highly melodramatic sigh. Hermione couldn't help but express her amusement, but her laughter subsided once she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, Ginny working very hard on what appeared to be an essay. Now, Ginny was much more responsible with her homework than Ron or Harry, but all the same, it was a Saturday, and nobody in their right mind worked on their homework on a Saturday. Well, except for Hermione, that is. Then again, Hermione thought, many people would probably reason that she was insane.

Hermione realized that Harry had returned to decorating The List, and, knowing that he wouldn't be paying her a great deal of attention until he had finished, Hermione decided to interrogate Ginny. Hermione stood up, dusted off her jeans, and marched over to the redhead.

“Hey, Gin,” Hermione said casually as she slid into a seat next to her younger friend.

“'lo,” Ginny mumbled, consumed with whatever it was she was working on.

“So, working on an essay for potions?” Hermione asked, looking at the already two-foot long parchment.

“Nope,” Ginny replied, her quill scratching at the parchment. “Harry asked me to write an explanation as to why I think you two are going out, or rather, in my own words, should go out.”

Hermione's jaw dropped, for the second time in the last ten minutes, in utter disbelief. “Harry asked you to write an essay on us?” she asked in a monotone.

“Not exactly,” Ginny replied, biting her tongue as she finished a paragraph. “I just happen to really have thought this out. And you two just happen to give me a lot of support for my thesis and topic sentences.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at what she now deemed the evil paper. “Give it here,” she told Ginny, grabbing the parchment so that Ginny's quill made a huge black line across the bottom half of the parchment.

“Hermione!” Ginny cried out in indignation. “Why did you— ”

“Quiet,” Hermione instructed. “I'm reading.” Hermione's eyes scanned the essay. Words and phrases such as, “sexual tension,” “lovey-dovey,” “perfect match,” and “initials” flashed before her eyes.

“What do initials have to do with this anyway?” Hermione demanded after finally finishing her skim.

“Actually, that was Luna's idea,” Ginny answered. “She realized that you two have basically the same initials, except your last one is G. Such a shame that you weren't born with the last name Puckle, or something. Then you both would've been HJP.”

“Puckle?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Ginny shrugged. “Luna's idea again. Can I have my essay back now? I worked two hours on that thing.”

“Gin, here's a suggestion for you,” Hermione replied acidly as she handed the paper back to Ginny, “work on your real homework instead of assignments from Harry. I don't care if he's your Quidditch Captain and threatens to replace you as chaser. And for the love of Merlin, Ginny, don't listen to Luna. The girl's convinced that Quidditch teams are simply spies for the Minster.” Hermione got up and left Ginny, muttering, “Hermione Jane Puckle…honestly…” on her short journey back to Harry.

“You asked Ginny to explain why she thinks we should go out?” Hermione asked Harry, glaring at him accusingly.

“Actually, I asked her to explain why she thinks we look like we're going out,” Harry replied, looking up at Hermione as if that made all the difference in the world.

Hermione gave a little roar of frustration and then flopped backwards on to a nearby couch.

“Why?” Hermione uncharacteristically whined. “Why would you ask something like that? And of Ginny no less?”

“Because it makes a great addition to The List…?” Harry answered uncertainly.

“I was looking for an answer to my question, not another question,” Hermione informed Harry, pursing her lips.

“Because I think it'd make a great addition to The List,” Harry reworded what he had just said.

“I don't think an essay needs to be attached to the list, Harry. It's going to be long enough as it is. There are at least 1000 students here, and everyone one of them seems convinced that we're going to get married next week.”

“We should disappear next week and see if they assume we're on our honey— Wait a minute. An essay? What are you— ” Before Harry could even finishing asking his question, Hermione pointed in the direction of Ginny. Harry's eyes wandered in the direction of Hermione's finger, and his eyes popped open as he saw Ginny with parchment that hung off the table, with paragraphs written in small handwriting that could give Hermione a run for her money.

“Wow,” Harry gawked. “Either Ginny has a great imagination, or we need to stop being friends. Just joking!” Harry added reassuringly after Hermione gave him a withering glance.

“I honestly don't see what they see,” Hermione sighed, scooting over next to Harry and laying her head on his shoulder. She slightly stretched her neck so that she could look at him.

“Neither do I,” Harry answered, wrapping his arm around Hermione's shoulder and placing his head on top of hers. “I just enjoy to torture you about it,” Harry added, turning his head so that his face was a few mere inches away from Hermione's.

Hermione laughed. “Why me? They think we're in love with each other, remember?”

“Ah, but I'm the handsome bloke with a scarred past who saved the entire world,” Harry said with a serious expression. “You're just the sidekick.”

Hermione gave Harry a, “Oh really?” look, and then gave him a small jab in the stomach by means of her elbow.

“Okay, okay!” Harry relented. “You're just the amazingly intelligent side kick who happened to save my arse no matter what the situation was, even if you were almost dead, every single year since I was eleven.”

“Still not correct…” Hermione said in a singsong voice, giving Harry another little dig.

“Okay, you're just the amazingly intelligent heroine who happened to save this helpless man's arse no matter what the situation was since he was eleven,” Harry amended. “Is that better?”

“Much,” Hermione grinned as Harry laid his head back on top of hers. “You still didn't answer my question, though,” she reminded him, forgetting herself that she had never actually asked a question in the first place.

“Which?”

“What do people see that make them think we're a couple?”

Before Harry could answer, Ginny called over from her table, “Ever consider buying a mirror? It never lies you know.”

“Ginny…” Hermione began to warn, but Harry poked Hermione gently in the ribs and whispered, “Ignore her.”

“All right,” Hermione said grouchily. “But I'm not willingly doing so. Just for the record.”

“You never do anything willingly when it comes to Ginny,” Harry told her.

“Clearly I need to make some changes in certain friendships,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“I heard that!” Ginny growled from across the room.

“Perhaps you'll be able to take the hint then!” Hermione yelled back, twisting her neck to face Ginny.

“Not until you can take one,” Ginny countered.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means— ”

“FOR GOD SAKES, SHUT UP!” Dean, who had been sitting a little ways away, roared at the three. He stood up and stomped out of the common room and up to the boy's dormitory.

“So touchy,” Hermione tched. She conjured a pair of knitting needles and setting to work on a pair of socks for the house elves. “I can't believe you went out with him, Ginny.”

“Well at least I have the guts to have asked someone I liked out,” Ginny snarled.

“Ginny, I don't like Harry,” Hermione repeated for what felt like (and most likely was) the thousandth time.

“Right, let me rephrase that: well at least I have the brains to realize when I like someone. I'm done by the way,” Ginny told the pair, picking up her four-foot long essay. She walked over to them and dropped it in their laps. “And I didn't draw the proof from thin air you know.”

“You sure about that?” Hermione asked as she picked up the essay, but Ginny had scurried off to the girl's dormitory.

“Shall I read it to you?” Hermione asked Harry, holding up the parchment.

“Why not?” Harry asked. “It might be entertaining.

“I bet it will be,” Hermione chuckled. “I'll skip the introduction paragraph, because those are always rather boring, and we know what her thesis will be…here we go.” Hermione cleared her throat and began to read. “`Harry and Hermione show that they internally pine for one another through their constant need to be in physical contact with each other. They are often found sitting together, with Hermione's head on Harry's shoulder and Harry's arm wrapped tightly around Hermione's waist or shoulder. This position, cuddling, as it's more formally known, is one that couples often take. Clearly, on some subconscious level, they recognize that they are deeply in love with one another.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she looked from Harry, to the parchment, and to Harry again. Their eyes met, and instantaneously the two leapt away from one another.

“Cuddle together?” Harry scoffed, combing his fingers through his hair. “Honestly. Where on earth does she come up with these things?”

“No clue,” Hermione replied, wringing out her hands. “Stupid essay, really.” However, she felt her eyes wander back to the spot where she had just previously been in Harry's arms. “Very stupid essay with made up evidence that clearly is proof of an overactive imagination,” Hermione reiterated firmly.

“Most definitely,” Harry agreed.

There was silence, until Hermione quickly proposed, “No more sitting in that…that manner?”

“No more sitting in that manner,” Harry nodded. “We'll show them that we're 100 percent platonic.”

“Right,” Hermione said. She looked around the room and then sat gingerly on a red couch, as Harry nervously sat in the red armchair.

Both felt extremely uncomfortable, but neither was willing to admit how weird it felt to be sitting down and not in one another's arms.

*****

So...good? Bad? Not what you expected? Not living up to your expectations? Please let me know by reviewing! I really appreciate it. And yes, the relationship is moving faster than I usually move them...but you know me. I like to throw curve balls every now and then, so...well...honestly, at this point, I have no clue, so work with me here... *laughs*

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Hi! Sorry it took me so long. I've had so much homework, and I was away for break. Well, it's another short chapter, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it. Please review when you're done!

*****

The top ten reasons why the two Weasley children must die

By Hermione Jane Granger

1. Ginny

2. Ron is siding with Ginny

3. Ginny convinced her mother that Harry and I are highly interested in one another

4. Ginny's essay

5. According to Ginny (after I yelled at her for that essay in her dormitory) Ron actually helped her out while Harry and I were busy sitting…NOT CUDDLING…sitting. Apparently it was he who told her about Luna's insane initials idea

6. It appears that Ginny wasn't the only person that Ron told about Luna's initials theory

7. Ron made up some excuse to leave at breakfast, leaving Harry and myself alone at the table, and everyone kept on giving us weird looks

8. Ginny posted her awful essay on the Gryffindor common room's message board

9. Ginny used ever-lasting glue to stick the essay to the board, and every time another paper is placed on top of the essay, it bursts into flames. I should know. My potions homework is currently in ashes.

10. And the number one reason why the Weasleys must die? My “relationship” with Harry is now a National headline.

*****

“Love is like playing the piano. First you must learn to play by the rules, then you must forget the rules and play from your heart.”

~Anonymous

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“GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY, YOU ARE DEAD!” Hermione screamed up the girls' staircase. Fuming, she raced up to the sixth year's dormitory and flung the door open, only to find Ginny sitting on her bed, staring innocently up at Hermione.

“What are you going to accuse me of now?” she asked.

“What in the name of Merlin is on the board downstairs?” Hermione demanded through gritted teeth.

“Well, I'm pretty sure there's still a Quidditch try-out announcement up there, and, of course, Filch's 500 item list of banned objects, and Hogsmeade dates, and I think— ”

“Let's try an essay by a certain someone about two people who are not in love with one another!” Hermione raged.

“Oh, that,” Ginny said dismissively. “I was just proud of it, is all. Some of my best writing yet. Couldn't help but show it off.”

“Everyone is quoting it at me,” Hermione cried in anguish. “Take it down now, before I murder you.”

“Well, you're going to have to murder me,” Ginny said.

“Why?” Hermione asked, taken aback.

“It's pasted up there with everlasting glue,” Ginny grinned. She hopped up from her bed and gave Hermione a small pat on the shoulder. “Have a pleasant day!” And with that, Ginny raced out of sight, leaving a speechless Hermione.

“GINNY!” Hermione's voice boomed throughout the Gryffindor Tower. When Ginny didn't return, Hermione raced down the steps. Breathless and red faced, she ran straight into Harry.

“Whoa, Hermione!” Harry gasped, grabbing her by the arm to steady her. “What did Ginny do now?”

“Did you even look at the message board yet?” Hermione cried, gesturing towards the area where a group of students were whispering frantically.

“I just got up…” Harry explained.

“Look. Now.”

Harry shrugged, but did as he was told. Hermione followed in order to see his reaction, and what a reaction it was.

A moment after Harry saw the essay and his jaw had dropped open in horror, an armchair set on fire.

“Harry!” Hermione admonished as she put out the fire. “I know it's bad, but I didn't think it called for something so…so…violent.”

“Did you take a look at the thing posted next to the essay?” Harry said to Hermione, frantically pointing to the right of Ginny's elaborate thesis.

“What thing posted next…to…the…” Hermione's eyes widened as they fell upon exactly what Harry was freaking out about. Her hands rose to her chest, as if she were having a heart attack, as she soundlessly mouthed, “Oh. My. God.” For next to the essay was the Daily Prophet, with its main headline reading, “The Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Captured His Heart.” Underneath these words was a huge picture of Hermione running towards a mud covered Harry and flinging her arms around him, followed by a peck on the cheek.

“This is ridiculous!” Hermione cried. “That picture is absolutely misleading! For Merlin's sake, a Bludger had knocked you off your broom! I was hysterical!”

“I remember, Hermione,” Harry said gruffly. “I don't think it's me that you should be telling this story to.”

“There's no one else to tell!” Hermione exclaimed. She gave a small scream of frustration, and was (partially) relieved that every one else was too caught up discussing her “relationship” with Harry to pay her one bit of attention.

Harry reached over and ripped the newspaper down from the board. “Apparently this was stuck up there at the last minute,” Harry said as he unfolded it and began to read. Hermione leaned in close to do the same.

The Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Captured His Heart

By Lana Sandrain

All is quite on the grounds of Hogwarts. A quiet wind rustles through the trees, and beneath one particular tree sit two innocent looking teenagers. The boy is staring up at the sky, while the girl is engrossed in a book. To the normal passerby, the two would seem like your normal pair of friends. At least, that's what the two want you to believe. But take a closer look, and you will realize that there's more than meets the eye. For if your eyes travel down to the ground, there you will see their hands intertwined.

The boy is none other than Harry Potter. The girl? Hermione Jane Granger, Mr. Potter's best friend of six years, and his one true love.

“They constantly deny it,” Ginny Weasley, Mr. Potter's ex-girlfriend and current best female friend of Miss Granger, reveals. “But it's absolutely obvious. They're always cuddling, finishing one another's sentences…you know, those types of things.”

“And they're always together,” adds Parvati Patil, a fellow student at Hogwarts and close friend of Miss Granger.

“Of course we're always together!” Harry said. “We're Head Boy and Head Girl!”

“Somehow I don't think Miss Sandrain gives a damn,” Hermione muttered. “Especially since she's saying Parvati is one of my close friends. Dear Merlin. It's that Skeeter woman all over again.” Hermione shook her head in disbelief.

Harry and Hermione skimmed through the rest of the article, which included more quotes from Ginny (actually, Hermione realized, the whole article seemed to be quotes given by Ginny) and excerpts from Ginny's essay. The two finally reached the end of the article.

“To the rest of the world, Harry Potter is known as the Boy Who Lived,” Harry read out in a monotone. “ To Miss Hermione Granger, he is the Man She Loves.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbed the newspaper out of Harry's hands, walked over to the fireplace, and threw the paper into the fiery pit. “What rubbish,” she spat. She rounded on Harry. “This is all your fault you know!”

“How is this my fault?” Harry demanded.

“If you hadn't started the damn list, Ginny never would have written that essay,” Hermione growled. “And then we wouldn't be reliving fourth year all over again!”

“Actually,” came a bright voice belonging to the one person both Harry and Hermione hated beyond belief, “in fourth year, you were being attacked for cheating on Harry.”

“I WASN'T CHEATING ON HARRY!” Hermione yelled, stomping her foot so it made a loud echoing sound against the stone.

“My, aren't we mature?” Ginny taunted.

“I will kill you,” Hermione advanced on Ginny. “And I don't need a wand to do it either, you little…”

“Breathe, Hermione!” Harry cried out in alarm, grabbing Hermione and holding her back. “I know Ginny's being a complete arse, but you don't want to have to miss your N.E.W.T.s because you killed her.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ginny. “Oh, it would be worth it, believe me.”

Ginny gave a small sigh. “You should really just get over your denial, you know.”

At this comment, Harry and Hermione both turned bright red and shouted in unison, “We're not in denial!”

Ginny raised an eyebrow at the two and then brought out her own copy of the day's newspaper. Her eyes flicked quickly to the main picture. “Could've fooled me,” she said, tossing the article so that it landed at the two's feet, face-up.

“I bet you fifty galleons that you two are a couple by Easter,” Ginny said, pursing her lips and crossing her arms.

“Deal,” Hermione snapped, wrenching her arms out of Harry's grasp. “Now, if you excuse me, I need to go speak with our Head of House about a certain unnecessary essay that must be removed.”

And with that, Hermione stormed out of the common room, leaving a smug Ginny and a very bothered Harry.

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Wow! This took a lot less time than I expected to update. Again, a short chapter (slightly longer than the last one), but stuff happens, so hopefully you'll like it. Though it took me a short(er) time to update this time, don't expect it to happen again...exams this Friday...though if I get hit with inspiration, I'll be able to write when we get four days off after exams.

Well, enjoy!

*****

The Top Ten Reasons Why Harry and I Clearly Would Not Make a Good Couple

By Hermione Jane Granger

1. We're best friends.

2. He thinks I should change my name to Lena.

3. We're too different…wait…no.

4. We're too alike…no…we're not that either…

5. WE'RE BEST FRIENDS! Wait…I already used that one, didn't I?

6. Ginny thinks it's a good idea, and Ginny's always wrong. Well, okay, actually she's not. But in this case, she is.

7. I think it's a bad idea, and I'm always right. Well, actually, when it comes to romance I have no idea what I'm doing…but that's not the point.

8. …er…we're…best friends…I can use that three times, right? Okay, right.

9. Damnit. I have to get back to this one.

*****

“The little unremembered acts of kindness and love are the best parts of a person's life.”

~William Wordsworth

*****

“What do you mean you won't take it down?” Hermione demanded of her apathetic head mistress.

“I mean that I won't take it down, Miss Granger,” sniffed Professor McGonagall. “And here I thought you were the brightest witch in the school.”

After all Hermione had been through this morning, she had half the mind to snap at Professor McGonagall for being condescending. However, Hermione knew she'd regret such a decision tomorrow when she'd be stuck in detention and possibly tested for insanity, and instead replied, “You don't understand, Professor. It's intruding on my personal life. It's causing a complete ruckus amongst the Gryffindors, and it'll only get worse as the day goes on and it spreads throughout the school!”

“I don't know why it bothers you so much that people think so highly of your relationship with Mr. Potter,” McGonagall tsked. “When I was your age, I would have adored knowing that everyone approved of my relationship with the one man I loved most.”

Hermione blinked twice as she let McGonagall's words pierce her mind, and then dropped her jaw open and half-coughed, half-laughed. She knew Harry had put McGonagall on the list, but for Merlin's sake, she had truly thought that he was joking!

“Professor!” Hermione gasped. “You don't honestly think that Harry and I are…that we're…that is to say…”

“Going out?” McGonagall asked, staring at Hermione curiously. “Of course I do, Miss Granger. All of the teachers were under the impression that you were. And after seeing you two on the Quidditch Pitch that one afternoon…”

“Quidditch pitch?” Hermione asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“When Mr. Potter tried to teach you how to properly ride a broom,” McGonagall reminded her.

Hermione furrowed her brows and frowned. “He wasn't teaching me how to ride a broom,” she said hotly. “He was trying to force me onto one to see whether or not I'd die.”

“Is that right?” McGonagall asked, her lips curling into a rarely seen smirk.

“Yes, that's right,” Hermione exclaimed in an exasperated tone. She contained her urge to shake the woman standing in front of her. “Harry and I are just friends. Now can you please get someone to take that horrendous article down?”

“If you're just friends, I don't see why it should bother you so much,” McGonagall pursed her lips.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. “Because,” she explained slowly, “everyone is now under the impression that we are dating, and such rumors aren't healthy for a platonic relationship such as ours!”

“It's only unhealthy if you don't trust that it's completely platonic,” McGonagall replied, turning her attention to a stack of parchment. “Not another word on this matter, if you please, Miss Granger. Good day.”

Hermione's jaw dropped once again as she gawked at the one woman she had been certain, only a few minutes ago, was her only ally.

“I said good day, Miss Granger,” McGonagall told Hermione shortly. “I'll see you on Monday. Now enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

“Enjoy my weekend,” Hermione laughed under her breath as she made her way out of McGonagall's office and back to the Gryffindor common room to see if she could do any damage control. “Fat chance there.”

Hermione entered the common room, only to have every Gryffindor there turn around and stare at her. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let it up, would you?” she told them as she stalked over to the board to see if there was anything she could do to get rid of the insulting newspaper (although she knew, deep down, that there wasn't). The stares did cease, but were quickly replaced by loud whispers.

“You know, they have the same first two initials!”

“If they got married, they'd be the same…”

“Ginny…” Hermione growled under her breath. That little weasel had spread the word…

“I saw them kissing yesterday!”

“Really?! Where?”

“Out by the lake!”

“Okay, this is enough!” Hermione exploded, glaring at all of the Gryffindors. “Listen to me: Harry and I are not going out. Harry and I never were going out. Harry and I never will go out. And why? Because we are friends. And you!” Hermione steamed, turning on the girl who had claimed to see her kissing Harry. “I never went outside yesterday, so, if you would be so kind, please stop spreading rumors. I have half the mind to take away points for anyone who mentions this again, but,” Hermione said reasonably, smoothing out her skirt, “that would be abusing my power. So all I have to say on this matter is, for the love of Merlin, stop this nonsense. Thank you!”

It took Hermione's fellow students merely 22 seconds before the whispers started up again. Hermione flung her arms to her sides.

“I give up,” she moaned, “I absolutely give up!” Wanting nothing more than to escape the nonsense, she went upstairs to the head's common room, where she found Ron and Ginny immersed in a rousing match of chess, with Harry next to Ron, giving him horrible advice, from what Hermione could tell.

“Hello,” she said to them, making sure to give Ginny a pointed stare.

“`lo, Hermione,” Ron said as he leaned his chin on his palm, looking at the board.

“I'm telling you, Ron, move your knight to— “ Harry began.

“The last move you suggested to me ended in my losing my Queen,” Ron hissed slightly. “So, if you would, shut the bloody hell up.”

Harry looked shocked for a moment, and then slightly hurt. “Fine. See if I ever help you again.”

“Thank Merlin!” Ron exclaimed, looking relieved.

Ginny, however, looked upset. “Now how am I guaranteed to win?” she pouted.

“Thanks, Gin,” Harry spat at her sarcastically. Ginny grinned innocently and then returned to her game. Hermione, realizing that now was a good time to speak with Harry about everything going on concerning their so-called “relationship,” grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him to her room.

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed, swatting at her hand once they were inside. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to talk to you about everything that's going around,” Hermione told him tersely. “We need to do damage control.”

“I assume this means that you were unable to get the newspaper removed?” Harry said, looking up at Hermione.

“No,” Hermione sighed, sitting on to her neatly-made bed. “McGonagall seems to really think that we're a couple, or that one of us is interested in the other, and therefore sees no reason in removing it.”

“Told you she should be on the list,” Harry smirked.

“Oh shut up,” Hermione shot at him. “Now is not the time for it.” Hermione stretched her arms and deeply breathed in and out. “What are we going to do? The initials thing seems to be the biggest problem at the moment, but there isn't much we can do about that…”

Harry flopped down next to Hermione, and the two sat in silence. Suddenly, Harry shot up; an excited expression on his face that clearly meant that he had an idea.

“What?” Hermione exclaimed, getting up herself. “What is it?”

“I got it!” Harry grinned, turning around to face Hermione. “You can change your first name!”

Hermione laughed. “Oh ha, ha, Harry, very funny,” she rolled her eyes. “No, seriously, what's your idea?”

Harry frowned, and answered, “That is my idea.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, uncertainty creeping into her voice. Was Harry really that mental? And here she thought the only best friend she needed to concern herself with was Ron…

“No, it's perfect,” Harry explained. “If you change your first name, then we won't have the same initials.”

“Harry, I got what you were saying,” Hermione said, slightly maddened. “The idea just won't work.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “Name one thing that's wrong with it.”

“Well, for one,” Hermione said as if she was talking to a complete imbecile, “it requires changing my name.”

“Your point being?”

“I don't want to change my name, Harry!” Hermione said to Harry, her voice slowly rising.

Harry stared at her. “Why not?”

“Because it's my name!” Hermione threw up her hands. “Would you want to give up your name?”

Harry thought for a moment, and then gave in. “No…” he said slowly.

“My point exactly,” Hermione replied.

“But…” Harry protested, slightly upset, “but I had the perfect name and everything… Lena!”

“Lena?” Hermione huffed. “You think I look like a Lena?”

“…no?”

Hermione shook her head. “Come on, Harry,” she instructed, grabbing his arm once more and leading the way back to Ron and Ginny. “Let's go back before they think we're making out or something.”

When they returned, Ginny and Ron were still in the midst of their match. Harry returned to his place next to Ron, observing, while Hermione was content to sit back down on the couch.

“I can't wait for Christmas Break,” she announced suddenly. “For the first time in my life, I want nothing more than to get out of here.”

“Oh, speaking of break,” Ron said, as he succeeded in checking Ginny's King, only to have Ginny figure a way around it (“Damnit!” exclaimed Ron), “Mum said that we're going on holiday.”

“Oh really, where?” Harry asked, curious, having never really gone away before (going to Grimmauld Place and the Burrow was more like going home).

“We are going to visit Charlie in Romania,” Ginny said, placing an emphasis on the “we.”

“What's your point?” Harry asked, looking at Ginny, then at Ron, and then back at Ginny.

Ron looked up from the chessboard, guilt plastered on his face. “I'm so sorry Harry, but Mum said there isn't enough room for you on the trip.”

Harry's face fell. “Oh,” he said quietly, staring down at his hands.

“It's not that she doesn't think of you as family!” Ginny added quickly. “It's just that there truly isn't room, and you'd be absolutely squashed and miserable. You'll be much more comfortable here, I'm sure.” Ron nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

Hermione, however, knew better. She watched Harry quietly, recognizing that what was most likely going through his head at that very moment was how he would have to spend Christmas alone in Hogwarts - not that he didn't like Hogwarts. Hermione knew he loved it. But if there was one thing Harry loathed, it was being alone. It was then that the perfect idea occurred to her.

“I'll ask mum if you can stay with us,” Hermione told Harry gently. “We're just staying home for Christmas, and she seems to be in love with you, at least to the point where she wants you as a son-in-law, so I'm positive that there will be no trouble.”

Harry's face brightened. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don't want to impose or anything…”

“Oh stop it,” Hermione said, trying to scold Harry, only to break into a small fit of laughter. “It'll be great. Mum will have the time of her life setting up your room, and dad always goes on and on about how he's outnumbered by females.” Hermione placed her hand on Harry's shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring shake. “Don't worry about it. I'll owl Mum tomorrow and ask. I'm positive she'll be thrilled.”

Harry's smile grew wider, and Hermione couldn't help but feel pleased herself. It would be nice having Harry around and showing him where she grew up.

“Sounds like it will be a simply wonderful Christmas,” Ginny whispered to Ron, and the two siblings exchanged satisfied smirks.

-->

Well, here you are...the fifth chapter. I hope you enjoy it. It's more of a filler chapter, I admit, but the Christmas portion of my fic should begin in the next chapter...let the bets begin. *Laughs* Please read and review!

Oh! In this chapter is also a part of the story that I had written out since the beginning, but had no clue when, or if, I would ever use it. Brownie points to whoever figures it out...lol.

*****

Eight Reasons Why My Life is Awful (Apparently it's not as awful as I thought, because I can't think of any more)

By Hermione Jane Granger

1. Ginny. Of course. Apparently she always has to be on the list.

2. My mother, who is the biggest prat in the world (Mum, if you pick this up because you're snooping around again, I meant prat endearingly…it's a new thing we children do nowadays)

3. Apparently Ron and Ginny are trying to set Harry and me up. Officially trying, I mean.

4. The same goes for my mother (yes, two and four are separate reasons).

5. I missed a question on our 100-point test in Potions because Ron, the arse that he is, somehow found a way to send me a note that read, “How are things going with Harry? Found any appropriate closets yet?” It made me so upset that I completely forgot the answer to one of the questions.

6. Because I missed one question, Snape took ten points away from our class, so now, not only does everyone know I forgot a question, they hate me for it (ironic, isn't it? They're always on my case for getting everything right…).

7. Ginny's convinced that I'm obsessed with Harry's ex-girlfriends. Please. Just because I think they're prettier than me does not mean that I'm obsessed with them.

8. Mum's dragging me to this awful New Years Party, where all of the “adults” will insist that I know absolutely nothing because I'm a teen-ager (even though I am actually 18). Well, rather, Harry's dragging me, but he's not actually dragging me…he's just very naïve.

*****

“All love that has not friendship for its base,
Is like a mansion built upon sand.”

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

*****

“I just don't understand why you found it so difficult,” Hermione admonished Harry and Ron as the three of them, along with Ginny, made their way back to the Gryffindor tower. “All you had to do was make sure you stirred the cauldron three times counterclockwise, five times clockwise, six and two-thirds times counterclockwise, followed by a swift stir halfway around, clockwise, of course, and then one last stir four and five-eights times counterclockwise.” Hermione explained all of this as if she were informing the two how to make a sandwich rather than one of the most complicated potions either of them had ever seen in their entire lives.

“Just shut up about it, already,” Ron groaned at her. “We get it. You're a genius. We're idiots. We can't figure anything out.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I didn't say that.”

“It was in the subtext,” Ginny explained to Hermione, as she gave her brother a supportive pat on the back.

“Since when do you even know what subtext is?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Ginny feigned annoyance. “I'll have you know that I have used that word around you more than once! You just never noticed before.”

“Sure,” Hermione nodded, as if Ginny was refusing to fess up about a lie, and then proceeded to laugh.

“Hey!” Ginny cried out, interrupting Hermione's outburst. She pointed in front of her. “There's Luna! Hey L— ”

But Ginny was suddenly cut off as Ron, appearing hysterical, clamped his hands over Ginny's mouth and pulled her close to him. “Don't!” he whispered anxiously. Harry and Hermione exchanged humorous looks, while Ginny glared at Ron, opened her mouth as wide as possible, and bit his hand.

“Ow!” Ron tore his injured appendage away from Ginny. “What was that for?”

“Do you honestly need to ask that question?” Ginny demanded. She looked around for Luna and gave a small scream of frustration. “Now she's disappeared! I wanted to say hi.” She turned on her older brother. “What was that all about?”

“N-nothing!” Ron exclaimed, laughing. “Nothing at all.”

“You're an awful liar, Ron, you know that?” Harry commented while smirking slightly.

Ron's eyes moved back and forth. “Er, I…” He gulped. “I have to go!” he cried quickly, and then raced in the direction where they had last seen Luna.

“To quote Ron, what the bloody hell is going on?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“It seems that you two aren't the only ones in denial,” Ginny grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes and clenched her teeth, but stayed silent in order to allow Ginny to go on.

“No response?” Ginny asked, eyes widening in surprise. “So, you're not denying that you're in denial?”

“I just don't deem the question worthy enough for a response,” Hermione sniffed. “I've told you time and time again, we're just friends.”

“She's right, you know,” Harry told Ginny with a shrug. “Just get on with your story about Ron.”

Ginny sighed, but obeyed. “Well, over the summer, Luna, who lives about half a mile away (but you knew that, right?), would come over about every day. She'd just sit in our kitchen and wait for Ron to come downstairs. It was actually rather entertaining,” Ginny commented, emitting a small chuckle. “Ron was completely horrified by it. Not horrified in a bad way, mind you, but horrified in a, `I don't want her seeing me in this atmosphere' sort of way. Anyway, she would strike up the most unusual conversations. One, of course, was the initials thing I talked about in the essay.” Harry and Hermione looked at each other and sighed. It was hopeless. No matter what they did, somehow their “relationship” would come up in any conversation that involved Ginny.

“I told you that you should change your name to Lena,” Harry muttered.

“And I told you it's a God-awful name,” Hermione answered through a smile, nodding as Ginny went on.

“…and then, and I think this is the conversation that shocked him the most, she started talking about different places people went to date and which places she personally liked. And I mean constantly. It was as if she were saying, `Hey, you idiot, take me out to one of these places already!'”

“Talking about places she likes doesn't mean that she wants Ron to bring her there,” Hermione said.

“Oh please. It was absolutely in the subtext.”

“I really don't think you have any idea what subtext is,” Hermione told her, to which Ginny, rather maturely, Harry thought, stuck her tongue out at Hermione.

“If you don't want to believe me that's your problem,” Ginny proclaimed indignantly. “I have to go study, anyway, so I won't bother with you anymore.” Ginny turned around, her red hair whipping around her neck, as she headed in the direction of the library.

“She's really such a lovely young woman,” Hermione said sarcastically.

"Yeah, but she means well,” Harry told her.

“Means well?” Hermione asked, looking up at Harry in disbelief. “Means well? The girl is going to destroy our friendship one day, I promise you! I can just foresee her forcing us into date after date after date.” Hermione shivered. “Honestly, I don't get her! She gets all offended when I insist she doesn't know what subtext is, yet she expects me to simply give up about the fact that we're just friends.” Hermione began stomping as she became filled with anger. “And the only difference between those two situations is that one is a lie, and we both know that the latter most certainly isn't!”

Harry nodded, but then paused and asked, “Which was the latter again? I forgot the order…” Hermione lightly slammed her bag filled with ten textbooks at Harry's head. And lightly, in this case, meaning with full force. Lucky for Harry, Hermione had horrible hand-eye coordination, and instead of hitting his head, the bag flew out of Hermione's hands and over Harry, landing on the ground a few feet ahead of them.

“Oh this day just gets better and better, doesn't it?” Hermione sighed. “I can't even hit you when I want to!”

“And you can't begin to imagine how sorry I am that you missed,” Harry answered mockingly.

&&&&&

Despite wanting to hold a grudge against her best female friend, Hermione discovered that convenience would not allow her to do so, as she soon found herself in the sixth year girl's dorm, begging Ginny to help her with a certain assignment.

“You want to borrow one of my dresses?” Ginny looked as if she could hardly believe what she was hearing. “As in a dress that I own…for you?”

“Don't make this harder than it is,” Hermione snapped waspishly. “It's not as if I want to borrow one.”

“Yet here you are, on your knees…” Ginny said pointedly.

“Look,” Hermione sighed. “Mum owled me a few weeks ago to let me know about some New Year's party they planned on going to. Originally, I was just going to stay at home and watch the ball drop on the telly— ”

“What's a felly?”

Hermione closed her eyes. “Must we get into this now?” When Ginny didn't insist on getting an answer, Hermione continued with her part of the conversation. “However, I offhandedly mentioned the party while Harry was around, and, having never been to one, he really wants to go. The only problem is, I don't have anything for the occasion. I can just shrink one of my dad's suits for Harry, but all of my mum's clothes are for someone that's, well, old.”

“Her outfits should suit you perfectly then.” Ginny grinned cheekily.

“Well aren't we snarky?” Hermione muttered under her breath. “Look, Gin, I don't enjoy coming here and asking you for help. You know how I feel about relying on others. But I don't have a choice in the matter. You go on and on about all of these muggle dresses that are in nowadays, so do you have anything I could borrow?”

Ginny bit her lip. “I don't know Hermione… We're just, well, differently proportioned, if you understand my meaning…”

“As in you have a figure and I don't?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well, no, that's not it…” Ginny seemed flustered, a rare occurrence for the youngest Weasley.

“You don't need to lie to me, Ginny,” Hermione laughed. “I'm really not bothered by it. I know that, in terms of looks, I'm not that desirable. I don't have your tiny waist, I don't have Parvati's full chest, and I most certainly do not have Cho's overall amazing figure in addition to shapely legs. I'm plain, and I'm fine with that.”

“You know,” Ginny mused, “the three girls you just happened to choose at random to compare yourself to also just happened to have dated (or in Parvati's case gone to a ball with) Harry. And the one girl who you think is the most perfect happens to be the one who gave Harry his first kiss.” Ginny smirked, positive she had just made a point.

“Oh please,” Hermione glared. “Don't start up with that again. You, Parvati, and Cho just happen to be the girls I knew the best in Hogwarts. Well, Cho and I never really spoke, but I got involved with that whole Cho thinking that Harry loved me thing.”

“Even Cho got it, and she was a complete dunce,” Ginny snapped at Hermione.

“Cho was a Ravenclaw,” Hermione said coldly. “She was anything but a dunce.”

“So you agree that she knows what she's talking about?”

“Like I said, she's a Ravenclaw—”

“So since a Ravenclaw said that there was something going on between you and Harry, that'd mean it's true, right?” Ginny grinned as she outsmarted Hermione for her first, and most likely last time in her entire life.

Hermione stood there, gawking. “You are a piece of work, you know that?” Hermione let out finally.

“Yes, well, I'm slightly afraid of what you are if I'm a piece of work.”

“Oh, just get me a dress already!”

“Here!” Ginny practically shouted at Hermione, shoving a pink strappy number into Hermione's arms. “Take this.”

Hermione stared at what she could only guess made up a quarter of a skirt.

“I'm going to a party with adults Ginny,” Hermione said. “Not a strip club. And for the love of God, not another pink one.”

“Well I don't think you're going to have a lot of luck in that department,” Ginny replied.

“What are you doing wearing pink anyway?” Hermione asked darkly. “You're a redhead. I might not be knowledgeable when it comes to fashion, but dear Merlin, I'm not that dense.”

&&&&&

“My mother's reply is here!” Hermione announced to an empty room. She blinked as she received no response. She could've sworn Harry was down here… She turned around, biting her lip, and called, “Harry! Harry!” When still no reply came, she headed over to a set of stairs and, huffing, went up and knocked on a door. “Harry!” she called.

“What?” came his muffled voice.

“I have the reply from my mother…” she told him in a sing-song manner.

“…Good for you?” Harry answered uncertainly.

“Harry…”

“I'm kidding!” The door opened and Harry let her into his room, which differed greatly from hers. Where her room was neatly organized, with all of her books placed on a bookshelf in alphabetical order, Harry's was covered in random bits of clothes, with his books in a cluttered pile next to his desk. Where her walls were covered with paintings by some of the most influential artists of all time, his were covered haphazardly with Quidditch posters.

“You should really clean up in here, you know,” Hermione suggested as she sidestepped a shirt.

“Thanks, mum,” Harry smiled sarcastically. “Now, what's the verdict?”

Hermione stared blankly at him. “I haven't read the letter yet,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “I was waiting to read it with you.” Hermione carefully opened the envelope (annoying Harry slightly - why did women insist on having envelopes in perfect shape? To resend letters?) and extracted the letter. Unfolding it, she began to read:

“Dear Hermione,

“I'm so happy that you'll be able to make it home for Christmas. We miss you terribly, as you know, and we quite enjoyed having time last year during the break to talk with you. You can't imagine how hard it was for us during fourth and fifth year, what with not being able to really see you.

“I'm pleased to hear that your studies are coming along well. Your father and I were thrilled when we learned that you had the highest grade, yet again, in all of your classes, though we do hope you try to avoid another incident such as potions.”

“They're not talking about the fact that you missed one question on that test last week, are they?” Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Of course they are,” Hermione answered briskly. “And I understand. It was completely unreasonably of me to miss that one… Honestly, nymphs? Why would that potion make nymphs?”

“But Hermione, it was one question out of seven years worth of tests and exams.”

“So there goes my perfect record,” Hermione sighed. “Can we get off this topic? You know how it upsets me. I don't enjoy not getting the answer right, you know.”

“Go figure…” Harry laughed. “Go on with the letter then.”

“Your father and I would be delighted to have Harry join us for Christmas break. I must say, we've only met him a few times (and from those times I must say he is a charming young man), and it would be nice to get to know the boy of which you speak so highly.”

“You speak highly of me?” Harry asked brightly.

“Well, you have saved my life, along with hundreds of others, now and again,” Hermione explained off-handedly. “I suppose that makes you a rather stand-up person.” She quickly returned to the letter.

“I'll give him the guest room next to yours. He should be quite comfortable there, I hope. This way, in case…” Hermione's eyes bugged out of her face as she turned beet red.

“What is it?” Harry asked. When no reply came, he began tapping his feet impatiently. “Would you please continue?” Silence still. Frustrated, Harry ripped the letter out of a shell shocked Hermione's hands and read:

“This way, in case you two want to have a `midnight-chat,' it'll be simple to get to one another's rooms (we had that creaking floorboard fixed). And you're far enough away from our part of the house that your father shouldn't be able to hear you if you choose to do anything physical.”

It was Harry's turn for his face to transform into a magnificent scarlet, as the letter fluttered gently to the ground. The two stared at one another, not sure who looked more like Ron's hair - although at the moment, Hermione was betting it was herself. Had she been in a cartoon, smoke would be billowing out of her ears. After all, she wasn't only red out of embarrassment.

“Maybe you should go…” Harry said swiftly, gesturing towards his door. Hermione could only nod as she turned and raced out, the door slamming behind her. Moaning and cursing her mother at the same time, she flung her face into her hands and slid down, her back against Harry's door.

“Still there?” Harry called to Hermione.

“Yes,” Hermione croaked.

“Perhaps we should stay here for Christmas instead,” he suggested. “It might be safer. And all of those sadistic people who are pushing us together should be gone.”

“That might just be a wise idea.” Hermione moved her face from her hands and placed them against her thighs, wrapping her arms around her legs. She could not believe that her own mother could write such things to her.

In the end, however, they decided it wouldn't be wise to go AWOL, especially after asking to go. And so it was, at ten at night, that Harry was rushing to pack for the morning, when the two would be leaving by Hogwarts Express.

“You should've done it earlier,” Hermione scolded him, watching him race across his room.

“I'm sorry!” he huffed. “I thought I had that packing spell down, but apparently I didn't.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Here, let me,” she insisted, drawing out her wand. A second later, the contents of Harry's room was packed neatly in his trunk. Hermione had also muttered an organizing spell of some sort, and Harry's room was shortly as clean as her own.

“Did you have to do that?” Harry asked, almost cross.

Hermione gave a shrug for her answer as the two made their way downstairs, where Ron and Ginny were, surprise, consumed with a game of chess.

“Shouldn't you two be packing?” Hermione yawned, flopping onto a couch. Harry joined her.

“For what?” Ginny inquired, knocking out Ron's bishop with her knight.

“For the holidays?”

“Whatever for?” Ron asked. “We're staying here for Christmas. Mum and dad told us that they're going to visit Bill this year, and there simply isn't enough money for us to come with them.”

Harry and Hermione stared blankly at the Weasley pair.

“What did you just say?” Harry demanded.

“I was positive we told you that,” Ginny said, staring up at the two innocently. “We were oh so crushed when we discovered that you two would be abandoning us this year, weren't we, Ron?” Ron nodded his head at the two, a puppy dog pout on his face.

“I would kill you two, but I'm too tired,” Hermione shot at them. “I hope you have an absolutely horrible Christmas. Come on, Harry. We have an early train back tomorrow.”

“Well, it certainly won't be as action packed as yours,” Ginny snickered. Hermione turned around and flung at her the first thing she found (a book, of course). Hermione was certain that it was going to slam into Ginny's disgustingly smug face, but a second later, the redhead had employed her Chaser skills and caught the offending object.

“I thought you said you were tired!” Ginny said accusingly, placing the book on the ground.

“Never doubt a girl who's had it up to here,” Hermione snapped, and she and Harry made their way up to their rooms.

Thank God we won't be here during break… I'd rather put up with my mother than her any day. Hermione's thoughts traveled back to the letter, and she felt her face grow hot. Well, maybe not any day.

-->

Heh…hi! I know, I know. I'm horrible. It's been a month since I've updated. But as I warned, I've been horribly busy. So on top of school and after school activities (which take up enough time as it is), my sixteenth birthday is coming up, and needless to say a lot of planning is involved…which takes up a lot of my time, sadly. :-/

I will warn you that it may be even longer until I update again, due to the fact that I've encountered writer's block. I know where I want to go with this story - it's just a matter go getting there. When I'm away from my computer, I have all of these scenes/ideas running through my head. Then I get my hand on pen and paper, or even my laptop, and I can't seem to put it into words. But don't worry! I haven't once abandoned a story due to writer's block. Ever. And I'm determined to finish this one, even more so, if possible, then I'm Not Neurotic!

If you're curious about any updates, please check out my LiveJournal (my username is HMSHarmony). I'm going to try to post about my progress on chapters, and sometimes I might even have some previews. ^_^ However, my LJ is friends only, so you'll need your own LJ to see my updates. Just comment that you read my fics and want to know what's going on and I'll add you.

On that note, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Nothing really happens to move H/Hr together, as I'm still in the set up stage, but I personally think it's a fun chapter all the same (then again, I have the slightest bias, seeing as I wrote it…).

Please read and review!

*****

The Top Ten Reasons Harry and Hermione Need to Get Together

By Ginny Weasley, with useless comments by Ron Weasley

1. They've been best friends since first year, and you just can't go that long without falling in love with someone. Wait, if they have to fall in love with each other because they're best friends, what about me? I'm best friends with them, too! You already “fell” for Hermione, remember Ron? You were just smart enough to back off after sixth year, because you knew she was better suited for Harry. Oh, right…wow. I'm such a great person!

2. Harry and Hermione…it just sounds good. What, and Ron and Hermione doesn't?! Ron…we're trying to get them together. Oh…right. Heh. Sorry. Just this pride thing, you know? Believe me, I know…I pity Luna. Yeah, so do— wait a second, what are you talking about? What does Luna have to do with this? …I really pity her.

3. Same initials, of course. How many people do you know like that? AND they could name their children H names, give them J middle names, and it'd be a family of “HJP.” But Hermione's last name is Granger…that doesn't start with a P. Am I the only intelligent one left in our family?

4. I would get to be the Maid of Honor! I don't have any other really close female friends, except Luna…but I'd find a way to be the Maid of Honor in my brother's wedding, no matter who he married. I don't know…Luna might want someone else to…wait a second! STOP BRINGING LUNA INTO THIS, GINNY!

5. Did I ever mention how much I adore planning weddings? I do. With all of my heart. It'd be so much fun. Okay, don't you think that you're getting a little ahead of yourself? I mean, how do you know that they'll end up married? Please. I know these things.

6. Harry clearly cares about her more than anyone else in the world. Neville told everyone about how Harry reacted to Hermione's “almost death” back in fifth year. When that brain suffocated Ron ten minutes later, he could have cared less. That's right! He cares more about her than he could ever care about any of us…how's that a good thing again? Well, it's not a good thing for you, but for those two it is. And for the money I'm going to make, I suppose it's great for me…

7. They'd have the perfect children. Well, minus the hair. Unless they got Harry's mum's hair. Anyway, they'd have Harry's eyes, Hermione's brains, Harry's courage, Hermione's loyalty, Harry's keenness for adventure, Hermione's sensibility, both their wit… Honestly. Perfect children. Can we please take this off the list? I really don't enjoy the image of Harry and Hermione doing… Doing what? The icky stuff… Sex? GINNY! No! They'll never have sex. Just like our parents. I hate to break this to you, but… I'M NOT READING!

8. They look good together. I mean alone, they're kind of…not so pretty, but together, they make a rather nice couple. Like McGonagall and Flitwick? …No, that's not the same at all. Where did you come upwith the ludicrous idea that those two were dating, anyway? Luna. Ron, I know you love her/are obsessed with her, but honestly, you listened to her? She had a convincing argument… Oh please, do tell of this “convincing argument.” …She said she saw them underneath a circle of empritents, which signifies that two people are dating. Yeah, that's convincing.

9. I want them together. I get what I want, and if I don't get this, I can assure you, I'll be really upset. Isn't that a bit selfish of you? Ron, I will split the fifty galleons with you. How does that sound? I always thought that selfishness was your best quality…

10. They're already in love with one another, so it's pointless for them to keep up this pretense.

*****

“Love is like pi - natural, irrational, and very important.”

~Lisa Hoffman

*****

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Ron moaned, turning over in his bed. He had been awoken by… Well, he wasn't exactly sure what it was that had awoken him. He just knew that he was up, and that his body was telling him that it was much too early to be awake, especially on the first day of break.

“Sorry, mate,” a voice, which Ron recognized as that of Dean Thomas, apologized. “I forgot to pack last night, and, well, here I am.”

Ron opened his eyes and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Indeed, Dean was in the midst of throwing random articles of clothing into an already overflowing trunk.

“You're heading home for the holidays again?” Ron yawned as he stretched his arms.

“Yep,” Dean replied. “Look, I have a question for you…” He went over to his dresser and took out two shirts. “I'm being dragged to this New Year's party, and I was wondering, which shirt do you think looks better?” Dean placed in front of himself one shirt, which was a dark blue button up, and then switched it for the same shirt, only a forest green.

“Well, I think the first one brings out your eyes, while the other compliments your complexion…” Ron commented sarcastically.

“Really?” Dean looked as if he was considering which was more important to him as he stepped in front of the mirror and traded the two shirts on and off once more.

“How should I know?” Ron demanded. “I'm a guy for Merlin's sake! But then again, I thought that you were one as well…”

“It's not that difficult a question…” Dean muttered, stuffing both shirts into the trunk, deciding that he would choose later.

“Sorry. I'm just tired in the mornings.” As if to prove his point, Ron yawned. “So, about this party? You're going against your will?”

“That's about it,” Dean sighed sadly. “But hopefully it won't be too bad. I hear that the Grangers go there every year, so at least, I hope, Hermione will be there to keep me company.”

There was a look in Dean's eyes that did not make Ron at all comfortable. A look that Ron was fairly certain he himself had worn back in fourth year.

“You…you'd be a bit happy if Hermione was there, huh?” he asked slowly, swinging his legs over the side of his four-poster bed.

“Well, yeah…” Dean smiled; again, not the type of reaction that Ron was looking for.

“As in…our Hermione…Hermione Granger?”

“It's not that common a name, is it?” Dean eyed Ron, wondering if his schoolmate was mental.

Ron nodded noncommittally, and then jumped out of bed and raced downstairs where, to his relief, he found Ginny, who was flirting shamelessly with one of the sixth year boys.

“Ginny!” Ron barked.

Ginny closed her eyes and groaned. “Don't you dare get on my case about this, Ron,” she instructed him. “I can do whatever I please, whether it's flirting, dating, shagging…” The eyes of the boy to whom she was talking suddenly lit up, and Ginny looked at him with a disgusted expression on her face. “Oh please, as if I'd ever do any of those things with you.” Offended, the sixth year stood up and stomped out of the common room.

“For once in my life, I don't care what you're doing with some guy!” Ron told her. “We have a much more pressing issue!”

Ginny spun around in her seat. “Like what? What's wrong?” she asked urgently, making room for her brother on the couch.

“It's Dean.” Ron's words came out rushed and breathless.

“Dean?” Ginny looked confused at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. “What are you talking about?”

“He's going to the party! The New Year's Eve party.”

“As in the one Harry and Hermione are going to?” Ginny clarified.

“Exactly!”

“I don't get what the problem is…”

“I'm pretty certain that Dean thinks of Hermione in a way that can mess absolutely everything up!”

Ginny's eyes widened. “You're joking!” she breathed in absolute disbelief.

“Do I look like I'm joking?”

Ginny bit her lip. “Let me handle this,” she said finally, and then stalked up to the seventh year boy's dorm.

Ron stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He settled on sitting on a chair in front of the fire, swinging his legs to and fro. He finally realized that this was a rather boring activity, and went upstairs to try and help his sister. He arrived just in time to hear his sister demand of Dean, “You promise, right?”

“I promise, Ginny,” Dean rolled his eyes. “I think this is absolutely ridiculous, and I don't see why you're telling me what to do. I mean, if they wanted to be together, they'd do it on their own, and it wouldn't matter whether or not I asked her out.”

“Promise me,” Ginny growled. Ron would never admit it, but sometimes Ginny scared the Hell out of him. Actually, he reasoned, she always scared the Hell out of him.

“All right! I don't understand why I'm doing something for my ex-girlfriend, but all right. I'll do it.”

“I always knew I liked you the most out of all of my exes,” Ginny grinned, patting him on the shoulder.

“Er, thanks…” Dean replied, not looking thankful at all, but rather insulted. He picked up his wand and leviosa-ed his trunk. “Well, I better be going. I'm late as it is for catching the train…happy holidays.”

“Happy holidays!” Ginny called after him. She raised her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Don't forget our promise!” Dean responded by making a rather obscene gesture with his hands, and then walked out of sight.

“Well, that was a bit rude of him.” Ginny glared after the seventh year that used to be her boyfriend.

“Imagine, your ex not wanting to be ordered around by you…” Ron commented mockingly. A glare immediately awarded Ginny with a quickly mumbled, “Sorry,” by her brother.

&&&&&

“In here!” Hermione motioned to an empty compartment, and Harry followed her in, shutting the door behind them.

“Even during the break it's hard to find an empty one,” Hermione sighed, picking up her trunk and attempting to place it on the shelf overhead.

“I got it,” Harry told her, taking the luggage from her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I'm perfectly capable of stowing my luggage, Harry. I've done it for six years.”

Harry shrugged. “You looked tired. And it doesn't hurt me to be chivalrous every now and again. It's good training for when I'm tied down.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Tied down?” She covered her mouth as she failed to suppress a laugh. “Oh how I pity the woman who ends up tied down with you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Harry muttered, sitting across from Hermione, who was grinning mischievously at him. “And what if that woman ends up being you, huh?” He had no idea what prompted him to say such a thing. But he had, and now he was faced with the consequences - a rather shocked Hermione.

Hermione's eyes widened as she froze. “What?” she squeaked, her voice approximately 20 decibels higher than normal.

“Nothing!” Harry insisted, his voice catching. “I didn't say anything! I…er…” He trailed off, unable to come up with a proper explanation.

“A joke, right?” Hermione laughed awkwardly, her voice slowly returning to normal.

“Yes,” Harry answered, relieved. Why hadn't he thought of that? After all, that was what it had been. “A joke.”

“Heh…” Hermione tried to smile, but instead it came off as if she was trying to convince someone that the fifty-ton rock on her leg didn't really hurt.

Needless to say, it was silent for a bit. Harry looked aimlessly out the window, watching the rather repetitive scenery pass by, while Hermione reread the same passage from Hogwarts: A History approximately 22 times. Many minutes had passed (along with seamlessly similar scenery) before Harry, not able to take a moment longer of quiet, broke out, “Want to play exploding snap?”

Hermione jumped in her seat, surprised by the sudden noise. “Pardon?” She closed her book and curiously tilted her head to the side.

“I asked if you want to play a game of exploding snap,” Harry reiterated, taking out a pack of cards as a visual aide.

“I don't know, Harry…” Hermione bit her lip, clutching her fingers around the top edge of her book. “I've never played before…”

“I'll teach you!” Harry volunteered, and he proceeded to do just that. Ten minutes later, after Hermione had comprehended how to properly play, they began a game. It was an hour later before Hermione, having lost for the twelfth time in a row and now covered head to toe in soot, flung down her cards and pronounced the game an absolute waste of time.

“Just imagine how much you'd enjoy it if you were actually winning…” Harry sighed sadly.

“That's not it, and you know it!” Hermione protested angrily, although she herself knew that certainly was the reason why she despised the game. “It isn't challenging whatsoever!” She glared at the cards with contempt, and, after cleaning herself off with a quick spell, picked up Hogwarts: A History, and began to reread the passage from over an hour ago.

Harry had half the mind to counter, “If it isn't challenging, then why aren't you winning?” but realized that it would be in bad taste to provoke Hermione. It wasn't her fault that she didn't enjoy being bad at something…well, not completely her fault.

An hour later the two arrived at King's Cross Station, where an overjoyed Mrs. Granger and a not-so-overjoyed Mr. Granger greeted them.

“Hermione!” Mrs. Granger exclaimed, running over to Hermione as she stepped off the train, embracing her daughter tightly. “I've missed you!”

“You're going to kill me, mum,” Hermione laughed lightly, patting her mother on the back.

Mrs. Granger frowned and let Hermione out of the hug, still holding her at an arm's length. “Is that all you have to say to the mother you haven't seen since summer?” She gave her daughter an accusing stare.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Don't be so overdramatic. I've missed you terribly, as well.”

“That's better,” Mrs. Granger grinned happily. Her grin fell slightly as she looked around. “Where's Harry?” Before Hermione could answer, Mrs. Granger exclaimed, “Don't tell me you just left him at Hogwarts!”

“Mother, honestly,” Hermione admonished. Sometimes she could hardly believe that her mother wasn't the child in the family. “He's just bringing out the luggage. He insisted,” Hermione added, as if trying to insure that no one thought that she was the type of girl that just let the guy do all of the work. And indeed, a second later, Harry had stepped onto the platform, two trunks flying in the air behind him.

“Is that the boy who's going to take advantage of our daughter,” growled Mr. Granger. His wife hit him slightly.

“Don't call him a boy, John,” she instructed. “He has a name you know.”

Hermione stifled a laugh. It would figure that her mother could care less whether or not she was “taken advantage of.”

“Now, Hermione, would you be a dear and…” Before her mother could finish, Hermione gave a quick nod and placed herself between her parents and Harry.

Before speaking, Hermione gave Harry a quick glance, her expression clearly saying, “If you mock me for this later, I will kill you.”

“Mum, Dad, I would like to present Mr. Harry Potter, one of my oldest friends, and an amazingly talented wizard.”

Harry's eyes widened as he felt a blush creep onto his face. Not only did he feel that this was completely unnecessary (after all, he had met the Grangers before), but he wasn't quite so fond of how formal all of this was.

Hermione's slight grimace, gone unnoticed by both her parents, let Harry know that she hated this just as much as he.

“It's such a pleasure to meet you, Harry,” Mrs. Granger beamed. Mr. Granger, on the other hand, stared angrily at Harry and muttered a, “Nice to meet you,” at Harry.

“Oh for Merlin's sake, Dad.” Hermione walked over to her father as Harry replied, “Nice to meet you as well.” “This is Harry, as in my best friend. I can assure you, he's the one who'll make sure that no boy in Hogwarts `takes advantage of me.' You have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh don't even bother with your father, Hermione,” Mrs. Granger said briskly as she indicated to her husband to take the trunks from Harry. “You know he'll never trust another man so long as he lives. When he's supposed to walk you down the aisle, he'll be dragging you out the door. Now, let's get home and have a cup of tea, shall we?”

&&&&&

“I don't think your father's too fond of me,” Harry whispered into Hermione's ear as they sped away from Islington and towards Mayfair. Hermione's father was constantly glaring at Harry through the rearview mirror. Hermione's mother had to stab him in the side every few minutes to prevent Mr. Granger from steering the car off the road or, worst, into another car.

“Of course he isn't,” Hermione answered matter-of-factly. Harry blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly.

“Thanks a lot,” he mumbled, thankful that her parents couldn't hear their conversation over the car's motor.

“Oh come off it, Harry,” Hermione replied. “He thinks of you as the enemy.” Hermione received another blank stare from Harry. She sighed and added, “All fathers are like that.”

“Mr. Weasley isn't,” Harry pointed out, gripping onto his seat as the car swerved. Mr. Granger had just avoided hitting a car, and Mrs. Granger was now trying to convince him to let her drive. Harry didn't know what scared him more - a car wreck, or Mr. Granger having the opportunity to give him the evil eye for Merlin knows how long.

“Yes, well, Ginny has gone through her share of boyfriends since you were her one and only for approximately two weeks,” Hermione explained to Harry. “It's safe to assume that he worries more about Ginny taking advantaged of the next poor bloke who lays their eyes on her. I, on the other hand, have yet to be in any serious relationship - or really any relationship whatsoever.”

“But Krum…” Harry trailed off uncertainly.

“I wouldn't call staring at me while I study a relationship,” Hermione said, shaking her head and laughing slightly. “I do wish, thought, that my father would realize that I'm eighteen, and legally an adult in both worlds. It seems I'll always be an eleven-year-old in his mind.”

Harry was about to respond when the car came to an abrupt halt.

“Lizzie, this isn't necessary!” Mr. Granger protested.

“This is a Rolls Royce, John,” Mrs. Granger said through clenched teeth. “I am not letting you wreck it. Now get to the other side before I make you move.” Mr. Granger mumbled, but got out of the seat and moved over to the left side.

Harry bit the inside of his lip in order not to smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so different as staying with the Weasleys after all.

“Now you can stare threateningly at Harry without endangering our lives,” Mrs. Granger told him, starting up the car. Harry gulped and glanced anxiously at Hermione.

“Don't worry,” Hermione consoled him, taking out two books and handing him one. “It's only…” She looked out the window, taking in the heavy traffic. “…about twenty minutes, with this backup, until we get home. In the mean time, you can catch up on some history.”

Harry glanced down at the book in his hands.

“Hogwarts: A History,” he groaned, glancing over at Hermione's book that was almost as worn as Hogwarts: A History. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “That's not fair! You're reading a real book.”

Hermione contained the urge to hit him, and instead said, “Somehow I can't envision that The Scarlet Letter will entice you more than A History. And this way, I won't have to remind you time and time again that you can't apparate in to or out of Hogwarts.” Harry gave her the evil eye. “It's your choice,” Hermione shrugged. “You can watch my father glare at you, or finally know something about the school you've attended for the past seven years.” Hermione opened her own book and began to read.

“That isn't much of a choice…” Harry grumbled, cracking open the book. As he began to read, Hermione couldn't help but smile. Perhaps he wasn't a lost cause after all.

-->

“Love... What is love? Love is to love someone for who they are, who they were, and who they will be.”

~Chris Moore

*****

The second Harry stepped into Hermione's house, he knew that Mrs. Granger was going to prove even more dangerous, if possible, than Ginny and Ron.

“I'm going to go have a talk with your father,” Mrs. Granger told the two Hogwarts students, placing an arm around her husband, who had not ceased glaring at Harry since his wife took control of the car. “Hermione, be sure to show Harry around the house, and show him his room, if you would. And you might as well show him yours, since you're in such close proximity to one another,” she finished with a meaningful glance. At this Mr. Granger made to strangle an alarmed Harry, who immediately stepped behind Hermione Mrs. Granger, who gripped Mr. Grangers arm tightly and simply smiled, kept her husband in order. “Make sure that he's comfortable, will you, dear?” she asked Hermione.

“Of course, Mum,” Hermione answered, ignoring her mother's hints, and dragged her trunk into the house. It was times like these that she wished she could do magic amongst muggles without any consequences.

Mrs. Granger gave Harry and Hermione a pleased smile and then walked Mr. Granger to the other side of the house.

“Well,” said Hermione, setting her trunk down in front of a staircase. “This is home.” She looked around the foyer. Paintings that were very similar to those that hung in her room at Hogwarts lined the walls, and Hermione's feet tapped against the hardwood floors as she walked over to a closet. She took off her shoes and placed them inside, and Harry followed suit.

“So, Mum wants me to give you a little history on the house, I suppose,” Hermione sighed.

“She didn't say anything about— ” Harry began, but was cut off as Hermione began her explanation.

“Like most houses in this area, ours was built some time in the Victorian era,” Hermione explained to Harry as she made her way through the foyer and into what Harry presumed to be the living room. The two sat on a red couch that was opposite of an empty fireplace. “I don't know the exact year it was built, but that's close enough. It has four floors, like most in this area. Mum and Dad moved in here about twenty years ago, following their married, and so, of course, I've lived here all of my life. Be sure to compliment Mum on the interior design,” Hermione advised Harry. “She decorated this entire house while she was off work while she was pregnant with me. She didn't decorate it herself, of course, but she came up with the ideas and hired someone. Except for my room, all of this is hers, and she's rather proud of it.”

Harry nodded as he took in the room and remembered how well adorned the foyer had been. Hermione's family, he realized, was the exact opposite of Ron's. For one thing, Hermione was an only child, a huge contrast to Ron's six siblings. Then there was the fact that both her parents were dentists, so of course it made sense that her family would be well off. It was the first time he had been in the house of a muggle well-to-do family that hadn't made him feel as if he were imprisoned, his only other reference being the cold and heartless Privet Drive. He was surprised by how at home he could feel at both the Burrow and the Granger's house when the two couldn't be more different.

At that moment an orange ball of fluff bounded into the room and pounced on to Hermione's lap. Hermione let out a small squeal, which was unusual for her, as she hugged the orange thing and exclaimed, “Crookshanks!”

It was then that Harry remembered that Hermione had been forced to leave her treasured cat at home this year when a car hit Crookshanks a day before term began. He had been all right, of course - he had thankfully only broken his leg - but her parents insisted on treating him in the muggle way, and so he had to stay home while his leg healed. He was perfectly fine now, as was apparent by how fast he could run, and Harry could only imagine the look on Ron's face when Hermione would arrive back at Hogwarts with Crookshanks in her arms.

“I've missed you,” Hermione told the cat, placing him back down onto her lap and stroking him lightly. She looked up at Harry apologetically. “I'm sorry that you couldn't bring Hedwig with you. Mum's just deathly afraid of owls. She'll tolerate them dropping by mail every now and again, but she can't stand the idea of being in the same house as one.”

“But you were going to get an owl in the summer of third year,” Harry reminded her, confusion written on his face.

“Yes, but I planned on keeping it at school,” she replied. “Which is why I'm so glad I found Crookshanks.” She hugged the cat once more.

Harry laughed. “I'm not so sure that Ron is quite as pleased.”

Hermione made a face. It was clear that she cared little of what Ron thought of her pet. “Well after all he's put us through, I think he deserves every bit of torture Crookshanks inflicts on him.” Hermione placed Crookshanks on the ground and stood up. “I'm going to go put my stuff upstairs, okay?” Hermione told Harry. “Then I'll show you to your room.” She paused as she made her way into the main hallway, and then turned around. “Feel free to look around,” she said to Harry with a smile. Crookshanks bounded after her.

Harry nodded, watching her as she rounded the corner and out of his sight. He stood up himself, deciding to take a closer look at the living room. A black baby grand piano was in the corner, its glossy coating only outshined by the ten or so certificates encased in golden frames. Each certificate read, “First Place Awarded to Miss Hermione Granger, For Excellence in Piano.” Sheet music was stacked in a neat pile next to the matching black bench. The music on the top of the pile was Johann Sebastian Bach's Piano Concerto No. 5 in F Minor.

Harry tilted his head to the side as his eyes travelled back up to read the awards. I had no idea she played piano. Harry was shocked to learn that the certificates dated back to 1985. She was six-years-old when she won her first… After a moment, he realized that he actually wasn't that surprised. Hermione succeeded beyond most people's wildest dreams at anything she put her mind to. Well, almost anything, Harry thought, thinking of Divination. But then again, not much of the mind was required for such a class.

Harry returned his attention to observing the rest of the room, which was full of different hues of red. He ventured over to a black bookcase that, in addition to being filled with, of course, books, had a row of pictures of Hermione. It seemed to be a picture from every year since her birth. Harry was amused to see that, as a little girl, probably two-years-old - three at most - Hermione had blonde hair. It was, of course, as bushy as it was now. Harry was relieved that Hermione's hair had darkened significantly since her toddler days. He didn't think she would be as striking if she were blonde. It was true that Hermione wasn't beautiful, like Ginny or Cho, but there was a subtle beauty about her - a look that one could rarely find in a girl.

“Find anything interesting?” a voice asked from behind. Harry turned around to find a smirking Hermione.

“You were blonde,” he said stupidly. What the hell was that? Harry asked himself. Since when did he act like an idiot?

Hermione nodded slowly, as if she were talking to an incredibly slow man. “Yes, yes I was…as were most children. We tend to start out blonde, and then get darker shades, as we grow older. I happened to end up a brunette. You, however…” Hermione said, scrunching up her nose playfully. “Somehow I don't think that you were ever a blond.” She took a tendril of his hair, wrapping it around her finger. Realizing what she had done, Hermione blushed and dropped her hand to her side, muttering an embarrassed apology.

“No need…” Harry replied, although he was currently doing everything in his power to keep his face from turning red. “So…er…you play the piano?” He gestured towards the baby grand with his head. Hermione nodded.

“Since I was four,” she said. “Mum always wanted me to be cultured. That's why we travelled so much. Anyway, she would always say that a young lady isn't civilized if they don't know a musical instrument.” Hermione pondered what she had just said as she slid gracefully onto the couch. Harry sat beside her. “Whenever I told that to anyone, they would say that Mum was being sexist, but I don't think she meant it that way. I don't think it was about being a `proper lady,' per se, as she claimed, but more, as I said, of just enhancing one's culture. You can't imagine how much I've learned from playing over the years.” Hermione glanced, almost mournfully, at the now forgotten sheets of music. “I stopped, really, after I entered Hogwarts. If there's one thing I regret about going to Hogwarts, it's that. I really do miss it. Over the summers, I would play, but now…I don't know.” She closed her eyes, leaning back onto the couch, a small smile playing at her lips. “I can still remember the first classical piece I ever learned - Minuet in G.” She began humming the tune, her fingers playing on an invisible piano. She laughed as she opened her eyes. “I'm sorry, Harry. I'm boring you with my nostalgia. Let's get you settled into your room…”

“Right,” Harry nodded, following Hermione out of the living room. As they made their way up the stairs, Harry commented to Hermione, “Just so you know, nothing about your life could ever bore me.”

Hermione swatted at him. “Harry, don't be mean,” she said, although a small smile played on her lips.

“What!” Harry exclaimed, feigning emotional injury. “I'm serious!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You can honestly say that anything I have to say would interest you?”

Harry thought for a second, and then admitted, “Except anything to do with our course books. And the history of Hogwarts. And school.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “Good thing I never talk about that, right?”

“Yes, good thing,” Harry grinned.

*****

“Would you like to see my room first, or yours?” Hermione asked as they reached the third floor.

Harry shrugged. “I don't really care either way.”

“Mine's closer,” Hermione said, pointing to a door a few feet to their right. She led the way and Harry soon found himself in the room in which Hermione had grown up. Looking around, Harry realized that it truly did reflect her personality.

The walls were a light blue, a colour that Harry had realized, following the Yule Ball, was one of Hermione's favourites. One wall was lined entirely with mahogany bookcases and, of course, not one bookcase contained a single empty spot. If Harry were to take a step closer, he was certain that he would find the books placed in alphabetical order.

On the opposite side of the room lay Hermione's queen sized bed, which was currently covered in a fluffy white duvet, with five blue pillows (clearly from a set) neatly arranged on top. In a corner was a desk that matched her bookcases, on which stood a black desktop computer and a picture frame. The picture frame held a photograph taken from what Harry realized was their goodbyes after fourth year. In it Hermione hugged Ron and then went over to Harry and pecked him lightly on the cheek. Her own cheeks flushed, the picture Hermione waved a goodbye to the two boys before walking away.

Noticing that Harry was starting at the picture, Hermione explained, “When I was leaving with my parents, I ran into Colin Creevey, who told me that he, in another photo frenzy, had taken a picture of that. I asked him if he could send me a copy after it was developed. All I could think about was how the second was had begun,” Hermione smiled sadly. “I wanted to remember our last day of normality.”

“We never had normality, Hermione,” Harry pointed out to her. Hermione gave him an impatient look and he conceded that it was “a very lovely picture.” He glanced back at the picture, studying it as picture Hermione once more pecked picture Harry on the cheek. Harry didn't understand why picture Hermione's cheeks were so red as she rushed off. The only reason that he could think of was… No. He shook his head. He wasn't going to let Ginny brainwash him. He instead turned his attention to the other walls, on which works of art, ranging from 19^th century realism to impressionism, hung. There were several photos hanging on the wall, however, and Harry was shocked to see that every single one was of Hermione and himself: she and Harry, arms around one another's shoulder, returning home after their sixth year; sitting next to one another at a blazing camp fire, waiting for Mr. Weasley to finish up breakfast; studying defence books in the Room of Requirement; talking animatedly during a Gryffindor Quidditch Victory Match party.

“H-Hermione,” he semi-croaked. “Why do you have all of these pictures of just…of just us?”

“Hmm?” Hermione looked up at her wall. “That's odd,” she commented, knitting her eyebrows together. “Ron was in all of those photos before… I find it hard to imagine that he's absent from every single photo at the same time, merely by chance…” Hermione narrowed her eyes as she realized what had happened. “Of course,” she said, almost venomously. “It's another one of their ploys. Come on Harry.” She grabbed Harry by the arm and hauled him out of her room, his feet dragging across the floor. “Let's go to your room now.”

Harry complied, but not before chancing one last look at the picture taken at the end of their fourth year. If only he could figure out why Hermione was blushing so hard. And perhaps why he was so bothered by the picture.

-->

Sorry to disappoint, but there won't be a list this chapter either. It just didn't fit, and I don't like forcing things. On that note, this chapter is low on humor. Mostly because I do a tiny bit of character development with Ginny (and explain something that I'm sure a LOT of you have been wondering), and humor just didn't fit the mood. I, personally, am rather proud of this chapter, but as it's a different tone, I would completely understand if you don't like it. I do plan on bringing humor back next chapter, but then again, I never know. Just know that I am not planning on turning this into some sort of dramedy of any sort. Just as a drama needs a pinch of comedy every now and again, a comedy needs a little bit of seriousness.

And yes, you will notice that the H/G break up is different from in HBP. I hope you don't mind. I am taking liberties with canon, as I'm sure you've all noticed. If anyone needs me to set the record straight concerning what I kept and what I didn't, please feel free to ask.

Please review, and I hope you enjoy!

*****

"Could you imagine how horrible things would be if we always told others how we felt? Life would be intolerably bearable."

~Randy K. Milholland

*****

Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that the guest room that the Grangers were providing him was just to his taste. It was painted a similar shade as Hermione's, which suited Harry quite well. On the wall opposite the door, there was a huge picture window, from which Harry could see the streets of London. Whether it was due to how high up they were or perhaps sound insulated windows, Harry couldn't hear the bustle from outside, much to his relief. On the wall adjacent to this were two twin beds, both covered with a dark blue duvet, with a nightstand standing in between them. On the wall across from this bed there was, to Harry's great amusement, a row of bookcases, filled to the brim. He glanced at the bookcases and then looked pointedly at Hermione. Hermione gave a guilty smile.

“There wasn't enough room on mine,” she admitted. Harry could only shake his head. Typical Hermione.

“About the beds…” Hermione said, walking over to the said furniture. “It's a bedroom suite, and mum didn't think anything but twins would be acceptable…but we can move around the table and push them together if you like,” Hermione added eagerly.

“No, it's fine,” Harry told her, awarding her with a grin. “It's perfect.”

“Thank Merlin,” Hermione sighed. “I was worried you'd hate it.”

“It's not like I had high expectations or anything,” Harry pointed out.

“No, but I still want you to be comfortable.” Hermione had a look on her face that Harry recognized as pure stubbornness, and so he decided to let the subject go. His thoughts trailed to his trunk, which still lay four floors down.

“Where should I put my clothes?” Harry inquired.

“Oh! Right! Over there,” Hermione answered, pointing to a bureau a few feet away from the door.

“I'll just go get my trunk then,” Harry said, making to leave the room, but a questioning look from Hermione stopped him. “What? I have to get it, you know!”

“We're not outside any longer, Harry. It's perfectly safe to do magic now. I actually asked Professor McGonagall about performing magic at home once I was of age.” Hermione took out her wand and muttered, “Accio Harry's Trunk!” A few seconds later Harry's trunk landed neatly at her feet. “See?” she beamed, pocketing her wand. “No harm done. Though try not to do it too much. Mum and dad are perfectly accepting of the fact that I'm a witch, but sometimes I think they feel that I use magic to take the easy way out of things.”

“Right,” Harry said, making a note to himself to never do magic in Hermione's house, no matter what she said - he didn't need another reason for Mr. Granger to bury him alive. “I'll keep that in mind.”

*****

“What do you think Harry and Hermione are doing now?” Ron said, lounging languidly on the Gryffindor couch.

“Snogging,” Ginny answered. She checked her watch. “No, that was an hour ago. They should be shagging by now. With all that sexual tension, being kept in the same house, bedrooms right next to one another…”

“How do you know their rooms are next to each other?”

“Oh, when I found out that Hermione was inviting Harry over for the holidays, I owled Mrs. Granger and asked her to make sure that the two were as near to one another as possible. I would talk to her when Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes at the end of the year, and apparently she feels the same way as we do. She's almost as helpful as mum.”

“What has mum done?” Ron asked, furrowing his brows. “We never told her about our plan…”

“Not technically true,” Ginny said, leaning her chin on one of her palms and tilting her head so that her red hair touched the floor. “I owled her for ideas for getting those two together, and she gave me our plan.”

“Figures you'd take credit for it until now.” Ron shook his head in a manner that others would mistake as disgust, but that Ginny knew was anything but. There was silence for a few moments, save the flames that licked eagerly at the fireplace. “Hey, Gin?” Ron said finally.

“Hmm?”

“Why are you so intent on getting those two together?” Ron asked. “I mean, you used to date Harry, and he was the one who broke up with you. Why are you so eager to set him up with Hermione?”

Ginny gave Ron a pitying grin. “I'm not a selfish little girl, Ron.”

“I never said that!”

“But you insinuated it.” Ron blinked, not understanding how he had done such a thing, but remained silent so as to let Ginny answer his question. “The truth of the matter is, I stopped caring deeply for Harry a long time ago. I mean yes, he still means a lot to me, but like how you mean to me.”

“What happened?” For once Ron's voice came out caring, even worried. Not a tone Ginny was used to hearing, at least when Ron was dealing with her.

“I could only wait for so long. What type of person would I be if I pined away for six years? By the time he finally kissed me, the feelings had decreased significantly. But, since they were still there, and the kiss had enhanced them, of course, I decided to go along with it. And for a while, it was nice.” Ginny smiled softly at the memory of her relationship with Harry. “Peaceful, even. I was very happy, and dare I say it, I even started falling for him again. But, at the same time, I knew that I would never come first. And not in a, `Oh! You're the only one who I care about, Ginny!' sort of way, but rather that I could never compare to Hermione. And not just because she's his best friend. They have this connection - a connection that I know means that they will end up together.” Ginny hugged her legs gently to her chest, now resting her chin on her knees.

“When he broke up with me, I knew it was more than not being ready to be in a relationship. It was the fact that he couldn't be in a relationship with anyone other than Hermione, even if he himself didn't realize it. And even though I thought I had deep feelings for him, I recognized that they were nothing compared to how he felt about Hermione, and how Hermione felt about him. So I gladly let him go, and since then I've come to terms with the fact that he's basically my brother. But I swear to Merlin,” Ginny snarled, her tone changing from that of a calm river to a stormy ocean, “if those two idiots do not get it together and realize what they have, I am going to be so pissed off it isn't funny.”

It took Ron a few moments to comprehend everything. “Well,” he said, “I was going to commend you on being so mature for your age, and even admit that you were more mature than me, but now I'm still dealing with the shock of what you said last.”

“Well I'm serious!” Ginny growled, grabbing at a pillow off the armchair next to her and throwing it madly at the ground. “There's no one on this earth who should be together more than those two. They have such potential to have this amazing relationship, and they're going to end up throwing it all away because they're too stubborn! They don't realize what they have.”

Ron was shocked to see a lone tear crawl down Ginny's flushed cheeks. It was at this moment that he realized that Ginny, as sassy and self-assured as she often appeared, wanted nothing more than someone on which to depend. And so Ron left his couch to wrap his arms around her, to provide her with the little comfort her could. And even though he knew that tomorrow Ginny would forget this ever happened, and that the subject would never once be brought up again so long as either of them lived, he allowed his little sister, the one person he had always striven to protect more than anyone else in the world, sob in his embrace.

*****

Harry slept rather well that night, despite being in the house of, while not complete strangers, people, neglecting Hermione, with whom he wasn't very well acquainted. Hermione, on the other hand, tossed and turned for hours on end, unable to forget that Harry was right next-door.

“It's all because of you, Mum,” she grumbled angrily into her pillow. “Make him comfortable, such close proximity,” she mimicked. “ARGH!”

She sat up in her bed, her covers flying away from her body. “Why can't I get her voice out of my head?” Hermione demanded angrily, leaning back against her headboard and sighing. “And why can't I get the fact that Harry is sleeping in the room next to mine out of my head? Why is it bothering me so much?”

Hermione felt her stomach turn as her thoughts moved on to what she was going to do in the morning. What happened if Harry saw her when her hair was an absolute mess? She'd scare the living daylights out of the poor fellow! Okay, it was true that her hair was always a mess, and even more true that Harry had already seen her bed hair, but that was beside the point! And what if her parents did something else embarrassing? Her mum was on the verge of basically pushing them into the same room, handing them a packet of condoms, and keeping them in there until the break was over, while she was fairly certain that, had it not been for her mother, her dad would've attacked Harry with his dentist tools by now.

And then there was the fact that Harry and she were now going to spend every minute together until they returned to Hogwarts. Granted, they were always together, but that was in an enormous castle, with staircases that didn't allow males to visit the females' rooms.

“Why do you care?” Hermione asked, anguished. She glanced over to her clock, which stood on her night table, and from the moonlight read that it was 2:47. She swung her legs over her bed and turned on a light. Blinking as she adjusted to the sudden exposure, she walked over to her bookcase and took out a photo album, filled with pictures her parents, friends, and, of course, Colin had taken. She was happy that she had learned how to develop moving photos at such a young age, and had been able to bring her parents' photos to Hogwarts and develop them so.

She ran her fingers over the thick cover, finally opening it up and looking through it. To her annoyance, all of the pictures that contained Harry, Ron, and herself or Harry, Ginny, and herself were absent of both Weasleys.

“What those two are playing at…” Hermione mumbled under her breath. “They're going to be in for a good hex when I get back…” She continued to flip through the pages until she came across one of her favorite photos. At the time when Ginny had taken the photo, Ron, Harry, and she were sitting outside, next to their favorite tree. It had been an unusually beautiful day (for late March, that is), and the three were clearly content. Hermione had sat between the two boys, laughing as they placed their heads on her shoulders and wrapped their arms around her, unintentionally tickling her. But of course, as Ron's image had left the scene of all such pictures, it was only Harry who had his arms wrapped around a laughing Hermione, his head resting comfortably against her, a content smile on his face.

And though Hermione would admit it to no one, she knew that she would mourn the day when Ron would return to the photo.

Shaking her head, Hermione returned the album to her bookshelf and slipped back under her pillows, turning off her lights. Closing her eyes, she vowed that she would not open them again until she was awaking from a deep (or at least a few hours) of sleep. And half an hour later, not even Voldemort himself could awake her.

*****

“Morning, Hermione, dear!” a voice called, followed by a soft knock on her door. “It's 8:00 already, and I know how you like to get up before then.”

Hermione groaned as she blearily opened her eyes. Of all the days, today was the day that her mother finally decided to remember that she was an early bird.

“Breakfast is on the table,” Mrs. Granger added, and a moment later Hermione heard her mother's footsteps pattering away. Sitting up, Hermione stretched her arms as she yawned, trying to snap herself out of her drowsy state.

She got out of bed, grabbing her chenille, blue robe from her bedpost, and slipped on a pair of matching slippers.

Moments later she arrived downstairs to find her mother at the stove and her father reading the paper.

So today is…Monday, Hermione thought to herself. Right. Mum cooks on the weekdays, Dad on the weekends.

She sat down next to her father, where an empty plate and glass awaited her. She reached over to the center of the table, grabbed a pitcher, and then filled her glass almost to the brim with orange juice.

“Will you have eggs and sausage this morning, Hermione?” her mother called.

“Sure,” Hermione answered, her voice scratchy from lack of sleep. She finally came out of her stupor when her mother exclaimed, “Harry! You're awake!” Hermione half jumped from her chair, her hands immediately reaching up to her unkempt hair. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw her father grumbling something rather crossly.

“Do sit down,” Mrs. Granger told Harry, pointing to the seat next to Hermione. “Will you have eggs and sausage, or would you simply prefer some cereal?”

“Er, eggs and sausage would be great, thanks,” Harry replied, sitting next to Hermione. “Morning,” he told her, suppressing a yawn.

“Morning,” Hermione said, her voice two decibels higher than normal. Harry gave her a confused look. “I…I mean morning,” Hermione laughed, having willed her voice to return to normal. “Sorry, didn't sleep well last night.” Harry nodded, accepting her excuse.

Well, it's partially true, Hermione thought to herself.

“So,” Mrs. Granger said, placing food on everyone's plate, “what will you two love—”

“Mother,” Hermione said warningly, cutting off the second half of her mother's word.

“—do today?” Mrs. Granger finished, as if she hadn't heard her daughter. “My parents will be coming in for Christmas on Friday, so if you two want to do anything on your own, now is the time.”

Hermione spared her mother a withering glass, as her father was already glaring at his wife enough for both of them. “Well,” Hermione said, brushing one of many stray locks behind her ear, “I thought, perhaps, that we could go ice skating.”

Harry choked on his eggs. “Ice-ice skating?” he exclaimed, eyes widening.

“Well, yes,” Hermione answered. “I mean we don't have to if you don't want to, of course, but there's a very nice rink nearby, and I haven't skated in such a long time. It is a lot of fun, and, well…” Hermione trailed off. “But if you don't want to, I'm sure we can find something else to do.”

“No, no, it's fine,” Harry said hurriedly. “I've just never skated before.”

“Well,” Hermione said brightly, scooping up some eggs on to her fork, “never a time like the present to learn something new!”

“Quite right,” Mrs. Granger said in a soft voice, smiling as she turned to place the pan back on the stove. “Never a time, indeed.”

-->

Hey!

This isn't a new chapter, but it is an update. I'd like to let everyone know that I'm going away for Spring Break, and I won't be back until next Saturday (April 7). So don't expect any update, as I'll have no Internet access (at least I don't think I will).

On another note, I'd just like to thank you for all your reviews. They've been a great encouragement and mean a lot to me. There are, however, certain reviews that just turn me off. And I don't mean ones that critique my stories - I absolutely love those, as they help me improve. I'm talking about reviews where people tell me, “You update slow,” “You don't update fast enough,” or ask, “Can you please update faster next time?!” In terms of the third one, no, I can't make myself update faster. It may so happen that I end up posting the next chapter faster than the last, but at the same time it may take longer. I must say, as an author, there's nothing more annoying than someone demanding why you haven't updated yet. I can't speak for other authors, although I think many would agree with what I'm about to write, but it takes time to write a page, let alone a chapter, especially if the ideas aren't flowing one after another through your head. You have to develop each and every idea until you have a plotline, in every chapter. I don't update quickly because if I did what you would read would be absolutely worthless, not only to you, but to me as well.

Furthermore, I said at the beginning of this story to expect slow updates. I know it may not seem like it, but I do have a life outside of Harry Potter. And I don't mean that sarcastically. As a reader, I myself often forget that authors don't live to write the next chapter of their fanfic (or at least most don't). However, I am repeating that now so that you'll understand: in addition to writing this story, I also have school, and school, as any student/past student knows, is not only demanding but also extremely stressful. It doesn't help that I'm a bit of a perfectionist, meaning that I do everything in my power to get as many As as humanly possible, and that I'm starting to consider to which colleges I will apply next year. I also have piano, which requires practice every day and, of course, I have my friends, who mean the world to me, and with whom I try to spend as much time with as possible.

So while I absolutely adore writing with all of my heart, my life doesn't revolve around it. Therefore, I will update when I update, and nothing will really make me update faster. Reviews often put me in a happier mood to write, but the truth of the matter is that when there's inspiration, there's inspiration. I can't push it, or else I'll either have absolute crap or I'll block myself in even more.

I hope that didn't come off too negative. I wasn't trying to have it come off that way, I just really want readers to understand that comments complaining about my lack of updates doesn't motivate me to update more. If anything, it makes me not want to write.

And on a final note, if you're reviewing to get Portkey points, please don't say things such as, “Good job! Apparently I need ten words to be able to get any points, so yeah…” or something of that sort. Write absolute rubbish if you want (“Good job! You know, I actually have to go do homework now, but thanks for letting me procrastinate”), but please don't tell me when you're reviewing just for points. No author wants to read it, as much as we appreciate the feedback (and we do - both positive and negative).

Thank you for reading my rant, and as a reward, here's a preview from a future chapter (and by future I mean possibly many chapters in the future)

As Harry continued his quest, the people around him began to countdown. Although Harry had always wanted to partake in such a tradition, he was much more concerned with finding his best friend.

“Ten…nine…eight…” people shouted in unison.

“Come on Hermione…” Harry muttered under his breath.

“six…five…four…”

“Where are you?”

-->

Thanks to pstibbons for pointing out the spelling error!

I'm back from a long (though not nearly long enough) and lovely break, and was fortunate enough to be able to write six pages on the plane home. That actually isn't much (it was a medium sized journal and my hand writing can get big), but considering I've been struggling with how to get to where I'm headed, I'm very pleased. The majority of this chapter (in fact everything but the list - yes, it has a list, though a short one - and Harry and Hermione's return home) was handwritten. I actually had a lot of fun with the handwritten part, so a double bonus for me *Laughs*.

On another note, I'd like to thank everyone who replied to my Author's Note. I really shouldn't have ranted as I did, but that was one of the things that nagged me. Saying things such as, “I hope you update soon!” is fine. It's just the people who attack you concerning updates that bother me… ANYWAY, my point is that I appreciate that you didn't call me out on acting like a complete nutcase.

I hope you enjoy this chapter (short as it is). Please review if you have the time!

*****

Why I was clearly right when I said that we shouldn't go ice-skating

By Harry Potter

1. I slipped and hurt myself. Hermione was wrong. Quidditch is a lot safer.

2. I can't skate. I learned, but that doesn't really go on this list.

3. It only resulted in disaster. Disaster.

4. The rink has themes. Themes that create an incredibly awkward situation for people who so desperately are trying to prove that they're only friends (we are only friends…I mean, clearly we are, what I meant is that we both want that…I'm fairly certain. I think I may have to burn this paper so that Hermione never sees this)

5. Because skating was so horrid, I had to write this list, and because I wrote this list, I said something absolutely stupid (idiot of me to think such a thing, really), and now I'm going to have to waste paper (and kill a tree) because this really is better suited for kindling…

*****

It's easy to fall in love. The hard part is finding someone to catch you.

~Bertrand Russell

*****

“Ready?” Hermione asked, pulling a dark blue parka over her white turtleneck, which was paired with blue jeans and brown snow boots. Black gloves peeked out of one of the parka's pockets. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, which was being held together by an incredibly thick hair elastic.

“I just realized,” Harry said, not answering the question.

“Hmm?”

“I don't have a coat. I never need one over the summer, and in the winter I'm either at school or at the Weasleys, so I just use my cloak.

“You can just borrow one of my dad's,” Hermione reasoned. She opened the hall closed and produced a large, grey coat. “Ready?” she asked once again.

“Not really,” Harry replied, now clothed in his own winter clothes (one of Mrs. Weasley's many “H” sweaters, the jacket, jeans, and hiking boots). He was noticeably nervous, and it took every bit of will Hermione had not to burst out into laughter. The last time Harry had been this worried was during the Triwizard Tournament.

“Oh come on,” Hermione said, patting Harry on the back. “You'll be fine!” She picked up a black bag and opened the door as she called, “We're leaving, Mum!”

“Have fun!” her mother called back, and Harry and Hermione left the house.

*****

“Maybe I should just stay in here and watch you,” Harry said weakly, lacing up his rented, brown skates as Hermione did the same with her own white pair.

“Come off it,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “It's just skating. The worse that can happen is that you fall and hit the ice. That's nothing compared to the fall you took in third year.”

“But I didn't foresee that fall. This is absolutely avoidable.”

“Stop acting as if you're about to go out and fight a death eater. Now get up,” Hermione instructed, grabbing at his hand and pulling it, forcing him to stand, “and act like a man, or Ron will hear about this and you will never hear the end of it.”

Grumbling, Harry reluctantly followed Hermione on to the ice, trying his best not to topple over. The second his skate hit the ice, however, Harry realized that his attempts to balance would be futile, and he fell right over, sliding a few feet to the right of the entrance.

Hermione knew that she shouldn't, but she burst into a fit of laughter.

“Yes, very funny,” Harry said, almost acidly. “Hilarious. Don't know why I'm not laughing.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Hermione apologized, although her laughter was yet to subside. “You can balance in the middle of the air on a slight piece of wood, but you can't balance on two pieces of metal when you're hardly an inch off the ground? You have to see the humour in this situation.”

“I didn't see you laughing when you almost fell off the broom last fall,” Harry shot at her, grabbing at the side of the wall and hoisting himself up.

Hermione's laughter ceased, and a scowl quickly replaced her wide smile. “That and this are completely different,” she said.

“How so?”

“Well, for one, I almost died.” Hermione then mumbled under her breath, “Not that I'm new to that.”

“You did not almost die,” Harry said, having not heard the last part. He was still leaning up against the wall to prevent himself from falling flat on his face. “I caught you, remember?”

“Well then, let me catch you,” Hermione said, offering Harry her hands. Harry stared at them, then up at Hermione, not comprehending.

“Take them,” Hermione said impatiently. “Hold them and I'll teach you how to skate. Let me catch you.”

Tentatively, Harry accepted Hermione's offer. Standing in front of him, Hermione skated backwards, her hips slowly swaying back and forth, pulling Harry along.

“You can skate backwards?” Harry asked, who was finding it hard to believe that anyone could skate, let alone do so with their back to everyone, even though a young girl of 13 was practicing her axle (or was it double? He couldn't tell) in the centre of the rink.

“Since I was nine,” Hermione answered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that she wasn't going to crash into someone. “I'm actually not doing it correctly, if memory serves me right. I'm supposed to do swizzles and move off from that, but that hurt my ankles.” She shrugged. “I prefer this method, anyway.”

“So do I,” Harry said under his breath, half mesmerized by her swinging hips.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing!” he exclaimed, hoping that she would mistake his blush for the cold. He didn't know why he had thought something so ridiculous. Obviously he was tired and his brain was acting oddly. Even though he had gotten eight hours, if not more, of sleep.

Friend, he thought to himself. She's your friend. There we go.

“How much do you know about skating?” Harry asked in order to distract both of them.

“Not much,” Hermione admitted. “I learned crossovers, backward crossovers, and T-stop, but after that…I just fell down. I couldn't get the three-turn, or anything past that, no matter how hard I tried.

“Crossovers?” Harry repeated. “T-stop? Three-turn?”

Hermione half-rolled her eyes. “Here,” she said, letting go of Harry's hand and indicating to him to hold onto the wall. “It's exactly how it sounds. Crossovers.” She pushed off on her right foot and skated a bit, working up speed. Eventually she was leaning to her left, her knees bent, and she glided her right foot over her left a few times. “T-stop,” she called over her shoulder, slowing down and then coming to a complete stop by placing her right foot in front and dragging her left foot behind the other at a right angle until it met the heel of her right. She turned around and returned to Harry.

“I'd demonstrate a three-turn, but seeing as I can't do one…”

“It's fine,” Harry reassured her, and he was rewarded with a slight grin.

“Now, time to learn,” Hermione said authoritatively. “You're use to ice now, right?” Harry nodded his head meekly. “Good. Now I'll still hold your hands, of course, but I won't be dragging you. Push off lightly with your right. Good. Now your left. Perfect! Just alternate. You'll get into a rhythm.”

After a while, Harry did get into a rhythm, and soon Hermione was able to let go of Harry's right hand so that they were skating side-by-side, Hermione's right hand held in his left.

“This is easy!” Harry exclaimed. “I really am a fast learner.”

“You might possibly be more chauvinistic than Peter Pan,” Hermione said, sniffing.

“I was only joking,” Harry said quickly, having not read Peter Pan but knowing of the famous shadow scene. “Thank you.” It was one of the sincerest thank you's Hermione had ever heard come out of Harry's lips, and Hermione couldn't help but smile.

“It was my pleasure.” She squeezed his hand.

*****

“I can't believe that happened!” Hermione cried, a mixture of ice and snow crunching underneath her furious stomp. Her face was red with anger, and flakes of snow stuck to her hair and eyelashes. “I just…” She gave a little scream.

Harry remained silent, letting Hermione vent. It had been an incredibly awkward situation. Traumatizing, perhaps, to their friendship. But it couldn't possibly be as bad as Hermione was treating it.

Harry's mind flashed back to what had occurred only half an hour ago. The dark, people closing in on them, no escape… Okay, so maybe it was, he reasoned. But that's only because we tend to overreact to everything, don't we? He had to admit, he was rather proud of his new, relatively sane self. Granted, the voice doing the thinking was Hermione's, but it was in his head. So technically they were his thoughts.

Harry then noticed that Hermione had stopped dead in her tracks, her face now pointed towards the sky.

“Why is the world out to get us?” she screamed, throwing her arms out. Several people were staring at her, and Harry quickly placed a hand on her back and urged her to walk on. More snow and ice (and even a few twigs) became victims of her rage.

“How was skating?” Mrs. Granger greeted Harry and Hermione the second they walked through the threshold.

“Very nice,” Hermione said curtly as she hung both Harry and her coats. She pivoted, rather stiffly, to face her mother. “Would you like us to set the table for dinner?”

“That would be great.” Mrs. Granger smiled endearingly at the two of them.

“What?” Hermione demanded. The fact that she was on edge either went unnoticed by her mother or meant very little to her.

“It's just that you two remind me so much of your father and I when we were— ”

“Finish that sentence and I swear that I'll never come home over a break again,” Hermione growled. Mrs. Granger's eyes widened in shock.

“Hermione! Since when do you talk to me like that?” Hands were now placed on hips, lips set in a thin line that would make McGonagall appear as if she were smiling, and eyebrows were slanted at such an angle that little girls everywhere would choose to be in a room with Jafar rather than the Granger foyer. Suddenly Harry wasn't sure which mother scared him more - Ron's or Hermione's.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione sighed, averting her eyes. “I just… I'm sick of it!” She slumped into a nearby chair. “I think I'm getting a migraine or something,” she said, eyes downcast. Harry knew she was lying. But then again, he also knew why she was so bothered. He just happened to handle these situations differently than she - in other words staying completely quiet and trying to pass as invisible. “I shouldn't have talked back to you as I did. I'm sorry.”

Mrs. Granger shook her head. “Well you obviously inherited your father's temper. He gets riled up like that whenever he has a migraine. I'll go get you some water and medicine.”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed, shooting up. Maybe she was paranoid, but she had always been told never to take medications when they weren't needed, and she wasn't going to start now. “I feel better already! Let's go set the table, Harry!” And she rushed out of the hall as Mr. Granger came down stairs.

“What was that all about?” he asked, turning to his wife, who now wore a smirk.

“I think something happened at the ice skating rink that our daughter wants to keep secret.”

“And that's a good thing?” Mr. Granger exclaimed. Sometimes he didn't understand his wife. Or, to be less vague, most of the time he was absolutely clueless when it came to life in general.

“Well, given your opinion on the matter, no,” Mrs. Granger answered. “But for me, as well as those two, I'd say yes, John, it's a very good thing.” Turning away, Mrs. Granger hummed a happy tune as she went to check on dinner, leaving a slightly steaming husband behind.

-->

Wow! I was able to write this chapter. Truthfully, I was about to update with an author's note, apologizing for the fact that I wouldn't be able to update in a long time, due to writer's block. Thankfully, however, my muse returned for a bit, and I was able to write this up. I don't know when the next chapter will be posted, however. It's near the end of the school year, which means final projects and final exams, so I might not be able to update until late June. Hopefully this will tide you over.

Oh, and another thing I wanted to address, even though it hasn't appeared to be a problem: I am, as many of you have probably realized due to my use of Z's and lack of ou's in my author's notes, American. I try my best to use a British style of writing, to try and keep with the tone of the books, but often times it doesn't work out. I've been to Britain many times (lovely country by the way - just wanted to put that out there. If I was forced to choose only one country that I could visit for the rest of my life, I would choose Britain in a heartbeat - there's just something about it that entices me, even more so than France, or the Caribbean, or anywhere else, for that matter), but nonetheless, I do not have that great a grasp on the language (yes, I consider US English and UK English different languages - I'm not alone, am I?). I also know next to nothing about British idioms. So, if something sounds really out of place, because it's an American saying, or something of the sort, my dearest apologies. I really am doing my best. I do research for my fics, but there's only so much that research can tell you.

Anyway, on to the story! It certainly isn't one of my better chapters, but I hope that you will enjoy it all the same.

*****

Why we should've stayed at Hogwarts

By Hermione Jane Granger

1. No crazy mothers trying to set me up with my best friend (although there is a crazy Ginny, but after what's happened so far, I've come to appreciate Ginny's antics)

2. No worrying about whether or not my father will murder Harry (imagine if Daddy was a member of one of those target shooting clubs and had access to a gun, even if it was locked up at the club?)

3. There's not crazy woman right out of college who thinks it's cute to torment a male and a female who are clearly friends simply because she has no romance in her life. (Was that a bit cruel? I feel that may have been uncalled for…)

4. Furthermore, there isn't an ice-skating rink at Hogwarts. Now they have the right idea.

5. I have more control at Hogwarts. It's up to me whether or not I'm in a bedroom with Harry. At my house he can just step into my room when he pleases. Not that he's done anything, of course. He's too much of a gentleman to dare to do the obvious such an idiotic thing.

6. Even when I'm in such a room with Harry, there is usually at least one other person there to keep us from snogging.

7. No awkward silences at dinner. Someone's always talking. Even if it's Ginny talking about something that none of us cares about to thin air.

8. Once in a while Harry and I can take the scrutiny away from our relationship and on to the impending Ron and Luna relationship. Those two are bound to get together. I think they complement one another quite nicely, actually.

9. The room in which I sleep isn't covered in pictures that are supposed to be the three of us, but thanks to Ron has become a shrine to Harry and me. Even the sanest girl would end up thinking that perhaps there was more to a friendship than what meets the eye.

10. I wouldn't have realized that I'm in love with Harry Potter

*****

There's a lot to be said for self-delusionment when it comes to matters of the heart.

~Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider

*****

It had been silent for the past few minutes, save the clinking of silverware and the slight bang whenever Hermione slammed a plate onto the table. It was at this moment that Harry realized he best talk to Hermione about what had happened, or risk having her destroy the china, which, of course, would result in Mr. Granger burying him alive.

“Don't you think you're overreacting?” Harry asked softly, staring at her as he watched for her response. Hermione blinked and looked up, a plate held precariously in her left hand.

“Overreacting?” she repeated in disbelief. “Harry, what happened was…I mean…it was mortifying!” She placed the final plate on the table and then turned away, her face turning red as she spoke.

“I think it was easy enough for them to make such a mistake, though,” Harry reasoned, walking over to her. “After all, we were holding hands.” Harry held his breath, waiting once more for another reaction. It never came, and Harry wondered what it was, exactly, that he wanted Hermione to do.

“But that didn't give them the right to insist— ”

“I know, Hermione,” Harry said, attempting a soothing tone, although he was fairly certain that he was failing. Being “suave” wasn't exactly one of Harry's best traits - or one of any of his traits, for that matter. “Just ignore it. It's just like what happened in fourth year, remember? Forget about it. What does it matter what every one thinks, anyway?”

Hermione bit her lip. The truth of the matter was it wasn't mortifying because of what the people at the ice rink had done. It was mortifying because for that split second …

“I think you've really gotten the hang of this!” Hermione exclaimed, laughing as Harry sped up their pace. “Dare I say it, you might be ready to skate on your own, without my help.”

“No!” Harry said, looking over at her with a horrified expression. “Clearly I'm only skating well because I'm channelling your spirit. And grace of course.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “What?”

“If you ever hope to win another girl, you're really going to have to come up with some better lines,” Hermione answered, shaking her head. “`I'm channelling your grace.'” She burst into another fit of laughter, which was cut short when the lights began to dim and a voice announced over the speaker, “Couples, now's the time for you. Grab your loved one and enjoy a romantic skate around the rink!” A slow tune began playing over the loudspeaker.

Harry and Hermione exchanged dubious looks. “I think it's about time we leave, don't you?” Hermione asked.

“I couldn't agree more!” Harry looked rather anxious, and the two, still holding hands, skated their way towards the exit.

A young woman who reminded Hermione of a future Lavender stopped the pair before they could get off the rink. “Where are you going?” she demanded. “Don't leave now! You're the cutest couple on that rink. If every one sees you leaving, they'll feel that they have to leave, too!”

Harry and Hermione blinked, and then their jaws dropped. “I think you've misunderstood…” Hermione began hastily, only to be interrupted by the annoying woman.

“Don't be embarrassed!” she laughed. “I was young and frivolous once myself.”

Once? Hermione thought warily. How old could this woman possibly be? No older than twenty-five.

“I know how, at this age, expressing your affection for one another in public can be rather difficult, but you were doing so well before…”

“Listen,” Hermione began again, but the woman simply stepped forward and pushed Hermione, whose fingers were still firmly intertwined with Harry's, with all of her might. A moment later, Hermione toppled to the ice, and Harry quickly followed. People on the rink, having heard the commotion, hurried over to witness a flustered Harry lying on top of an equally red Hermione. There was a chorus of, “Awwww…” and a call or two of “Kiss her!”

Hermione, who had been trying to look anywhere but at Harry's face, found her eyes flickering up. Harry stared back at her, breathing deeply as he tried to get back the breath that had been knocked out of him. She could feel his breath on her face, and in that split second, for reasons unknown to anyone (or so she thought), especially she, Hermione wanted nothing more than for Harry to lean down and kiss her. That moment disappeared as Harry coughed and then finally rolled off of her, muttering several apologies and looking as red as ever.

“Let's go,” he said, hoisting her up. The two managed to escape, the young matchmaker now annoying another group of “youngsters,” as she'd probably call them.

As hard as Hermione tried, she couldn't get that one, short moment out of her head. Why was it stuck there? And for Merlin's sake, what had driven it?

She gave a small moan and slid into the nearest chair, her face buried in her hands. There had to be a rational explanation for this. She wasn't in love with Harry. She had fallen for a best friend before, and it had resulted in an unpublicised, one-week relationship that ended with a, “This isn't working, is it?” If it hadn't been for the fact that Ron was rather obtuse when it came to awkward situations, Hermione was certain that she and he would've had a falling out. Harry, on the other hand, although not the brightest at Hogwarts, was certainly more intuitive than his original partner in crime. It would be the end of them if it were true.

So it's not, Hermione said firmly to herself. I'm not stupid enough to let that happen. I must be PMSing or something, and my hormones are simply out of control. She breathed in as she let this thought reassure her, even though she knew that such a time wasn't due for another two weeks.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, staring at his friend who looked as if she were in the middle of a mental breakdown. “Are you sure you don't have a headache?”

“I'm fine,” Hermione said weakly, looking up. “I'm just a bit sick of this situation at the moment. How hard is it for people to understand that a male and a female can be friends without any feelings between the two?”

“I don't know,” Harry mumbled, looking away. He half wanted to say, “Because maybe they're right?” but he knew that such a statement simply wasn't true. It couldn't be true, he continually reminded himself.

“Dinner's ready!” Mrs. Granger's voice rang through the dining room, and Harry quickly took his place next to Hermione, who looked rather pale, as the Grangers brought in dinner: a roast chicken, garnished with onions and potatoes, followed by a large platter of various cooked vegetables.

“This looks delicious, Mrs. Granger,” Harry said, hoping to avoid a painful silence. Hermione, who normally spoke non-stop during dinner, was absolutely quiet.

“Thank you, Harry.” Mrs. Granger gave Harry a very familiar beam, while Mr. Granger seemed to take in the scene. Harry was relieved to discover that no frown fell on his face when his eyes landed on Harry.

“So, how was your little trip?” Mrs. Granger asked, setting her elbows on the table with one hand on top of the other. This, remembering the scolding she received as a little girl - Elbows do not belong on the dining room table, Hermione! - shocked Hermione, and for a moment all she could do was blink. Shaking her head, she finally comprehended what her mother had said, and her reassurance slipped away as her doubt slowly returned.

“I said that I don't want to talk about it,” Hermione answered in a soft voice, stabbing her chicken with her fork.

“Now Mione…” her mother tutted.

“Don't call me `Mione'!” Hermione exclaimed, her head shooting up. “You know that I only let you call me that when I was too little to be able to pronounce my own name.”

Had this been another situation, Harry was positive he would've burst into laughter. He instead chose to remain quiet, pushing his peas aimlessly across his plate. He was fairly certain that the first meal he had at the Weasleys following his break up with Ginny was less uncomfortable than this.

“Well then start acting like an adult and less than a child,” Mrs. Granger replied, eyes flashing.

Hermione grit her teeth. It was times like these that she absolutely despised her mother. Why did she have to be so stubborn? Couldn't she see that her daughter was distressed?

“I don't understand why you're so angry,” Mrs. Granger went on, placing her hands in her lap and straightening her napkin. “Nothing that bad could have possibly happened, and even if it did, it's no reason to take it out on your own mother.”

Outraged didn't even begin to cover how upset Hermione was. But what no one seemed to understand (not that she would ever tell anyone) was that it not Harry, not her mother, but herself at which she was mad. All because of that one minute. The scene seemed to play over and over in her head, Harry falling on top of her and his eyes boring into hers, her heart beating so fast and the only thought in her head being…

There just had to be something wrong with her. Clearly there was no other rational explanation. And all signs pointed to her wanting to destroy her friendship with Harry, because there was no way on the face of this earth that she could possibly have non-platonic feelings for Harry. No way in Hell. Clearly she was set on sabotaging her life, because that was the only obvious explanation.

Other than the actual obvious one, of course, a voice that sounded very much like Ginny's whispered in Hermione's mind. Hermione felt her face flush and, pretending that her headache had worsened, she excused herself from the dining room and fled to her room before her parents actually gave her permission to do so. Harry could only sit there as he watched her run up the stairs. He pushed his plate away, no longer hungry, and excused himself as well. Following Hermione upstairs, he felt his heart sink as he wondered if his friendship with Hermione had been damaged forever.

*****

“Ron, I'm tired,” Ginny groaned as Ron checked her King for the fourth time that night.

“But it's only seven thirty!” Ron exclaimed, looking at Ginny with wide eyes.

“I'm tired of playing this game.” Ginny growled as she came to the realization that Ron was about to checkmate her.

“That's only because you're losing,” Ron grinned at her.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Don't get use to it. I beat you in every game we played two days ago. You just happen to have luck on your side.”

“There's no such thing as luck in chess, Ginny.” Ron looked very offended.

“Oh come off it. Let's go eat.”

“Just one more game!” Ron pleaded.

“Why? So you can finally feel as if you're better than a female?”

“Yes!” Ron exclaimed. Ginny glared at him. “Er, no. Of course not. Just…please?”

“If we go down now you might get to meet up with Luna,” Ginny said in a singsong voice. “She's staying here over the hols, you know, and this is when she normally eats dinner.”

“I know that,” Ron said, his ears turning a slight red. “I just…I just don't want to go down now.”

Ginny furrowed her brow. “And why not? Everybody knows how you feel about her. You've made it painfully obvious, actually.”

“I just don't want to face her,” Ron mumbled, turning away slightly.

“What, did something embarrassing happen?”

Ron narrowed his eyes at her as he turned as his entire face was subject to a blush.

“Oh, so something embarrassing did happen,” Ginny crowed. She grinned and plopped herself onto her stomach, supported by her elbows, as if this were another one of her gab sessions in the girls' dormitory. “Come on then. Tell your darling little sister.”

“I'd rather not, thanks.”

“Ron.” Ginny gave a small pout. Ron remained firm. “Look at it this way: either you tell me now, or I do some snooping and, inevitably get it spread through the whole school. It's your choice.” Ginny smiled up at her brother innocently.

“I don't know why I bother hanging out with you when you're such an annoying little git,” Ron snarled. “If you must know, I bumped into Luna on my way back from lunch today.”

“And?” Ginny prodded.

Ron looked at her blankly. “And what? That's what happened.”

“The embarrassing moment that's keeping Ron Weasley, who might possibly value food over his friends, from eating is bumping into someone?” Ginny demanded incredulously.

“Well, I made one of her books fall to the ground!” Ron protested.

“Did Luna look mad?”

“Well, no. She kind of, er, gloated when I offered to walk her back to Ravenclaw as an apology, but still.”

“You might possibly be thicker than Harry and Hermione,” Ginny spat at him. She jumped up and grabbed Ron's arm, pulling him up. “Come on. We're going to dinner. You're not only going to see Luna, but you're going to talk to her and sit next to her, you bloody moron.”

*****

Having finally reached the top o the stairs, Harry noticed the door to Hermione's room was open, and he paused outside of it. Hermione was sitting on her bed, knitting something furiously as she mumbled words that Harry couldn't decipher. Wondering if he was determined to kill himself, Harry knocked on the door.

“Mum, I don't want to talk to you!” she exclaimed from her position.

“It's me,” Harry replied awkwardly.

Hermione looked up, and her anger immediately melted. “Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry. I thought you were— ”

“I know.” Harry took a step closer to the threshold. “May I come in?”

“Oh, of course!” Hermione set her knitting down as Harry entered and sat on her bed.

“What are you knitting?” Harry asked, pointing at what appeared to be a misshapen pair of gloves.

“I don't know,” Hermione admitted. “Sometimes when I'm stressed I just knit. I figure that if I'm upset I might as well do something productive for S.P.E.W. And it's rather relaxing.”

“Well, I'm sure the house el— ” Harry began, but then corrected himself. He didn't want to give her false hope. “I'm sure Dobby will love it.”

“He has become fond of them over the years, hasn't he?” Hermione said, but with a slight frown. “I just feel that he takes too many. It's not really fair to the other house elves, is it?”

“I'm sure Dobby passes it around to whomever wants one,” Harry added quickly, and then decided to change the subject. “So who's going to be here for Christmas?”

“My mum's grandparents, but you already knew that,” Hermione said. “My aunt and uncle on my mum's side, their two children, my dad's sister…and that's it I think.”

“Anything I need to know so as not to mortify myself?”

“Well, I should probably tell you my cousins' names, so as to lessen the shock.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Well, my mum and my aunt have been highly competitive since they were little. After my mum decided to name me Hermione, after Hermione in The Winter's Tale, my aunt felt like she was trying to compete with her again. So when she had her first child, my aunt named her Desdemona.”

“Desdemona?” Harry repeated.

“Yes. You know, from Othello? But it's rather awful, because Desdemona was called a `strumpet' and a `whore' for almost the entirety of the play, and in the end she's smothered by her husband, who's convinced that she had an affair. Not the nicest of names to give to your child.”

“You can say that again,” Harry muttered.

“And, worse, Desdemona comes from the Greek `Disdemona,' which means `unfortunate.' So they decided to call her by her nickname, Mona,” Hermione continued. “So make sure you call her that, even if my aunt tries to do her `I'm just as good as you' routine with my mother and introduces her as Desdemona.”

“Got it,” Harry said. “And what about the other one?”

“Ophelia,” Hermione sighed sadly. “Another mistake, in my opinion, seeing as Ophelia goes crazy and commits suicide. We call her Lia, though mostly she's too young to pronounce Ophelia. She's only three, and it's rather complicated for her. When asked to say her full name, she usually replies, `Fell-ya.' So, yes, there's Lia and Mona.”

“I assume that Hermione in A Winter's Tale doesn't have any embarrassing story behind it,” Harry commented.

“Not really,” Hermione shrugged. “I mean, she's accused of adultery as well, but she's determined innocent by the courts. Her husband, Leontes, defies the courts, however, and then his son dies out of grief. Hermione learns of this and faints and is presumed dead. Leontes, of course, laments his mistake, but in the end it's discovered that she's alive, and had simply been in hiding. Every one lives happily ever after, of course. So no, nothing too embarrassing.”

“That's…good.” Harry nodded awkwardly.

Hermione smiled and then looked out the window, staring out at the night. “I love when the moon is full,” Hermione sighed. “It makes up for the fact that the city lights dim out the stars.”

Harry could only stare as he watched her whole face light up as she spoke. Recently, he had found that he was amazed by how the smallest things could invoke such passionate emotions within her. It was what made her different from any girl he had ever known. Cho would've admitted that it was rather nice, but then she would've turned the subject back to what she considered a more interesting subject - most likely something involving herself. Ginny would've rolled her eyes and said that people get too carried away with such useless things. “It's just a satellite,” he could imagine her saying. “Why bother with it? It's here one night, gone the next. I wouldn't consider it much of a novelty. Anyway, if you're so obsessed with seeing the stars, just apparate to the north.” And then Parvati and Lavender would probably burst into fits of giggles, for no apparent reason, and return to their gossip.

Perhaps it was easier for Harry to relate to Hermione because she too had grown up as a muggle. Despite nearly seven years at Hogwarts, she, like Harry, was still astounded every time she discovered a new spell. And, of course, the idea of apparating up north in order to better see the stars would never occur to her. She would instead choose to patiently await the full moon.

Hermione finally turned back to Harry. “Isn't it gorgeous?” she beamed at him. “I can't think of anything more breathtaking than knowing that the sky is brighter than London. Can you?”

Staring at Hermione, Harry found himself unconsciously nodding his head.

Hermione looked at him curiously. “Oh really?” she laughed. “What on earth have you seen that's more beautiful than this?” She pointed towards her window.

Harry felt his throat go dry. “I…er…” He felt as if he was choking on air, and his face felt as if it were on fire.

“Well?” Hermione asked. She breathed in, and suddenly she felt her whole body go still. The look on Harry's face couldn't mean anything, could it?

She felt her body shake with shock as Harry exclaimed, “I'm going to head off to sleep!” and proceeded to clamber off of Hermione's bed.

Hermione, hiding her disappointment, pointed out that it was only 9:30, which was rather early to be going to sleep.

“I want to write Ron a letter,” Harry said quickly.

Hermione nodded her head in understanding and then stopped. “And how do you plan on sending it to him?” she demanded. “We don't have any owls, remember?”

“Well Mrs. Weasley is bound to send us some gifts. I-I'll just give the letter t-to Errol.” Harry emitted a small nervous laugh.

“All right…” Hermione said, clearly unconvinced. “Well, good night then.”

“Night.” Harry rushed out of the room and Hermione shook her head.

“He can be so odd at times,” she murmured to herself. She tucked herself into bed and grabbed The Scarlet Letter from her nightstand and eagerly opened the book to its centre.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione firmly closed the book, a disgruntled look settled on her face. She had just read the same page thirty times over, her mind so scattered that she couldn't concentrate on the literature in her hands. She glanced curiously at her nightstand, where a picture of she, Ron, and Harry, with their arms wrapped around one another, should have sit. She unconsciously wrung out her hands as she stared at the picture that was now of just Harry and she, biting her lip as memories from only hours earlier came flashing through her mind.

“They can't be right, can they?” she whispered to herself, hugging her comforter up to her chest. She looked back at the picture, and her heart began to speed up.

“Stop it!” she ordered herself, setting her lips into a thin line. “This is getting ridiculous. Clearly you're just confused, because you're eighteen-years-old, and society has brainwashed you to believe this ludicrous notion that a male and a female cannot remain friends once they're older than fourteen.”

She breathed in deeply, willing her heart to return to normal. As she did so, she heard a light pattering outside her door. She furrowed her eyebrows, left the warmth of her bed, and opened her door, only to find her best friend sneaking downstairs.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, staring at him.

“Hermione!” Harry looked surprise. “Sorry. I didn't wake you, did I?”

“No, of course not. It's only five of ten.” She placed her right hand on the doorframe and tilted her head. “Anyway, my light was on. Didn't you see?”

Harry shook his head. “I guess I'm a bit inattentive when I'm tired.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione nodded. Harry looked up, not knowing whether or not to be offended by the fact that Hermione agreed with him. Before he could make up his mind, however, Hermione asked, “What're you doing? I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I got thirsty,” Harry explained, climbing back up the stairs.

“Ah,” Hermione nodded. A silence followed as the two looked at one another. Suddenly, Hermione found herself asking, “If someone demanded us to explain our friendship, what would you say?”

“What?” Harry felt his palms sweating. What was she saying by asking such a question?

Hermione was currently mentally beating herself up. What in Merlin's name had compelled her to ask something like that? She sighed inwardly, and accepted the fact that the question was now out in the open. No use avoiding it.

“If a person came up to us and asked us to explain how on earth we can be `just' friends, what would you tell them?” Hermione repeated, the fingers on her left hand fidgeting with the cloth of her pyjama top.

As Harry considered this question, Hermione could've sworn he turned a tinge of red, but moments later his face was a normal colour.

“That's easy,” answered Harry, hoping that his voice wouldn't break due to nerves. “I'd tell them that we're at the `we're comfortable enough around one another so that we act around one another as if we're attracted to one another when, in reality, we aren't,' stage of our friendship.”

Hermione blinked at her best friend for a moment before she finally replied, “Well that's an interesting way to put it. How did you come up with it?”

Harry shrugged, thanking Merlin that Hermione believed the rubbish he had devised. “Just came to mind. I'm going to get that water now, okay?”

“Right. Good night.” Hermione walked back into her room, closing the door softly behind her.

“See?” she said softly to herself. “That was a perfectly reasonable explanation. It makes sense. Why didn't you come up with that? `“Comfortable enough around one another so that we act around one another as if we're attracted to one another when, in reality, we aren't,” stage of our friendship,'” Hermione repeated to herself. She nodded firmly. “Yes, that must be it.”

And as Hermione began focusing all her brainpower on accepting this idea as truth, Harry sat on the steps outside of her room, wondering when their relationship had become so complicated that he was forced to do the unthinkable - lie to the only person who had always trusted him.

-->

Why the World is Coming to an End

By Harry James Potter

1. Mr. Granger doesn't want to kill me. In fact, he appears to like me.

2. Furthermore, Mr. Granger seems to have joined Mrs. Granger to form “Team Parent Granger”

3. I think I just spent ten thousand pounds on books…

4. I told Hermione that I was going to spend the next few days working on homework…and she believed me.

5. After everything that has happened, the unbelievable has occurred. Ginny was right. And that alone is why the world is coming to an end.

*****

“To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world.”

~Brandi Snyder

*****

Lying. Is that what it had been? Harry continued to ponder this as he sat on the steps. He had never really experienced this type of lying before, which sounded ridiculous, of course, but it was true nonetheless. To Harry, lying only occurred when the time necessitated it, and he had never regretted his actions (at least not too much). Had this been one of the times? True, had he told Hermione that he himself was wondering whether or not Ginny had been right, their friendship would've been broken, possibly beyond repair. Still, Harry couldn't help but feel rather queasy at the though of what he had just done.

At that moment, he remembered why he had been sitting on the step, as his mouth seemed to be growing dryer by the second. He made his way downstairs, only to be greeted by a, “Harry, dear! Do come sit with us.”

Harry turned to his right, only to find Mr. and Mrs. Granger sitting together in the dining room. Harry gulped. Just what he needed - for Mrs. Granger to make him wonder even more about his relationship with Hermione, and for Mr. Granger to strangle him for doing so.

As Harry joined Hermione's parents, Mrs. Granger smiled at him and asked, “So, what brings you down here?”

“I was thirsty,” Harry said, chancing a nervous glance at Mr. Granger, “and I was going to get a glass of water.”

“Well, I was about to make some tea. Would you mind waiting? It would only take a few minutes.”

“I don't want to trouble you,” Harry said quickly.

“Oh don't worry about it. I always make tea before I go off to bed. It's chamomile. It'll put you right to sleep.”

“Er, great,” Harry said, struggling to smile as Mrs. Granger left him alone with her spouse.

“So,” Mr. Granger said, clearing his throat. Harry couldn't help the shocked look that appeared on his face. This was the first time he had actually addressed Harry. “Are you having a nice holiday?”

“Y-yes,” Harry stuttered. “Thank you again for having me. It's been…” Harry searched for the words to describe his Christmas vacation thus far. “It's been interesting.”

“Interesting?” Mr. Granger raised an eyebrow, almost threateningly. Harry decided that it'd be best to clear the air now.

“Look, Mr. Granger, I just…the thing is…” Harry felt his palms growing sweaty under Mr. Granger's stare, and he wished more than anything for that cup of water he had wanted. “Your daughter,” he began, but then realized that referring to Hermione in such a manner sounded as if he was asking for Mr. Granger's permission to marry her. “Hermione…she's…she's the most - I mean one of the most important people in my life. She's saved my ar—life more times than I can count, and I mean…just for that alone I would rather face Voldemort— ” Harry watched as Mr. Granger looked at Harry curiously. Clearly Hermione didn't clue her parents into the dark side of being a witch. “—er, I mean, get run over by a car than hurt her. But besides the fact that I'd have died in my first year without her, she just…she means so much to me. Because she's one of my best friends,” Harry added quickly at Mr. Granger's accusatory look. “And I would never ever do anything to harm her in anyway…whatsoever. I just…I couldn't. Not to Hermione.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then Mr. Granger's lips twitched into a smile. “How long have you loved my daughter, Harry?” he asked finally.

Harry blinked. “How long have I…? Wait, what?” Not only was Mr. Granger following in his wife footsteps, but was he actually happy about it?

“How long have you loved my daughter?” Mr. Granger repeated.

“Mr. Granger, I think you've misunderstood. I…I'm not…I mean…” Harry trailed off. Was he in love with Hermione?

“All right then. It's just from the way you speak about her one would assume that you fancied her, at the very least.”

“Mr. Granger, I— ”

Mr. Granger held up a hand. “It's none of my business. I shouldn't have intruded in the first place. But, if you do wish to date her at one point in the future, you have my permission.” Mr. Granger's gaze was intent now. “Over these past few days I've been watching you intently, and I've realized that if my daughter had to end up with anyone, you're the type of boy—man I want her with. I know I've come off as overbearing and threatening, not to mention an overprotective, possibly murderous father, but I suppose that's what happens when you have only one daughter.”

“It's okay, Mr. Granger,” Harry said weakly, wondering how to address Mr. Granger's approval for his “relationship” with Hermione. “I can understand…I think.”

“Either way, Harry, you're not the only one to whom he's done this,” came an amused voice. Mrs. Granger had returned with a tray, on which stood a pot of tea and three teacups.

“I-I'm not?” Harry asked uncertainly. He knew he shouldn't continue, but he had to know. “You mean…Hermione's brought other guys home before?” Harry waited with bated breath for the answer. He knew, somewhere deep inside, that if they said yes he was fairly certain he would die.

“Oh goodness no,” Mrs. Granger laughed, setting the tray onto the table. “You're the first, and no surprise there.” Relieved by this news but still not sure how he felt about what Mrs. Granger was insinuating, Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But when Hermione was dating that Viktor boy back in her fourth year, this father here was absolutely livid.” She placed a hand on her husband's shoulder. “I remember how you raved every time we got a letter about him.”

“I had never met this boy and he was doing god knows what with my daughter,” Mr. Granger protested angrily.

“He wasn't,” Harry said quickly. “Doing anything, I mean. Well, not really,” Harry added, remembering the fact that he had heard about Hermione's snogging sessions from Ginny last year. (If they even were snogging sessions; Harry suspected that Ginny had exaggerated this fact to upset Ron. Somehow he couldn't imagine Hermione snogging a man she had dated for only a few months, especially given the circumstances.) “He was a…er…a gentleman, from what I heard.”

“To be fair, it wasn't until a few letters later that we realized her negative tone was due to an argument with Ron,” Mrs. Granger reasoned on her husband's behalf. “We thought Viktor was somehow upsetting her.”

“Yeah, Ron was a bit…er…nuts at the time,” Harry confessed. “I think he fancied her, or at least thought he fancied her, and he didn't take well to her going with Viktor. Or maybe he just didn't take well to not even being able to get a date with a girl whom he thought was a guaranteed date.” Harry frowned. “I don't know. Either way, he acted like a git and they had a few good arguments about her relationship with Kr-Viktor.”

“And what about you?” Mrs. Granger looked up at Harry from her tea. “I never heard any reports about you raving in Hermione's letters. If anything, she wrote that you were supportive of it and vouched to Ron on her behalf. That you assured him Viktor didn't have any ulterior motives.”

“Well he didn't,” Harry shrugged. “And there really wasn't any reason to be upset. Hermione was happy. Why shouldn't I be? I guess,” Harry noted slowly, “I guess it didn't really bother me because it never really was…it never was a big part of her life. I mean, from what I could tell. She didn't talk about him, he wasn't ever really around…he didn't really exist, save for the ball. I think, not to sound pretentious, but I think she was more worried about, well, about me. Hermione was too busy helping me with the Triwizard Tournament to get too involved with him, I think. She, er, she told you about that, right? The Triwizard Tournament?” Harry asked, hoping he hadn't revealed information that Hermione had kept hidden.

“Of course!” Mrs. Granger exclaimed. “We received letter after letter about how worried she was; about whether or not you'd make it out all right. How ever since your name had come out of that `blasted cup' she hadn't been sleeping well. Other than Viktor, you were the sole subject of her letters. Though, in all honesty, you were always the main topic of her letters, save for a few lines about her studies. You still are.”

“I…I am?” Harry asked, a feeling of astonishment overwhelming him.

“Oh Harry,” Mrs. Granger smiled pityingly at him. “After all these years and you still don't get it? You're her world.”

Harry felt as if the world was spinning around him. “I-I should be getting to bed,” he said in a rush.

“But I thought you were thirsty?” Mrs. Granger asked, pointing at the tea.

“I'll grab a cup of water on my way up,” Harry said, and without another word, he ran back to his bedroom. He ignored his throats pleas for something with which to quench it as Mrs. Granger's words running through his head. You're her world. Harry swallowed as he felt his pulse race. You're her world.

Harry finally flung himself onto his bed, his chest rising up and down with every breath he took. Was he really that important to her? Could it even be possible? This knowledge had somehow made Harry realize that there was no use avoiding it: at the very least he knew he fancied Hermione. Although Mrs. Granger's words had invoked panic within him, they had also invoked hope - hope he knew wouldn't have existed had she been another Ron. But the fact of the matter remained that Harry could just be important to her because he was her best friend. Yes, he was fully aware that Ron was best friends with her, too. But Harry knew that, somehow, he had always been her closer friend, even when Harry was still choosing Ron over Hermione. Most likely because Ron made it a habit to fight with Hermione, and Harry often times found himself in the middle, or, as it had happened in recent years, defending her.

And what was he to do with this realization? He couldn't just go up to Hermione and say, “Hey, Happy Christmas! Oh, and by the way, I think I fancy you. So, what'd you get this year?” It didn't work like that, especially when the girl to whom you were confessing was one of your best friends of nearly seven years.

“If I tell her, it could ruin everything,” Harry said to himself. And Harry knew, no matter how hard it would be watching Hermione date others, he would rather watch as she married countless other men than live without her because his confession had destroyed their friendship.

*****

Christmas Day finally dawned, bright and early…very early. Harry had spent the last few days cooped up in his room, under the pretence of wanting to finish his winter homework. Hermione had blinked in surprise, and Harry was certain that she was going to call him out on this egregious lie, but she instead took the opportunity to finally finish her work, as well as start on the next term's workload.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Hermione had let out a sigh of relief when she learned that Harry wished to take on a short life as a recluse. So relieved that she never realized that Harry would never do such a thing as actually complete his assignment in advance (or rather advance in the minds of Harry and Ron). All Hermione knew was that if she wanted any chance of convincing herself of the “act as if we're in love but we're not” statement, she needed to distance herself from Harry for a few days. Her room also underwent a small change, as she took down all photographs and turned down every picture frame. She didn't need visual reminders of what could be if she weren't so stubborn.

Harry spent the few days listing the pros and cons of admitting his feelings for Hermione, and every time the con side seemed to win (although this was most likely due to reasons such as, “Might upset Ron,” or, “Too early to date after breaking up with Ginny. She'll probably get upset,” which were obviously not an issue). Hermione, on the other hand, actually completed her work, rather than create useless lists.

On the day before Christmas, however, the two had no choice but to spend some time together. As he was yet to buy anything for Hermione or her parents, Harry joined Hermione for Christmas shopping in central muggle London and Diagon Alley (where Harry exchanged his galleons for pounds). Getting gifts for Ron and Ginny had been easy. He bought Ron a book on the Cannons and Ginny a book on Quidditch in general. Hermione, on the other hand…what was there left to get? She already had all of the textbooks she could possibly need, and she wasn't interest in Quidditch… He had considered buying her a book on the history of rights for magical creatures, but decided against it when he scanned the book and realized that, in most cases, the results were not very enthusing.

Harry found himself perusing a muggle bookshop. He had left Hermione in Diagon Alley after failing to find anything suitable. He had already bought a rather nice tie for Mr. Granger and a scarf for Mrs. Granger, and now he was hoping beyond hope that this bookshop would be the answer to his prayers.

It wasn't until he had reached the back of the bookshop that he noticed a dusty collection of books. Curious, he dusted off the spines. He recognized the titles, as Hermione owned every single one of these novels. He had spied them on her bookshelf, tattered from being read many times over: Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, All Quiet on the Western Front, Crime and Punishment, and Emma (which had been the most battered, its spine almost split in two).

The owner of the bookshop walked over to Harry and smiled at him. “You're interested in the classics, are you?” she asked.

“No, well, my friend is,” Harry replied. “She adores them. At least I think she does…” The owner raised an eyebrow. “They look as if they're falling apart. That means she likes them, doesn't it?”

“Either that or she just doesn't take care of her books,” the owner laughed.

“Hermione? Never,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Well, these are original printings,” the owner told Harry, taking down Pride and Prejudice and opening it to reveal the copyright page. “See right here? Copyright date 1813, and not another after that. If your friend loves books as much as you say she does, I'm sure she'll appreciate it.”

“I'll buy all five,” Harry said immediately. The owner's eyes widened.

“This won't come cheap,” she cautioned. “Original editions…they're worth quite a fortune. It's why we still have these around.”

“It's fine,” Harry assured her. “Whatever the cost is, I'll pay it.” And before he could think twice, he found himself remarking, “She's worth it.”

“It certainly appears so,” the owner replied, as she took down the four other novels.

He had, of course, also spent his meals with her, but usually he remained quiet while the Grangers discussed among themselves, only providing a one-word answer when addressed by either Mr. or Mrs. Granger. Hermione seemed content with not interacting with Harry, and although Harry was a bit relieved by not having to make up more excuses, he couldn't help but be bothered by this. Had he done something wrong?

Christmas Eve, Harry joined in with the Granger's annual decorating of the tree, knowing to refuse their invitation would be incredibly rude after all they had done for him. His hand had brushed up against Hermione's while hanging an ornament, and he had blushed and muttered an apology before rushing away to the other side. He hadn't noticed Hermione's face turning just as red as his. Hermione's mother had, however, and she had smiled softly to herself.

And so Christmas day had finally arrived, and Harry was awoken by the sound of the doorbell ringing and Mrs. Granger's voice, which somehow carried up to the third floor, exclaiming, “Why Anna! You weren't supposed to be here for another two hours!”

“I know, I know,” came another woman's voice, just as loud as Mrs. Granger's. “But Andrew insisted on beating the traffic, so we left early. Of course the streets were empty. Come on girls; get inside before you catch cold. I hope we aren't inconveniencing you, Lizzie. I'm just always up so early whenever I have guests, I figured you would be, too.” Anna laughed, and Harry knew this must be the Aunt Hermione had talked about only a few days earlier. Even from his room he could feel the tension between the two sisters.

“You know me, Anna,” replied Mrs. Granger, her voice slightly colder. “Hermione and Harry, her friend, aren't up yet, however, seeing as it's only seven and they're teen-agers, but I'll go get them now.” Harry heard the door closed and feet against the stairs. Once Mrs. Granger reached his floor, he jumped out of bed and stuck his head outside the door. “No need, Mrs. Granger,” he called to her. “I'm up. I'll be down as soon as I'm dressed.”

“I'm up as well, mum,” Hermione said, walking out of her bedroom, clad in her pyjamas and robe. She stretched her arms above her head. “The doorbell was a lovely wake up call. Can you please tell Aunt Anna that as much as I love her and find the competition between the two of you eternally entertaining, this has simply gotten ridiculous? Last year was bad enough, what with bringing a separate car of food to show off her culinary skills, but getting Mona and Lia up at five in order to show you up is irrational and can't be good for their sleeping patterns.”

“Hermione,” Mrs. Granger warned. “Don't make a scene on Christmas.”

“I'm not making a scene,” Hermione insisted. “I'm serious. You two act as if you're children and it's very inconvenient for us actual children.”

Mrs. Granger scrunched up her nose. “If anyone acts like a child it's Anna.” Hermione suppressed a snort. “Now get downstairs. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, and the girls are dying to see you.”

“Just let me get this thing people tell me is hair under control,” Hermione muttered as her mother went back downstairs. Harry couldn't help but laugh, and Hermione grinned in return. Harry felt better than he had in a few days, as did Hermione. Maybe they didn't need to avoid one another in order to stop themselves from saying something stupid. Maybe, just maybe, they could continue being friends as they always did, without this “relationship” thing getting in the way.

“I'm just going to pull it up, actually,” Hermione said as she walked back into her room, signalling Harry to follow her. She didn't like the idea of forcing him to wait outside or having him face her relatives on his own. “Brushing it is useless when it's not wet. Just makes it bushy…well, more bushy.” She grabbed a brush and hair tie and somehow succeeded in pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. “Ah well,” she said, looking from the mirror to Harry. “Could be worse, I suppose.”

“I like it,” Harry offered, and Hermione thanked him, all the while thanking Merlin for not making her blush at such a frivolous comment.

“Let's head down,” Hermione said quickly.

“But, my clothes…” Harry looked down at his own pyjamas.

“Don't worry about it,” Hermione said with a wave of her hand. “It's Christmas. I'm always in pyjamas. Even if everyone else isn't, it doesn't matter.”

“All right then,” Harry said, and he followed her downstairs, where a room full of people related to Mrs. Granger awaited. In other words, for someone such as Harry who wanted nothing more than to keep the topic off his relationship with Hermione, he was entering Hell.

-->

*Laughs nervously* Um, hi! So I know I haven't updated in…over a month, but before you start attacking me, you should know that for the past few weeks I have experienced one of the worst case of writer's block in my entire life. Everyday I would stare at the screen, stare at my journal…and nothing would come out. The worst part of it was that I had the scene in my head, running through my brain as if it were a play, yet somehow I couldn't turn the images into words. It was so terribly frustrating. Anyway, amazingly enough, Deathly Hallows gave me the motivation to write again. Anyway, after a long wait, here it is. I wouldn't be surprised if you think it isn't up to par, seeing as I've been unable to write for a while, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it.

Many of you, I'm sure, are anxious to know when this story is ending. As I have it planned now, the New Year's Party should occur in either the next chapter or the one after that, so this story should be finished in two to four chapters (though don't hold me to this! You never know how things can change…). Anyway, you get an H/Hr squee scene in this chapter, so I hope that tides you over. I promise I'll do my best to get the next one out sooner!

Oh! On another note, during my writer's block, I sketched pictures of Hermione's/Ginny's New Year Dress, as well as Mona and Lia's Christmas dresses, and I also created a family tree for the Granger/Howard line. If anyone's interested, I'll scan/upload everything to my livejournal (HMSHarmony) when I post the final chapter.

Now, on to the chapter…

*****

Why I have the right to be arrogant

By Ginny Weasley

1. Let's face it - I'm always right. Always. Name one time that I wasn't, and I'll bat bogey hex you. Don't worry - I've never been wrong.

2. My meddling has finally gotten one couple together. And about time, too! A certain brother of mine was driving me absolutely mental with his nonsense.

3. Even though Harry and Hermione have refused to write me (well, Hermione did write me, but her letter said, “Not going to happen; leave us be”), I just know that things are heating up between them. I mean, honestly, things would heat up between Malfoy and Hermione if they were stuck in a house together for that long (Merlin, that visual is going to haunt me for a few weeks).

4. I can get my ex-boyfriend to follow my bidding, even when we parted on negative terms. Now that is power.

5. I'm me. And yes, that might sound a tad conceited, but just wait a few years. Looking back, you'll realise just how amazing I really am.

6. Conceited is a synonym for arrogant. I am conceited, therefore I can be arrogant. And there's no way you can possibly disagree with this statement. And yes, I know this for a fact. Just like I know that Hermione will be forking over fifty galleons very soon.

*****

“Love at first sight is easy to understand; it's when two people have been looking at each other for a lifetime that it becomes a miracle.”

~Amy Bloom

*****

As soon as Harry and Hermione reached the second floor, high pitched giggles reached their ears. Hermione's face lit up at these sounds.

“Mona and Lia,” she said, more to herself than to Harry. She glanced over at Harry, and suddenly her expression became urgent. “Oh! I can't believe I forgot!” she exclaimed as they began walking down the last flight of stairs. “No one in my family, other than Mum and Dad of course, knows that I'm a witch. They just think I attend this prestigious boarding school.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at this new information. “Why didn't you tell them?”

“Mum thought it would frighten Lia and Mona, and she's right. All of the stories that say witches are evil?” Hermione shrugged good-naturedly. “I'm not ashamed of being a witch, if that's what you think. You know that. But I just don't think my relatives would understand. And imagine asking two little girls of Lia and Mona's age to keep such information secret! It'd be impossible. So no mentions of curses, or spells, or he— ” Hermione's eyes widened as two girls ran up the last few steps and flung themselves into her arms. “—lo! Lia! Mona!” Hermione exclaimed, hugging the two.

Once Hermione had released the girls from her embrace, the smallest exclaimed, “My-knee!” The little girl's brown wisps of curls framed her face, and her blue eyes lit up in excitement. “My-knee! My-knee! I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Lia,” Hermione smiled gently. “And look at you and your pretty frock!” Lia gave a small spin, showing off her maroon, velvet dress and many petticoats.

“Mummy bought it for her,” the older girl, who looked to be about seven or eight, explained. Harry deduced that this was Mona. She had strawberry blonde hair, which was divided into two plaits, and eyes that matched her sister's. “And this one, too!” Mona pointed to her own frock, which was similar to Lia's, but a deep blue.

“Did your mum give those to you as an early Christmas present?” Hermione asked as she led the girls into the living room.

“No,” Mona replied, wide eyed. “We saw them in the store and she said we could have them.”

“Oh.” Hermione's tone was slightly clipped, and she looked up to exchange a look with Harry. Clearly she disapproved of her Aunt spoiling her cousins.

“Hermione,” came a voice when the four entered the room.

“Aunt Anna,” Hermione smiled. She walked over and gave her aunt a hug as Harry had his first view of the woman who gave Mrs. Granger a run for her money. Immediately he recognized that Mona took after her mother. Hermione's aunt had strawberry blonde hair as well, although hers was considerably thicker than her daughter's. Her tresses were pulled back with two clips, and they fell down her back in gentle waves. Although she looked considerably younger (Harry guessed Mrs. Granger was at least ten years her senior), Hermione's aunt still looked remarkably like her sister, right down to the brown eyes, and Harry could've sworn the two had the same smile.

“Anna, this is Harry Potter Hermione's boy— ”

“My friend, Aunt Anna,” Hermione interrupted, glancing at her mother warningly. Aunt Anna, however, simply raised an eyebrow at this statement, as if to say, “Honestly, Hermione. You're fooling no one.” “One of my best friends since I was twelve.”

“Right,” Mrs. Granger said, suppressing a smirk. “And this, Harry, is my sister: Anna Howard. And this,” Mrs. Granger continued, pointing to a man to her right, “is my brother-in-law, Andrew Howard.”

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Howard. Mr. Howard.” Harry nodded at the man.

“Best friends for six years, hmm?” Mrs. Howard asked Harry. “Well isn't that charming.” She smiled at Harry, a smile that clearly said, “I have your number,” and Harry could only smile nervously back. He felt as if she was appraising him, and he couldn't say that he was exactly happy with this situation. Perhaps Hermione sensed this uneasiness, as she quickly asked Harry if he would help her set the table for breakfast.

“Oh, we already ate before we came, didn't we darlings?” Mrs. Howard looked over expectantly at her children.

“Yes, mum,” Mona chimed in, as Lia was busy playing with one of the ornaments on the Christmas tree. “I'm not hungry. Thank you, Auntie Lizzie.”

“I wish you would've informed me earlier,” Mrs. Granger told her sister coolly. “I wouldn't have bothered buying food for eight.” Harry looked nervously between the two sisters, wondering if the mild tension would explode into a heated argument.

“Oh Lizzie, dear, I'm sorry,” Mrs. Howard apologized breezily. “Lia's developed some strange allergies and you know me. Always the overprotective mother.”

“Well, you won't mind if we move this conversation to the dining room while we eat, would you Anna?” Mrs. Granger asked.

“Of course not. Come on girls.” Mrs. Howard ushered Lia and Mona into the next room, and Mr. Howard followed her. Harry got the impression that Mr. Howard was an incredibly meeker version of Mr. Granger. He was yet to say a word, and he followed his wife as if she was going to yell at him if he did otherwise.

“Well, this is going to be interesting,” Mrs. Granger sighed. “I'm so sorry about that, Harry. Anna can be quite a handful.”

“Don't worry about it, Mrs. Granger,” Harry replied.

“Yes, mum, don't fret. We can handle Aunt Anna. After all, we've managed to stay sane while living with you.” Hermione looked up at her mother innocently.

“Oh aren't you the comedian,” her mother laughed. “You can use that humour to entertain yourself while you set the table.”

“I'll help,” Harry offered immediately. The last thing he wanted was to be in a room alone with the Grangers, even for a second. His last encounter with them still had him scarred.

Half an hour later, Harry, the Grangers, and the Howards (who appeared to still be hungry, despite Mrs. Howard's claims) sat at the dining room table, feasting on various foods and talking animatedly. Mrs. Howard was incredibly interested in Harry and Hermione's school, especially Harry's experiences there.

“So Harry,” asked Mrs. Howard as she placed a few pieces of fruit onto her plate. “Which is your favourite class?”

“Defence Against—”

“Predators!” Hermione cut him off. “Defence Against Predators.”

“That's an odd name,” Mrs. Howard commented, looking strangely between the two.

“Well, it's always wise to know how to protect yourself. Don't you agree, Harry?” Hermione gave Harry a pointed look, and he quickly nodded his head.

“It's a very useful course. Much better than po…er, I mean, chemistry.” Hermione smiled approvingly at Harry's codename.

“I was never too fond of the sciences myself,” Mrs. Howard said. “So, Hermione, to which universities have you applied?”

Hermione choked on her eggs as her eyes grew in horror.

“You have started, haven't you, dear?”

“Well, you see,” Hermione answered, her voice slightly higher than normal as she attempted to come up with a proper lie, “at our school we get the credits for college, so we, er, we get a college degree in addition when we graduate.”

Mrs. Howard blinked at her. Before she could ask more questions, however, the phone rang.

“Oh I'll get it,” Mrs. Granger sighed, running into the kitchen. Mrs. Howard's attention immediately turned towards her sister as she signalled the room to quiet down. Clearly she was as nosy as Ginny.

“Hello, Mum!” Mrs. Granger's voice exclaimed. “How are you? … What? … Is he okay? … Well thank goodness. How did it happen? … Mum! You're supposed to be watching after him. You know what the doctor said! … Fine, fine. I understand. … Yes, well, I'll be sure to tell Anna and Hermione. … Yes, we'll be fine without you. … Mum, I can cook the Christmas meal. I do it every year. … Yes, I promise you, everything is under control. … Yes. … Tell Dad I love him and to get better. … I love you.” Mrs. Granger walked back into the room.

“Well, Dad broke his hip,” she sighed, sitting next to her husband. “So they won't be able to make it.”

“But Grandfather's all right?” Hermione asked, concern tearing at her voice.

“Yes, he's fine,” Mrs. Granger said with a wave of her hand. “Sore, but fine.”

“Well, at least Aunt Sylvie's still coming.”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger exchanged looks.

“What?” Hermione asked defensively. Mrs. Granger bit her lip. “Did I say something?”

“Aunt Sylvie's not coming this year, Hermione,” Mr. Granger told her gently.

Hermione's face fell at this news. She adored her father's sister. She always broke the Howard-Granger tension. “What? Why not?”

“Apparently she wanted to spend Christmas with my father, seeing as she hasn't seen him in such a long time. But because my stepmother's dragged him to spend Christmas with her children…”

“They're spending Christmas in the States?” Hermione asked. She gave an exasperated sigh and set her fork down. “Well then, I suppose I'll have to ship her gift over, won't I?”

“Gift?” Lia's eyes lit up as she uttered this sacred word. “Is it time for presents?”

Mrs. Granger turned and sighed at her daughter. “Now you've done it.”

Ten minutes later, the Howard-Granger crew, and Harry, settled down in the living room, Lia and Mona unable to contain their excitement. Gifts were handed out, and everyone quickly began the process of unwrapping.

Hermione was rather proud of her gift choices this year. For her mother, she had picked out a gorgeous pair of earrings that she had seen in a small jewellery shop over the summer holidays, and she had chosen a book on new dentistry techniques for her father. Hermione gave Lia a picture book and Mona the complete collection of the Chronicles of Narnia, which she had read at Mona's age.

Her own presents were equally satisfying, save for Ginny's. Ginny had gotten both Harry and Hermione a book entitled How to Get Pass Denial. Mrs. Granger didn't even bother to hide her smirk as the two teen-agers quickly hid the books behind them. Ron, on the other hand, gave Hermione Hogwarts: A History - A Revised Edition, with a letter attached that read, “Happy Christmas. I know how obsessed you are with this thing. Hope you enjoy it. Just don't ever mention this book to me again. Ever.” Hermione smiled and shook her head at Ron's note, then quickly hid the present next to Ginny's - she didn't want to try and mugglify Hogwarts to her relatives.

Hermione's mum had gotten her a dress, which Hermione had not yet opened, fearing that the dress would be more to Ginny's liking. Her father bought her a new watch, and Aunt Anna gave her a biography on Jane Austen (Hermione had thanked Aunt Anna profusely, despite the fact that she already owned two copies).

Hermione waited to open her gift from Harry, instead opting to watch as Harry opened the present she had given him. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the book in his hands.

“Wow, Hermione!” he gasped, staring at Quidditch - A Complete and Accurate History. “This is -”

“You get an update every month,” Hermione nodded at the book. She was, in all honesty, quite fond of this gift. She had not only found the last copy, but she had charmed it so whenever a muggle looked at it, the book simply appeared to be a football magazine. Needless to say, Aunt Anna was a bit confused by Harry's enthusiasm (“It's just a magazine subscription,” she whispered loudly to her sister).

“Wow,” Harry repeated. “I just…. Thank you.”

Hermione gave a small laugh, pleased that Harry liked his gift so much, and began opening her last present.

As the wrapping paper fell to the ground, Hermione felt her breath catch at her throat.

“Harry,” she breathed, staring down at the five books. “Oh, Harry…you didn't…I mean…” She carefully separated the five novels, laying down one next to the other. Her fingers lingered on Emma, and she picked it back up and caressed its spine.

Looking back up at Harry, Hermione croaked, “Please tell me that these aren't original editions.”

Harry immediately felt his heart rate increase. Was he just imagining it, or was she upset with his gift? “I…er…yes. They are.”

Mrs. Granger beamed at the scene that was unfolding. No “just friend” gave gifts this meaningful.

Hermione carefully opened up Emma, confirming what Harry had just told her. “Oh God, Harry,” she whispered. “I…I can't believe…” Her throat was quickly becoming constricted by a sob, and she bit her lip as tears blurred her eyesight.

“Do you like it?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Before anyone could blink an eye, Hermione had thrown herself onto Harry, wrapping her arms firmly around him, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I love it,” she whispered into his ear, burying her face into his shoulder as she felt tears stream down her face. “Oh, Harry. You have no idea…”

Mrs. Granger guessed that Harry actually did have a pretty good idea. At least his goofy grin and the fact that he seemed oblivious to the world seemed to indicate so.

“Well, shall we leave these two alone and get started on afternoon preparations?” Mrs. Granger asked the other occupants in the room, clapping her hands together.

“But I want to see them kiss!” Mona exclaimed. “Just like in the movies.”

“Yeah!” Lia agreed, though it was highly doubtful that she understood what she was saying.

Mr. Granger glanced over at Harry and Hermione, who still seemed to be in their own little world.

“I think this is enough for now,” he told the two girls, which displeased his nieces. “Let's just leave them alone.”

Mona crossed her arms across her chest and glared at her uncle. Mr. Howard rolled his eyes at his daughter's sudden visit to the world of two-year-olds. “Come along now,” he motioned to her.

“Mummy,” whined Mona, turning to the one person who hadn't insisted that they leave. “Please?”

“Well now, we can't just force them to kiss, Mona,” Mrs. Granger admonished from behind. Truthfully, as much as she would love to do just that, she didn't want to destroy such a precious moment. “Just leave them be.”

“You know, a bit of mistletoe would solve all of this…” Mrs. Howard suggested innocently, her sly smile ruining the effect.

Mrs. Granger appeared to be considering this, but for once in his life, Mr. Granger chose to take control, and ordered, “No, absolutely not. Everyone: out. Our time would be better spent in the kitchen. Out. Now.” Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes but followed everyone out of the room.

Harry and Hermione remained unaware of what was occurring around them, too wrapped up in their own world. Hermione gave Harry one last squeeze, and then regretfully let go of him and scooted back, her face rather pink.

“Thank you,” she whispered again.

“N…Not a problem,” Harry managed to choke out. With a small smile, Hermione leaned over and pecked Harry on the cheek once more, and then stood up and ran back into the kitchen, where she knew her mother would be awaiting her help with Christmas preparations. Harry took a few seconds to control his blush and lower his heartbeat, and then went to rejoin the party.

*****

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, if you don't get your arse out of this common room I am going to bat bogey you!” Ginny threatened her brother, brandishing her wand.

“For Merlin's sake, Ginny, I'm your brother!” Ron cried, throwing up his arms. Ginny raised an eyebrow and took another step towards him. “Fine. You know, just because you got a good middle name doesn't mean you have the right to middle name me!”

“Get. Up,” Ginny snarled, poking Ron in the arm. Ron did as she said, all the while glaring furiously at her.

“It's just Luna, Ron. It's just Luna and the Christmas feast. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” Ginny demanded as she took Ron's arm and led him through the portrait hole and towards the Great Hall.

“What if there's mistletoe!” Ron cried, looking horribly pathetic.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You kiss her and pray she doesn't mention nargles. Knowing you, mistletoe would be a stroke of luck. You're never going to get off your lazy arse and do anything about the fact that you're absolutely crazy about her.”

“If you don't stop insulting me, I'm going to hex you off the face of this earth.”

“Oh please. You can't even transfigure a button into a pin.”

“I can too!” Ron exclaimed, turning red with anger.

“Look,” Ginny continued, ignoring Ron. “The fact of the matter is you need to do something before Luna decides that some snarkled woodpuff is more interesting that you are.”

“What's a snarkled woodpuff?”

“They don't exist.”

“Well, obviously. If it's something Luna talks about. I mean, I like her and all, but I can't ignore the fact that she's rather eccentric.”

“No, I mean, I made it up. It sounded like something Luna would say.”

“Are you sure you made it up?” Ron asked.

“Ron, that's not the point!” Ginny exclaimed, giving a small growl of frustration. “The point is that Luna's going to think, `He hasn't made a move. Maybe he doesn't like me? Ooh, look, there's a snarkled woodpuff…'”

“I thought you said that you made up the snarkled woodpuff?” Ron interrupted.

“ARGH!” Ginny screamed, and Ron had to duck as Ginny threw a hex his way. “Would you just listen to me you insufferable little…”

“Hello, Ronald,” came a dreamy voice, dispersing the anger and tension between the two Weasley siblings.

Ron gulped as he turned around. “L-Luna! H-How are you?”

“I'm all right,” Luna replied, staring up at Ron, while Ginny, smirking, silently removed herself from the picture. “Though I must say I'm a little frightened.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm,” Luna nodded. “Lately, empritents have been following me everywhere.” Her already large eyes widened as she said this. “And I don't know what to do!”

“Well, er, is there anyway I can, well, you know, help…or something?”

Luna smiled dreamily at him. “Well, they'll go away if I just find someone else who's being followed by a horde of empritents, because if we kiss, then the empritents will mate, which will blow them up.”

“That sounds…pleasant,” Ron commented, feeling rather awkward as well as slightly upset by the news that Luna was trying to find this mystery person to kiss. “Well, I can't see empritents, so I guess…I guess you'll have to find your snogging partner on your own.”

“Don't be silly, Ronald,” Luna laughed, sending pleasant shivers down Ron's back. “You can't see empritents. It all has to do with emotion.”

Ron scratched his head. “Well then how are you going to— mmph!” His question was cut off as Luna reached up, pulled Ron towards her, and kissed him gently on the lips. A few seconds later she released him, and for the first time in his life, Ron was in a more dazed state than Luna.

“There,” Luna said happily. “Now they're gone. Do you want to go to the Christmas feast with me?”

“Huh? Yeah. Sure. Whatever,” Ron said, not understanding a word Luna was saying.

Beaming, Luna hooked her arm through Ron's and began skipping down the hall, dragging a positively confused, but blissful young man behind her.

-->

I think this is the fastest I've ever come out with a chapter. You can thank my cold and the fact that somehow my medicine that's supposed to make me drowsy appears to have done the exact opposite. Well, I certainly hope you enjoy this chapter! I've had the last part of this written out for months now, so it's quite exciting to finally get here. I actually have the next chapter written out (which was also written a while ago), and I'll be posting it before I leave on Thursday. On that note, I regret to inform you that I am going away this Thursday, August 9^th, and won't be returning until the 22^nd. So, unless I get access to the Internet, the final chapter will not be posted until then. I do, however, promise, unless I discover that it somehow is no longer to my liking, to post the next chapter by Thursday morning (7:00 EST, to be exact). I'll be sure to at least write everyone an author's note if that changes.

On that note, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Some of it was hard to write, so I hope it doesn't feel too choppy, but I really did enjoy myself with this one. You'll notice that I use quotes in the scene changes… I just found so many quotes that worked so perfectly with this chapter, and I couldn't choose between them. And yes, they range from quoting such classics as Northanger Abbey to quoting from The O.C. (one of my many guilty pleasures). Two of the quotes actually occur on or around New Years, so yeah…heh. Oh! And for anyone who's interested, I've added quotes at the beginning (or after the lists) of every chapter.

Now, on to the chapter…

*****

“If you love someone you say it, you say it right then, out loud. Otherwise the moment just... passes you by...”

~ My Best Friend's Wedding

*****

The rest of Christmas Day passed by rather smoothly. Although Harry and Hermione would blush slightly whenever they caught one another's eye (causing Mrs Howard and Mrs Granger to exchange satisfied smirks), they managed to keep their emotions in check for the rest of the festivities. Not that they had a lot of free time on their hands. By the time they had reached dinner, and the roast turkey, roast potatoes, and Christmas pudding (Mona and Lia rejoiced at the two coins they recovered) had been set on the table, both teen-agers felt utterly exhausted. They had spent most of the day helping out in the kitchen, basting the turkey and making the pudding (Mrs Granger had been so preoccupied with her daughter's love life that she had forgotten to make the pudding in advance, and so Hermione was forced to endure her mother's anxious barks of “Stir!” before she finally snapped and pointed out that the custard had thickened five minutes ago).

After dinner was finished and the dishes had been cleaned, Lia and Mona ran to the sitting room to play with their presents. Not wanting anything to happen to her precious gift from Harry, Hermione gathered the five books into her arms and carried them up to her room. Harry stood awkwardly in the room for a few minutes, before he finally gave in to Mrs Granger's, “Don't worry about keeping us company, Harry, dear. Go upstairs and join Hermione. I insist.”

When he arrived in Hermione's room, he found her sitting on her bed, staring across the room at her bookshelf. Harry walked over and saw that Hermione had cleared out space for the five books on the middle shelf in the very centre. As honoured as he was, he was also rather confused.

“Hermione,” he said slowly, breaking her out of her daze, “the books aren't alphabetically organized anymore.”

“I know,” Hermione said, slightly flustered, “but I couldn't stand to separate them or to put them away where no one could see them.” She concentrated on her hands, looking terribly nervous, and then she finally looked up at Harry and voiced a question she had been dying to ask for hours. “Harry…why did you give me these books?”

Harry stared at her. “What?”

“It's not that I don't like them,” Hermione said in a rush. “On the contrary, I absolutely love them, more than almost anything in the world, but…it's just…I mean…not even my parents have ever given me something so meaningful.” Hermione stared at Harry, her heart beating erratically. She knew what she wanted to hear (Would you stop with this nonsense? the voice inside her head demanded), but what was the likelihood that Harry would actually say it?

“Hermione…” Harry began, dragging his fingers through his hair. It would be oh so easy to just lie to her… “You've just been such a great friend all of these years,” he could imagine himself saying. “This is just my way of saying thank you.” But a small voice in the back of his head, that sounded suspiciously like Ginny's, whispered, “Pathetic,” and Harry found himself walking over to Hermione, sitting next to her, and breathing in deeply as he readied himself for a confession. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

“The truth is,” he said, not quite looking at her in the eye. You're going to tell her, you're going to finally tell her! Ginny's voice chanted happily in his head. “I —I… ” And then he lost his nerve, as the image of a future in which Hermione constantly avoided him played in his head, and he muttered, “I'm just grateful is all. For everything. You know.” Yes, I do know, that you're a pathetic git, shot the voice.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what exactly that meant, but at that very moment Mona raced into her room. “Hermione!” she exclaimed. “Mummy says we're leaving and that I need to say goodbye and that I'm not going to see you again until the summer and if you don't come down now I won't get to say goodbye and Lia will cry and please hurry up because Mummy says we need to leave now, Hermione!” Mona tugged impatiently on Hermione's shirt.

Hermione glanced over at Harry, a pained expression on her face, and she mumbled, “Sorry…goodbye…I mean I have to say…well, yes…” and followed Mona out the door, looking horribly confused, leaving Harry alone in her room.

“Oh, Merlin,” he groaned, holding his head in his hands. “I can't believe how stupid…” What was the worst that could happen? Well, for starters, it could destroy their friendship completely, and as sick of the lying that Harry was, and as much as he wanted to just tell her the damn truth, Harry would much rather keep his best friend than risk losing her.

One thing was for certain: when he got home, he was ringing Ginny's neck. Girl or not, she was absolutely dead for planting these ideas in his head. “Chivalry's dead, anyway,” he muttered, and left Hermione's room.

Meanwhile, Hermione was hurriedly bidding her relatives goodbye.

“Yes, I'll be sure to write,” Hermione told her Aunt as she attempted to get Lia and Mona to release her legs.

“Come on Lia, Mona,” Aunt Anna said as she held out her arms. Mona pouted and Lia burst into tears.

“Don't…wanna…leave…My-Knee!” Lia cried, while Mona's grip on Hermione's leg became unbearable.

“If you don't stop this nonsense right now I'm taking all of your Christmas gifts and hiding them.” The cascade of tears and whining stopped. “Good. Now go follow your father to the car. I'll be there in a minute.”

In seconds Mona had ran out the door, with Lia, who followed close after, running as fast as her small legs could carry her.

“Now,” Aunt Anna addressed Hermione, “Be sure to tell Harry how you really feel before you return to school so you can sort it all out without having to worry about your schoolwork.”

“Aunt Anna,” Hermione groaned. “I do not feel that way about Harry. Believe me.” Somebody has to, and Merlin knows I barely do… Hermione sighed inwardly.

“Then how do you explain your relationship?”

“We're at the `we're comfortable enough around one another so that we act around one another as if we're attracted to one another when, in reality, we aren't,' stage of our friendship,” Hermione stated, her hands folded in front of her as if she were reciting a poem.

“That's the most ridiculous, not to mention contrived thing I've ever heard,” Aunt Anna scoffed. “Now Lizzie, make sure you knock some sense into your daughter's head. She can only be so hard-headed, despite being your daughter.”

“I'm working on it,” Lizzie assured her sister, glaring down at Hermione as if she were to blame for making Mrs Granger look bad in front of her sister.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, don't count on any grandchildren.”

“Grandchildren!” Mrs Granger and Mrs Howard's eyes lit up, and for the first time Hermione witnessed her aunt and mother acting like sisters as they held hands, squealed, and yelled out names, ranging from “Anna, Elizabeth, and Zo�” to “Amberly, Nedra, and Zilpha.”

Absolutely disgusted, Hermione bid her Aunt one last farewell before running back up to her empty room. In all of the insanity, she had completely forgotten that Harry was supposed to be there, and instead of wondering where he had gone, she smiled at the welcomed silence. And at the idea of a good night's sleep.

*****

“Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.”

~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

*****

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of their break touring the neighborhood, playing in the snow, running errands for Mr and Mrs Granger, and basically being anywhere but at home. Both were determined to avoid having to sit in the same room as Hermione's parents, given their past experiences and, of course, fervent denial. In fact, the only time Harry and Hermione spent with Mr and Mrs Granger was at mealtimes, when both teenagers made sure that a topic not concerning their relationship was discussed. Even Hermione was growing bored of reciting facts from Hogwarts: A History - Revised Edition, and that in itself was quite a feat.

By the time New Years Eve had come around, both were delighted by the excuse to spend time in their rooms preparing for the party, and even further delighted by the idea of spending an evening at a largely crowded party where Mrs Granger couldn't constantly nag them.

Hermione, however, quickly found her enthusiasm for the party waning. By nine o'clock she had put up her hair into a simple ponytail (having only slightly straightened her bushy locks in order to ensure that her hair didn't tangle), and she grabbed the dress she had borrowed from Ginny and put it on. Hermione had chosen one of Ginny's only non-pink dresses, hoping to make it easier for herself when changing it to fit her needs. Unfortunately, Hermione discovered that her seamstress spells were not up to par, and she suddenly felt extremely embarrassed by her past belittlement of such spell work. And so she was forced to stare at herself in the mirror, wondering how on earth the night could possibly get worse.

The dress was very pretty, Hermione noted, despite its lack of cloth, but just not pretty on her. An icy blue, spaghetti strap number that went down to mid thigh and had a rather severe V-neck as well as triangular patches cut out at the midriff to show off bare skin, Hermione could imagine that Ginny looked absolutely stunning when she wore it. On Hermione, however, it clashed horribly with her darker complexion (at least compared to Ginny's pale one), and she felt like a fish trying to breathe on land: ridiculous, mortified, and endangered.

A knock on the door awoke Hermione from her reverie, and she quickly wrapped her dressing gown over her outfit and opened the door to find her mother standing there, her Christmas present for Hermione underneath her left arm.

“I thought you'd like this,” Mrs Granger said as she made her way into her daughter's bedroom. “You left it under the tree, and I know you need something to wear for tonight.”

“Oh, it's fine!” Hermione exclaimed, imagining a dress that was much more skimpy than the one she wore now. “Ginny lent me one of her dresses. I'm fine.”

Mrs Granger narrowed her eyes. “Is this the same Ginny whom you've told me about these past few years? The one in those pictures you brought home over the holidays last summer?” Hermione nodded her head. “Well then, I can't imagine anything she has would look right on you.”

“It's fine!” Hermione protested once more.

“Let me see it then,” Mrs Granger instructed, and Hermione bit her lip. “Come on, if it's `fine' as you say, just show me. I won't leave until you do. It's a mother thing.” Mrs Granger smiled sweetly at her daughter.

“All right,” Hermione groaned, and she reluctantly let her dressing gown fall to the ground. Mrs Granger's eyes widened, and then she burst into laughter.

“Oh, that's very nice,” Hermione huffed as she pulled the robe back on.

“I'm sorry, Hermione,” Mrs Granger said as she wiped away tears. “But you just look completely ridiculous. And to wear something so showy? I never imagined you to be so stubborn. Well, all right, I did,” she added as an afterthought. “Here, just look at the outfit I bought for you, will you? I promise not to force you to wear it if you absolutely detest it.”

Hermione glanced over at the box that lay on her bed and then gave a small sigh. “Let me open it,” she said, and she sat down and lift up the top of the box. She removed the dress and laid it gingerly on top of her covers, gasping as she finally saw it in its entirety.

“Mum,” she said, not quite believing what was in front of her. “It's…it's gorgeous!”

The dress was forest green, with short, puffed sleeves, along with a modest v-neck. A pale green sash surrounded the waist, and the dress appeared to reach just below the knees.

“I thought it was going to…”

“Make you look worse than you do now?” Mrs Granger laughed at Hermione's deep frown. “Oh honestly, Hermione. Don't you think I know my own daughter a little bit better than that?”

“Well, you seem to think I'm in love with Harry, so who knows…”

Mrs Granger raised her eyebrow. “As I said, I know you better than you think.” Hermione was about to protest when Mrs Granger reached down and produced a pair of simple heels to match the dress.

“I figured you didn't have any shoes that would fit with the outfit,” Mrs Granger told her. “You're still a size five?”

Hermione nodded as she soundlessly accepted the other half of her gift.

“Now, go get dressed. We have to leave in fifteen minutes!” And before Hermione could get a chance to even thank her mother (or insist that Harry really was just a friend), Mrs Granger left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Ten minutes later Hermione made her way downstairs, and found her mother, father, and Harry dressed (Harry, as Hermione had predicted, had simply borrowed one of Mr Granger's suits and slightly shrunk it) and waiting.

Hermione was about to compliment Harry on how handsome he looked, but Mrs Granger cut her off before her mouth had formed the words. “Oh, I knew it would look perfect!” she exclaimed as she met her daughter at the bottom of the staircase. “I only wish you'd let me do your hair…” She grimaced as she began reaching for Hermione's ponytail.

“I like her hair that way,” Harry said, surprising everyone in the room. “Well, I mean, she looks nice and everything when she sleeks it all back, like she did in fourth year, but she wouldn't be Hermione really, would she?”

Mrs Granger beamed as she tore her hand away from her daughter and nodded in agreement. “Absolutely right, Harry.”

Hermione walked over to Harry and whispered, “Thank you. I would've ended up with Merlin knows what in my hair.”

“Well, I was only telling the truth,” Harry said. Hermione stared curiously at him, and he quickly exclaimed, “Is it nine thirty yet?” Mrs Granger glanced over at the clock, realized that it indeed was half past nine, and pushed everyone out the door. Tardiness was not a Granger family trait, nor was Mrs Granger about to let it become one. Harry's only regret, as he slid into the back seat with Hermione, was that in all the confusion and embarrassment, he hadn't been able to tell Hermione how beautiful she really looked, bushy hair and all.

As Mr Granger pulled away from the curb, Mrs Granger turned her head to the back of car and addressed Harry and Hermione: “Now, you two are going to kiss at midnight, right?”

Hermione's jaw dropped, Harry turned a brilliant red, and Mr Granger came so close to veering into the neighbour's front yard that Mrs Granger had to take over the wheel. But not before adding, “It's a tradition, you know. To kiss someone when the ball drops.” Harry and Hermione's reaction remained the same. Frustrated, she continued, “You know, people who are just friends, as you two insist, do it all the time. I saw it on an episode of that show Friends once, actually. Oh really!” she cried as she closed the door and Hermione began to turn a rather odd shade of pink. “It's tradition! It's just fun!”

Hermione finally regained control of her voice, though, apparently, not her mind, as she found herself piping out, “I suppose…a kiss…just between friends…”

Harry's head swerved and Hermione squeaked as their eyes met. She frantically mouthed, “I'm sorry” at him, but Harry only shook his head, looking slightly astonished, and mouthed back, “It's fine.”

“Well, what's the verdict?” Mrs Granger asked as she succeeded in driving to the main road without crunching over the neighbour's flowers.

“Er, sure,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. “A just friends New Years kiss sounds fine…a great way to…er…really live up the whole New Years Eve experience.”

Harry and Hermione quickly looked away and stared determinedly out the window. Mrs Granger could only smirk that patented grin of hers as she began to hum. Oh yes, things were working out perfectly. Now all she had to do was keep her husband occupied…just because he was okay with Harry one day courting their daughter didn't mean she'd put it past him to tackle Harry during the countdown.

*****

“No man is offended by another man's admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only who can make it a torment.”

~Northanger Abbey

*****

“Elizabeth, John, it's such a pleasure to see you again!” exclaimed the host of the party, Claire Martin. “And you, too, Hermione,” Claire added, nodding at Hermione.

“Well we're so glad that you invited us,” gushed Mrs Granger. “We've been looking forward to this for ages, haven't we?”

“Of course!” Hermione said, offering a smile that she prayed didn't look as fake as she felt.

“And who is this young man?” Ms Martin asked, glancing at Harry.

“This is Harry Potter, Claire,” Mrs Granger smiled. “One of Hermione's friends from school.”

Hermione felt as if the world had turned upside down. Did her mother, without Hermione jabbing her in the side, just say that Harry was nothing more than her friend? Something simply was not right…

“Well, welcome,” Ms Martin beamed at the group, and let them into the house, where a huge group of people ranging from ten- to seventy-years-old milled about, talking and drinking.

“So, what do we do now?” Harry asked, feeling rather awkward standing in the middle of the room with Hermione.

“Normally I find a chair somewhere and read,” Hermione said. When Harry gave her a look Hermione shrugged. “Well, what did you expect? I'm not exactly Miss Social Butterfly or Ginny, am I?”

“No, and I think we can both agree that we don't need another Ginny,” Harry said. “I guess we could grab something to eat and just…stand some more. At least this way we won't be standing there like idiots and be bombarded with…you know…those question. We'll be doing something while we look like idiots.”

“You mean standing?”

“Eating.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You're just hungry. Both you and Ron think with your stomachs. I'm surprised men get anything done.”

“I wasn't thinking with my stomach,” Harry said as they weaved their way through the crowd and towards the buffet. “I just don't enjoy looking like a lifeless moron.”

“Oh admit it, you're thinking with your stomach.”

“Not all guys are copies of Ron, you know, Hermione.”

“And thank Mer-God for that…”

The two were about to reach for plates when a voice that most certainly wasn't Mr or Mrs Granger's called out, “Harry! Hermione!” Harry and Hermione exchanged confused looks.

“Who could that be?” Hermione murmured as the two turned around and came face to face with Dean Thomas.

“Dean!” Hermione exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm muggleborn, too, remember?” Dean grinned at the pair. “My parents come to this party every year, but normally I'm at my friend's house. He's out of town,” he explained.

“Well, at least we have someone to talk to!” Harry said, giving Dean a warm welcome with a quick hug, and Hermione shook his hand.

“What, are you two in a fight or something?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” cried Hermione, looking horrified by the idea. “But, you know, we've spent all of the holiday together… Well, it's just nice having someone else to contribute to the conversation is all.”

“I know what you mean,” Dean said, nodding his head. “I thought I was going to be stuck talking to my parents' friends and listening to, `My, look how tall you are!' all night. You look great, by the way, Hermione,” Dean added, nodding towards Hermione. “Your hair looks nice up.”

“I…thanks, Dean,” Hermione said, looking rather surprised, unconsciously tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

Harry tried to keep himself from glowering. He wasn't jealous. After all, it wasn't as if Hermione was blushing at the comment or anything, but he was still upset with himself for not saying the same thing, or at least something to that effect, earlier. She really did look amazing. Dark green was a great colour on her, and it complemented her brown eyes.

“So, Harry, do you think we're going to win the Quidditch Cup again?” Dean asked, and immediately any angry thoughts were forgotten as the two boys began a rather lively conversation concerning Quidditch. Hermione groaned.

“Not Quidditch, please,” Hermione insisted. “Anything else, really.”

“You don't like Quidditch at all?” Dean looked shocked. “But you've never missed a match!”

“Yes, well, there's huge difference between supporting Harry and liking the sport. To be honest, I have no clue what's going on. I just sit up there, praying that Harry won't be crushed to pieces by a Bludger.”

“Don't you mean Harry and Ron?”

“What?” Hermione looked confused, and then realization hit. “Oh, of course! I worry about Ron, too. I'm just, you know… Worrying about Harry's almost second nature to me. What with him having played Quidditch since first year and Ron's only done it for three and after watching someone play for seven years you just automatically think about them,” she babbled.

“Right,” Dean nodded, a doubtful look on his face.

“So, what are you planning on doing once you graduate?” Hermione asked, trying to salvage the conversation.

The three soon settled into a corner while they discussed their futures (Harry and Hermione both admitted to wanting to be aurors, though Hermione said she was torn between that and furthering S.P.E.W., while Dean said that he was fairly certain that his parents were going to make him attend a University). Soon their conversation was all over the place, and the three were laughing and enjoying themselves very much. By eleven thirty, however, the conversation had returned to Quidditch, and Hermione quickly found herself bored and unable to change the topic. Sighing, she made her way to a bowl of punch and quickly poured herself a glass as she watched the two boys argue over tactics, while readying herself to chastise them if they began to talk too loud.

*****

“I love that you get a little crinkle in your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

~When Harry Met Sally

*****

When his parents, who wanted him to meet with some of their friends, finally pulled Dean away from Harry, Hermione had drunk five glasses of the punch, and was feeling rather strange. The room seemed to be spinning every so often, her face felt oddly flushed, and she had to keep a firm grip on the table in order to maintain her balance.

“Sorry about that, Hermione,” Harry apologized profusely as he reached her. “I know how much you hate Quidditch and we got carried away there…but to make up for it, I'll gladly talk about Hogwarts: A History. Well, you know, listen to you talk about it, since I only got through the first two chapters in the car and Hermione, what on earth?” Harry gawked, as he finally looked up at Hermione and noticed her strange actions.

“Helloooo, Harry,” she giggled, letting go of the table and leaning to her left due to a lack of balance. Harry quickly placed a supporting hand on her back. “Great fun this party, don't you think?”

“Whoa,” he cautioned. After he had set her straight, he eyed her suspiciously. It was then that the realization hit him. “Are you drunk?” he demanded in absolute horror.

“I had some…summa punch - hic - and, ha ha, mummy forgot to mention that - hic - there wazzum,” giggle, “alcohol innit and - hic,” giggle, “hic - I had five glasses be…before I re-reli—fore I knew wuh was innit.” She burst into another fit of laughter, as if this was the funniest thing in the world.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry moaned. Leave it to Hermione to not be able to hold down her liquor, not even punch that had only small amounts of alcohol. So much for a New Years kiss, Harry found himself thinking, but he turned attention back to his drunk best friend.

“Well, on the bright side,” he told Hermione, “at least you didn't do this voluntarily. That would've been a nightmare to explain to your parents.” He looked around for a chair to place Hermione, but found none. “Look, stay here, hold on to this table, and I'll go find your mum or dad, okay, and see about getting us home.”

“Rightio, Harryo!” Hermione snickered at what she considered to be a rather clever joke. “Ha ha…get it? Rightio…Harryo? It rhymes!”

Harry stared at her and nodded as one did when they had no idea how to respond. “Hold on to this table real tight,” Harry insisted. He didn't feel comfortable leaving Hermione alone, but it was either this or trying to manoeuvre a drunken girl through huge crowds. He was certain that the latter would draw more attention, something a sober Hermione would not want. So, after chancing one last glance over his shoulder at Hermione, who, having lost her balance once more, was sitting happily on the ground, he navigated his way through the crowd.

It took him a few minutes, but eventually he found Mr Granger speaking with a group of people about something Harry truly wasn't interested in. Although he would've much preferred Mrs Granger (Merlin only knew the chances that Mr Granger would blame Harry for all of this), he knew that this was better than nothing.

“Mr Granger!” Harry exclaimed, cutting his way into the circle. “Sorry to bother you, but it seemed Hermione had a bit too much of the punch, not knowing that it had alcohol in it, and, well…” Harry trailed off, not wanting to go into any more detail in front of absolute strangers.

“She's drunk?” Mr Granger groaned. Harry nodded. “Right then, let's find this daughter of mine, shall we?”

Harry led the way back to Hermione, only to find that she had somehow picked herself up from the ground. In fact, she seemed to have gained control of her legs, as she wasn't even there.

“I could've sworn I told her to stay here…” Harry told Mr Granger, puzzled. “I'll go find her!” Harry began his search, wondering how on earth he was going to find her in such a mess of people. Mr Granger, being taller than most, was easy. Hermione, on the other hand, who was rather short, would blend in easily.

As Harry continued his quest, the people around him began to countdown. Although Harry had always wanted to partake in this, he was much more concerned with finding his best friend.

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…” people shouted in unison.

“Come on Hermione…” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Five…four…three…”

“Where are you?”

“Two…one…Happy New Year!” they cried as Big Ben chimed on the telly in the background.

It was at this very moment, as the year 1998 began, that Harry finally found his best friend. He was so relieved to see her, bushy hair and all, that it took him a moment to realize that she wasn't alone, but in the arms of a complete stranger. In fact, she appeared to be kissing this stranger, as confetti landed softly on her hair.

Only the man, Harry realized, was anyone but a stranger.

Hermione was kissing Dean Thomas.

And for the first time in his life, Harry wanted to kill a fellow Gryffindor. It wasn't like when Ginny was dating Dean, and that stupid monster (which he had named “lust”) had been “roaring,” it was pure, unadulterated hatred. Not only had Dean stolen his New Years kiss (which, admittedly, was just going to be between friends, but still), but he had taken advantage of Hermione in her drunken state and that, more than anything, was inexcusable. Harry made his way towards the two and tapped Dean on the shoulder. Dean released Hermione (who leaned into her father's arms), turned around, and gulped as he found Harry glaring at him.

“What the Hell do you think you're doing?” Harry demanded, containing the urge to punch Dean. “You think you can just kiss her when she's completely out of it like this?”

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed, cowering in front of the two angry men. “I didn't kiss her. She came over and kissed me, all right. I mean, I was planning on kissing her.” Dean blanched as he realized this was the wrong thing to say, and Mr Granger had to put out an arm to prevent Harry from jumping on top of the boy. “It's all Ginny's fault!” Dean cried out, but Harry didn't care. In fact, it was doubtful that he had heard him.

“We should go,” he said to Mr Granger.

“Yes. I'll go find Lizzie.” Harry took over the job of supporting Hermione as Mr Granger went in search of his wife, and Dean slowly backed away and mixed back in with the crowd.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, looking awfully woozy.

“Yeah?”

“ I don't feel so well,” she groaned, and promptly passed out.

“Hermione?” Harry cried, tapping her lightly on the cheek. “Hermione!” She didn't respond, and Harry groaned. “Just perfect.” He attempted to keep her upright, if only to prevent others from seeing her in this state.

A few minutes later Mr Granger returned, looking worried.

“I can't find Elizabeth!” he said over the noise of the crowd. “What happened to Hermione?”

“She passed out,” Harry said, shifting her weight to his other side. “And I'm sure Mrs Granger's in some room…. Look,” Harry continued. “I know you probably would prefer that we go home the normal way, but maybe it would be better if I just apparate her home— ”

“Appa-what?”

“Apparate. It basically means to disappear from here and arrive somewhere else instantly. I can find a secluded place and we'd be back home within seconds.”

Mr Granger frowned. “I'm not sure if it's such a good idea to have you two alone…”

Harry grimaced. “Mr Granger, I said it before, and I'll say it again: Hermione's safety is what matters to me. Believe me when I say I'm the last guy on earth who'd take advantage of her. I'm not Dean,” he snarled.

“Well, all right,” Mr Granger said, looking reluctant. “Just make sure no one sees you! And there's aspirin in Hermione's medicine cabinet. You should probably put some on her bedside table and a cup of water for when she wakes up.”

“Got it,” Harry nodded. “I'll see you when you get home… And if you see Dean, can you punch him for me?”

Mr Granger couldn't help but laugh. “Believe me Harry, as much as I'd like to, I don't think it'd look too good for a grown man to hit a teen-ager. But I'll definitely give him some choice words, that is assuming he hasn't run away.”

“Right. Thanks, Mr Granger!” Harry called, and he walked Hermione and himself around a few corners and to an empty room, where he quickly disapparated.

*****

“You guys need anything?”

“Yes. Ryan needs a tear in the space time continuum so he can go back and say `I love you' to Marissa.”

~The O.C.

*****

When they finally apparated into Hermione's room, Harry, groaning, picked her up so that she was cradled in his arms, walked over to her bed, and placed her a little more roughly than he intended on to the mattress. Disentangling her limbs from his body, he pulled up the ends of the duvet that had been pulled down for the night, tucking the comforter firmly around her. He then raced off to the bathroom and returned with the diagnosed cup of water and aspirin. Setting them on the table, he then grabbed Hermione's desk chair and placed it next to her bed, sitting on it dutifully and finally realizing how Hermione must have felt every time Harry had a Quidditch accident. Even though he knew she'd be fine, if not a little sick, by the morning, he vowed to be more careful in Quidditch. Merlin only knew it was no fun anxiously waiting at her bedside.

As he sat there, staring at Hermione as she slept, the image of her kissing Dean ran through his head over and over again. It was almost painful. No, it was painful. What if he had only told her that he had given her those gifts because he loved her? What if he had come clean about everything, instead of maintaining that Gryffindor pride?

“This is all too complicated,” he groaned to himself, running his fingers through his hair. “It should be simple!”

If you had listened to me it would've been, Ginny's voice ringed in his head. Grimacing, Harry raced to his room and returned to Hermione's with The List, which he had transfigured into a journal before leaving Hogwarts, figuring that he might as well spend the time making sense of how exactly everything had become so…complicated.

*****

A/N: For anyone who's interested (or ever watched The O.C.), when Harry puts Hermione to bed, I couldn't get the image of Ryan tucking in Marissa in the first episode out of my head…so that's why the two probably appear so similar (at least in my mind they do).

Oh! And before anyone yells at me about cliffhangers…I originally intended to end this chapter with “Hermione was kissing Dean Thomas,” so don't get too upset with me. Anyway, like I said, the next chapter should be out by Thursday, and I'm fairly certain most of you will be pleased…

-->

Hey! So we've finally arrived at the second to last chapter. I can't believe this story is almost over. Seriously. I'm going absolutely insane. Anyway, I've been looking forward to posting this chapter for months. I can't tell you how many times I've rewritten it, but it's a heck of a lot. I really hope everyone enjoys it, because I really do love this chapter.

Anyway, as I said before, I'm going away until the 22nd, so the earliest I'm likely to be updating is then. I'm so sorry you're going to have to wait until then to read the final chapter, but I promise that there's no cliffhanger this time.

As I did with “I'm Not Neurotic!” I'll be answering any questions you have about this story in my next chapter. So if you have anything on your mind, feel free to ask it in a review, and I'll do my best to answer it. I'll also be adding some fun/random facts about this story, as well as upload all of my pictures, etc. to my LJ, if anyone is interested.

Well, on to the chapter! I hope you enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing it.

*****

The Top Ten People Who Believe that Hermione Granger and Harry Potter are Dating

As recorded by Harry James Potter on November 24, 1997

1. Ginevra “Ginny” Weasley - See attached essay.

2. Ronald “Ron” Weasley - Claims that Hermione and I exchange these looks that just scream, “love,” and that the fact that we can communicate with only such looks is something that “just friends” can't do. Which is just mental, because Hermione and I can only do that because we know each other so well and listen, not because we have feelings for one another. Anyway, I have a sneaking suspicion that he's just agreeing with Ginny so she doesn't murder him.

3. Terry Boot - Rumour has it he wanted to ask Hermione to Hogsmeade but decided against it because he thought I would hex him. Truthfully, hexing prospective boyfriends is more up Ron's alley, given his reaction to guys approaching his sister. I'd only hex Boot if he hurt Hermione, but any friend would do that.

4. Molly Weasley - Well, Ginny has to take after someone. I'm fairly certain that Mrs Weasley figures that if I can't be with her little girl, I might as well be with the closest thing she has to a second daughter.

5. Mrs Granger - She asked me if I had any idea where I wanted to plan our wedding. She suggested the Bar on St. Agnes. Though personally I always felt that Hermione was more partial to Paris. That way the day before the wedding she could spend a day immersing herself in culture.

6. Luna Lovegood - Apparently the fact that Hermione and I have the same first two initials means that the empritents will seek us out and attack us until we mate.

7. Professor McGonagall - She was under the impression that Hermione and I had been dating for five months, and then she refused to take down the newspaper article.

8. Draco Malfoy - Yes, I hate to even write his name, but the fact remains that he asked me if I had broken up with Hermione (using a different name) yet and if I had decided to stop being a “traitor to my bloodline,” only to comment that he supposed my mother already ruined my bloodline. I would've hexed him, but McGonagall was coming up the corridor.

9. Cho Chang - She broke up with me because she was convinced I was in love with Hermione.

10. Viktor Krum - He, too, was convinced that something was going on between Hermione and myself, and despite my denial of any such relationship, he let their relationship die.

*****

There is no remedy for love but to love more.

~Henry David Thoreau

*****

“I kissed Hermione, but I don't think it turned out like we thought it would,” Ginny read slowly in the privacy of her room, the other girls having returned home for the holidays. “I think we just got ourselves into more trouble than we predicted. Dean.” Ginny crumpled the letter and grabbed a clean piece of parchment and scribbled, “Find a way to contact me via fireplace. Midnight. I'll be in the Gryffindor common room.” Walking over to the window, she took the owl that had delivered Dean's message and tied her own to the owl's leg. “Don't dawdle,” she called after the bird as it, and freed the owl. Crossing her arms, Ginny heaved a sigh. “I have to do absolutely everything, don't I?” she muttered. “Those two better plan on throwing me a spectacular seventeenth birthday party for all the trouble they're putting me through.”

*****

“Tell me, what was so special about your wife?”

“…it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were suppose to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic.”

~Sleepless in Seattle

*****

It was a good hour before Harry finally fell asleep, having resided himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do for Hermione until she awoke. Sighing, he placed The List on the ground and leaned back in his chair, imagining how he was going to prevent Hermione from murdering him when she discovered what had happened.

*****

“Do you ever put your arms out and just spin and spin and spin? Well, that's what love is like. Everything inside of you tells you to stop before you fall, but you just keep going.”

~Practical Magic

*****

Ginny waited impatiently in the Gryffindor common room, pacing the space in front of the fire so many times that the paintings began yelling at her about wearing down the rug. Had Dean's head not appeared in the fire at that very instant, Ginny would've had a few choice words for the portraits. Needless to say, those choice words were redirect towards Dean.

“How the Hell did you screw this all up?” she demanded, sitting down in front of his face.

“Nice to see you too,” Dean shot at her. “You know how much trouble I had to go through to get here? I had to sneak out of my house, apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, beg the man that works there to let me borrow a fireplace…I'll be lucky if I get back home without getting caught!”

“Do you honestly think I care?” Ginny asked, a disgusted expression on her face. “I have bigger things to worry about, thanks to you. Now, what did you do?”

“Well, just like you told me to, I kissed Hermione at midnight,” Dean explained. “Only, in retrospect, I'm not so sure it was a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it appears that Harry didn't know where she was, and he spent a good time looking for her. When he finally found her kissing me, he was pretty pissed off. He didn't look any happier when I told him that Hermione was the one who kissed me…”

“Wait a second,” Ginny said. “She kissed you?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Why on earth would she kiss you when she's in love with Harry?” Ginny cried. There was no way she had been wrong about this. No way. She knew love when she saw it. Was Hermione just trying to make Harry jealous, or had she been under Imperius, or…?

“Well, apparently she was…well…drunk.”

Ginny's mouth dropped open. “Drunk? Hermione Granger? Are you mental? That girl won't even drink more than one butterbeer during a party!”

“Well, she was. And it didn't help the situation much. I think I'm going to need to request a change in housing, because Harry all but said that he was going to strangle me in the middle of night for kissing her when she was so out of it.”

“You idiot,” Ginny hissed at him. “You absolute idiot! Now Harry's going to go around thinking that the only reason why he was so upset about you kissing Hermione is because she was drunk and you were taking advantage of her!” She glared at Dean. “Can't you do anything right?”

Dean stared defiantly right back at his ex-girlfriend. “I was doing you a favour, Ginny. And you're right, I screwed up, but it wasn't my fault. Anyway, maybe you should learn to keep your nose out of other people's lives.”

“Oh please,” Ginny laughed. “That's ridiculous. And for the record, Harry's going to have to get in line if he wants to kill you.”

Dean shook his head at her in disbelief. “I can't believe I ever dated you,” he spat, and his face disappeared.

Ginny felt a chill settle around her, and she couldn't help how morose she suddenly felt. “Believe me,” she whispered into the flames. “Neither can I.”

*****

“You know, that moment when you kiss someone and everything around you becomes hazy. And the only thing in focus is you and that person. And you realize that that person is the only person that you're supposed to kiss for the rest of your life. And for one moment you get this gift. And you want to laugh and you want to cry because you feel so lucky that you found it and so scared that it will go away all at the same time.”

~Never Been Kissed

*****

“Ugh,” Hermione moaned, as she sat up and held her face in her hands. “I feel awful.”

“You're up!” exclaimed Harry, who had been awoken by Hermione's movements. He wasn't normally such a light sleeper, but he had been on edge for the past twelve hours.

“I wish I wasn't,” Hermione said, pressing her palm to her forehead. “Oh God, I feel like I've just been struck in the head by a hammer.” She opened her eyes, and immediately closed them as the blinding light came streaming into her eyes. “Oh God,” she repeated, swaying slightly.

“Hermione?” Harry asked worriedly, scooting closer to her.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” she cried, holding her hands over her mouth as she gagged on air.

“Er, okay, right…just…breathe! Keep breathing!” Harry exclaimed, as he frantically grabbed a small rubbish bin that sat to the side of her bed and placed it in front of her. It was at that moment that Hermione leaned over the side of her bed and threw up into the bin while Harry awkwardly held Hermione's thick locks out of her face, staring almost helplessly at he pale face.

“I'm sorry,” she moaned into the bin, her voice hoarse as she coughed, hoping to get the horrible taste out of her mouth.

“It's fine,” Harry said, smoothing back her hair once more as she finally sat back up, resting against her headboard and breathing heavily.

“Here.” Hermione looked out her eyes through narrow slits and saw a cup of water and two pills in front of her. “Take this. It'll get rid of the headache and the rest of the nausea.”

“Harry?” Hermione asked, as she gulped down the pills. She realized she had yet to see who her mystery helper was, though, thinking about it, she realized there weren't that many people it could be. But it was rather hard to think straight when her head was pounding so terribly. “Is that you?”

“No, it's Ron,” Harry deadpanned. Hermione whipped her head to her side and glared at him.

“I'm not in the mood, Harry!” Hermione said gruffly. She cringed as another flash of pain shot through her, accompanied by another dizzy spell. “At least let the room stop spinning before you crack jokes!”

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, looking down at his hands.

“It's fine.” Hermione gave a small sigh. “Why is the room spinning? And why am I still wearing my dress from last night?” she asked, looking down at herself. “Better yet, why was I just so terribly ill?” She gave a small gasp. “Did I get food poisoning?”

“You, er, you don't remember?” Harry stared at Hermione, unconsciously biting his cheek. He didn't fancy being the one to tell Hermione that she had not only gotten incredibly drunk, but incredibly drunk at a very highly populated party.

“Well if I did, I wouldn't ask you, would I?”

“You…” Harry trailed off, uncertain how to go about this.

“Yes?”

“You drank a lot of punch at the New Year's Eve Party and didn't know that it contained alcohol and you ended up getting sloshed!”

Hermione slowly dropped her hand, her eyes and mouth opened wide in disbelief.

“I what?” she repeated, as if she couldn't comprehend anything Harry had just said.

“You got drunk. It wasn't your fault!” Harry added hastily at Hermione's look of horror. “You didn't know that there was alcohol, I swear!”

“Oh Merlin,” Hermione groaned, letting her face fall back into her hands. “What awful things happened? What stupid, moronic, idiotic things did I do that will make me a hypocrite for the rest of my life?”

“Well, you made out with Dean Thomas at midnight,” Harry answered, his voice quiet and tinged with bitterness, not that Hermione could notice in her state of panic.

“No!” Hermione gasped, and up went her head again. Harry nodded. “How am I going to face him at school? He'll probably think I'll want to date him or something equally nonsensical!”

“You…you don't fancy him?” Harry asked, trying to contain his happiness.

“Well of course I don't fancy him!” Hermione said, looking exasperated by what she considered a rather thick question.

“But you kissed— “

“While I was drunk,” Hermione cut him off. “So drunk, I might remind you, that I don't even remember getting drunk. I probably didn't even know who he was! I probably thought he— Well never mind that. But, honestly, Harry. How could I like him? Not when…” She stopped. Harry was staring at her strangely, and Hermione realized just how much she had almost revealed in the last minute. “So,” she said, clearing her throat. “What, er, what else happened?”

“That was it, really,” Harry said. “Well, apart from passing out a few minutes after that, but I don't think anyone else noticed. We went straight home and put you to bed.”

“Well that's a relief,” Hermione sighed, her eyes flickering over to the dent in her covers. She blinked. “Harry,” she said slowly, “you didn't stay with me all night, did you?” She looked up at him.

“Er, yeah, I did,” he admitted. Hermione stared at him, a mixture of incredulity, delight, and gratitude etched on her face.

“You didn't need to do that,” she said softly.

“Of course I did,” Harry replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You've done the same for me, haven't you?”

“W-well, of…of course I have,” Hermione stuttered, a light blush gracing her nose. “But still, that was…” Hermione reached over and took Harry's hand, biting her lip and staring at him. The look she was giving him made Harry's stomach do a few flips. “Thank you,” she finished, opting for simplicity.

“Er, you're welcome.” Harry fidgeted in his seat, wishing that Hermione would let go of his hand before he said something incredibly stupid. “I, er, I have to go!” he exclaimed, and wrenching his hand from hers, he raced out of the room.

“Well that was rather odd,” Hermione blinked. “I'll have to find out what's wrong later… Oh well. Now I can rest up and let the rest of the headache dis…disappear…” Hermione stared at where Harry had just been seated. At the floor of the chair was a journal, much like the one in which they kept notes for school, with “The List” sprawled across it in Harry's messy cursive.

“I didn't realize he had more than one copy,” Hermione said, reaching down to pick up the book. “I suppose this is for on the road,” she reasoned. “It'd be rather hard to drag along a five foot long piece of parchment.” Curious as to who was on there now, Hermione decided to forgo her rest and do her best to ignore her headache (her nausea was already thankfully gone). Opening it carefully, her eyes rested on the first page. It was divided into two columns. The first, which was significantly smaller than the second, listed the names, while the second stated the reasons why said people believed as they did. Not surprisingly, Ginny was first, with, “See attached essay,” as her stated reason. Hermione found herself smiling as she read through the other names. She turned page after page until she arrived at the last one and read:

387. The Fat Lady - she asked me why I wasn't with “my girlfriend, Miss Granger.”

388. The ice-skating rink lady

389. Everyone who watched Hermione and my embarrassing moment at aforementioned skating rink.

390. Mr Granger - I know. Apparently he's gone from “I want to bury you alive for being near my daughter” to “Well, if she has to date someone it might as well be you.”

“Well at least he doesn't want to kill you anymore, Harry,” Hermione chuckled. She moved on to the final name, and her heart stopped.

391. Harry James Potter - Not because all of this has made me doubt the validity of our “just friends” mantra or because I have a passing fancy for her or even because Ginny's always right. But because I love her, and that's all there is to it. I've always loved her. I may have been blind to it all because I never really knew that love could actually exist before that night she hugged me in first year, and even then I still couldn't recognize it for what it was. But now I know. I love Hermione Jane Granger. And that's all that matters.

“Harry?” Hermione whispered, staring at his name. “Harry…loves me?” She felt the beginnings of another, more severe panic attack. “How is that possible?” Hermione cried, placing the book to the side and wringing her hands. “He's done nothing to suggest it. He…I'm just a friend to him! Just like he's simply a friend to me…”

Images flashed through her brain. Harry staring at her as they lay on top of the ice. His face as she made her way downstairs, something she had ignored at the time due to her mother's fussing. The anxious look on Harry's face while he watched Hermione open her Christmas present. Her Christmas present. The Christmas present that consisted of original printings of not one, but five novels. Had she been so blind? “I'm just grateful is all. For everything. You know.” But she didn't know. It made no sense. There was more meaning behind this gift than, “Thank you for saving my arse every year. You're a pal.” After all, hadn't Ron done just as much as she? And what had Harry gotten him? Another book on the Cannons, that's what.

Hermione got up and began pacing as she pondered what on earth was going on. Unsettled, she left her room, intent on cornering Harry to find out what exactly he had meant that day, only to lose her nerve and instead walk into the bathroom.

But what about his explanation! Hermione thought, desperately grasping for anything that would prevent this momentous change as she brushed her teeth furiously. “I'd tell them that we're at the `we're comfortable enough around one another so that we act around one another as if we're attracted to one another when, in reality, we aren't,' stage of our friendship.” If he didn't think it, why'd he say it? “That's the most ridiculous, not to mention contrived thing I've ever heard,” her aunt's voice sounded in the back of her mind. And as Hermione thought about it, she realized that her aunt was right. It was rather ridiculous and contrived, wasn't it? Hadn't he said, after reading Ginny's essay with her, that they didn't act like that around one another? Was it possible that Harry now actually loved her?

Having rinsed her mouth out, Hermione banged her toothbrush onto the sink counter and returned to her room, where The List sat on her bed, daring her to open it. Daring her to write in it.

But what about me? Hermione had spent all of this time frantically trying to believe that her feelings for Harry were platonic. After all this time, she was finally beginning to believe it…or at least wanting to believe it. But that wasn't the problem, she realized. She abhorred change. The idea of moving from friendship to a romantic relationship with Harry petrified her. It had been an absolute disaster with Ron.

But you didn't love Ron, a voice reminded Hermione. It was a passing fancy. Nothing more. But who was to say that what she felt for Harry wasn't a passing fancy? Everyone.

“Maybe if you saw how many people actually believe that you're going out, you'd realize why you're in love with one another.”

Hermione's eyes wandered to her side table, where her picture still lay face down. She apprehensively returned it to its normal position, her heart fluttering as she stared at Harry and herself, arms wrapped around one another, laughing and looking…blissfully happy. “Oh Merlin,” she sighed. “Who am I kidding?” She shook her head. “Passing fancy? How can I have a passing fancy for Harry.” She traced Harry's face with her finger and gave out a small laugh. “I guess I can't always be right, can I?”

Hermione took out a pen from the night table's drawer and opened back the. I couldn't fool everyone else, even when I didn't know how I truly felt. I may be stubborn, but…I can't act if everything's the same. Not anymore. Taking in a deep breath, she signed her name under Harry's, an action she knew would change her life forever (and provide Ginny with 50 galleons and a lifelong claim on determining the rest of Hermione's love life). She closed the journal and set it on her lap, waiting for Harry to come racing back for The List, as she knew he would.

Not five minutes later Harry ran into her room. “You didn't happen to find a journal in here, did you?” he asked, looking incredibly distressed.

“You mean this?” Hermione asked, picking up The List and staring up at Harry expectantly.

“Yeah, that,” Harry said, defeated. There was no question in his mind that Hermione had read it, assuming that it was just a list of people who were “out of their minds” and not something that would make their friendship incredibly awkward.

“It was quite interesting,” Hermione noted, surprised by how calm she was acting. Inside, she was bursting to shout, “I love you too, you absolute idiot!” “There were some really intriguing reasons.”

“Look, Hermione, I can explain,” Harry began, paling significantly.

“I think the most interesting one,” Hermione continued, as if Harry wasn't having a nervous breakdown right in front of her, “was the last one.” She looked up, her eyes challenging him. “Want to read it?”

“Hermione, please don't do this…” Harry begged.

“I really think you should, Harry.” Hermione placed the journal into his hands and folded her hands in her lap, underneath her duvet.

Harry briefly closed his eyes and then opened them once more as he turned to the final page, one he had memorized by heart. He read it, all the way down to his name, not bothering to notice that there was something underneath, and looked back at Hermione, his eyes pleading.

“Hermione, I'd really like it if you'd just let me explain.”

“I don't think you read everything, Harry,” Hermione answered, as collected as ever, although underneath her covers the fingers on her left hand were fidgeting furiously with the material of her pyjamas. “Look.” She nodded at the journal. Harry stared at her, clearly confused, but obliged, and let his eyes travel to a name that had certainly not been there twenty minutes earlier.

392. Hermione Jane Granger - I love you, too.

His eyes widened as he looked up to find Hermione smirking at him. “You should know better by now to listen to me,” she told him.

“Are you…are you serious?” was all Harry could manage. “You're not still…drunk, or anything, are you?”

“Of course I'm not still drunk!” Hermione replied, looking rather disgusted. “And yes, Harry. I'm absolutely serious.” Her repulsion melted away and she gave Harry the most genuine smile he had ever seen in his entire life, and he couldn't help but laugh as he realized all of his anxiety (not to mention his lying) had been for naught.

“You're a piece of work, you know that?” Harry asked her, still awe-struck.

“So long as I'm no longer just your `insufferable know-it-all best friend', I think I'll live.”

“You've never been just that,” Harry whispered.

Hermione grinned and added, “Right. I forgot the, `with an immense amount of uncontrollable bushy hair that's a complete eyesore as well as a tendency to drive you insane with my bossiness,' didn't I?”

“Hermione.”

Hermione's eyes softened. “So would that make me the `insufferable bossy know-it-all with uncontrollable bushy hair' girlfriend?”

“Never,” Harry answered, shaking his head, and Hermione knew fully well what he meant.

“Really?” she whispered, moving closer to him. He nodded.

And then he kissed her.

Hermione couldn't help but give a small squeal as Harry placed his lips on hers. In all honesty, it was obvious that he was going to kiss her. But nonetheless…he was kissing her! Harry James Potter was kissing her, Hermione Jane Granger. After all of this time of worrying and trying to convince herself that she could just love Harry as a friend, she no longer had to, because he was kissing her.

She finally relaxed against Harry, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning the kiss. She felt Harry smile.

As the two continued their romantic rendezvous, Mrs Granger stopped in her daughter's doorway, intent on having a little chat with her about what on earth she had been doing kissing this Dean fellow she had heard about. At the sight of Hermione kissing Harry, however, all of Mrs Granger's worries disappeared, and her frown settled into a pleased grin. Turning around so she could go back downstairs, she could only shake her head. Teenagers certainly were more trouble than they were worth, but somehow or another, they made up for it with moments such as these.

This is most certainly going to be used as a “listen to your mother and you will do no wrong” moment, Mrs Granger thought to herself, all the while wondering how to break the news to her husband and ensure that he didn't bloody up their cooking knives. He may approve of Harry as a possible boyfriend, but somehow I still can't imagine he'd be quite pleased with the situation…

When Harry and Hermione finally broke apart, both out of breath and red in the face, Hermione found herself, for reasons completely unknown, blurting out, “I love you!” Apparently now that she had decided that she no longer needed to deceive herself, she had to say every single thing on her mind. She blushed and looked down as Harry gazed at her, his expression unreadable. “I know that we've only kissed this once, and we haven't even dated, and all of the books say not to say this for a good few months, or not at all, because it's relinquishing power or something, but I do, and I know you already said in The List that you love me, and I wrote that I love you, too, but it's different writing it opposed to actually saying it out loud. The two have different meanings. I mean, honestly, I've been writing `Love from Hermione' for years now. But that's not the point. I just…well…yes…” She trailed off, looking rather confused and a bit helpless.

“Hermione,” Harry said gently. Hermione glanced up, biting her lip.

“Did I just ruin everything?” she asked meekly.

He laughed, a laugh that made Hermione feel silly that she ever worried about anything in her entire life. “I love you, too,” he answered. “And in a `say it out loud' way, not only a `write it on parchment' way, whatever that means.”

Hermione beamed at Harry. And then she kissed him.

-->

Oh God. I'm so sorry that it took me so long to post the final chapter. There are a few reasons why I took forever and a day…

1. I really loved writing this story. And I mean loved it. It was insanely annoying/tough at times, but all in all, it was a wonderful experience. It's sad to let go.

2. I've been deciding between three endings for the past two weeks. Seriously. I'd write one ending, then another, and then another. In the end, I decided to go with my original ending, but it took a long time for me to realize that this was exactly how it should end.

3. When I got home from my trip, I had to finish all of my summer homework, and then I started school and I was just overwhelmed by all of the schoolwork loaded on us. I had little time to work on The List.

4. One of my favourite shows (Kim Possible - yes, I know it's a Disney Channel cartoon, and it's probably rather juvenile of me to watch it and to care so much, but it's a really well done show) just ended (last night in fact), and seeing as I've watched the show since it first aired when I was eleven, this was rather difficult for me. I tend to get depressed when shows that I love end, and it's been happening a lot lately…and this one hit me hard.

Anyway, I hope you can forgive me. And I hope that you enjoy the final chapter in this story. Like I said, it's been a blast writing it, and I can't begin to thank all of you for everything. For anyone who's interested, I've uploaded some List extras to my LJ (username: HMSHarmony). I know that my LJ is friends only, but this will be a public post. Also, I have a ton of extras, including the two alternate endings, which I will upload to a separate chapter in a few seconds.

And now, on to the final chapter of The List…

*****

“I don't know what just happened, but I'm not cut out in helping people make life choices.”

“I wouldn't say so much. You helped me pick you.”

“Okay, that time I was a genius.”

~Kim Possible

*****

When Harry and Hermione finally finished kissing, Hermione realized with a deafening blow that as simple as this had all seemed a few minutes ago, it was anything but. Pursing her lips, she leaned away from Harry and against her headboard.

“Well, we're definitely going to have to figure out how this is going to affect our public relationship.”

Harry's elbow slipped and he fell flat on his face. Pushing himself up, Harry groaned, “Why must you always be so sensible?”

Hermione shrugged. “The fact of the matter is that this—”

“—is going to change everything?” Harry interrupted with a sigh.

Hermione blinked. “You must be kidding me.”

“What, isn't that what you were going to say?”

“No, of course not!” Hermione said with a laugh. “I mean, of course things are going to change. I knew that the second I wrote my name. But we've been friends since first year, and even with our relationship moving from platonic to, well, this,” Hermione made a small gesture with her hand, “nothing will change the fact that while you're…er…my boyfriend,” Hermione lost a bit of her composure at this point as she felt her cheeks grow hot, still not use to the idea of Harry as her boyfriend, “you…well…you'll always be my best friend first. I mean, that's the great thing, isn't it?”

“That we'll always be friends?”

Hermione smiled. “No, that we'll always put our friendship first.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Harry finally asked, “Well, what were you trying to say, then?”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “Right. Well, it's just…you know how much I hate being wrong, don't you?” Hermione asked Harry in a rush, now on her knees.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said with a bit of a laugh. Hermione “hating being wrong” was a bit of an understatement in his opinion.

“Well all of these people have been telling us time and again that we should date or that we were too stubborn to admit our true feelings or see what was right in front of us. And while I'm glad that I was wrong, the fact remains that…I can't be wrong!” Hermione cried, flinging her hands anxiously. “If my mum were to find out, or worse, Ginny… Oh Merlin, I don't think I could stand it. They would torture me about it every chance they get. And I'll have to give Ginny those fifty galleons, and while I can pay it, it's the fact that I would be paying her that bothers me. I just can't, Harry!” By this time Hermione looked slightly hysterical. Harry reached out a tentative hand to comfort her, but Hermione's sudden arm movements, no doubt attributed to her stress, prevented him from getting anywhere near her.

“I…I don't really understand what you're trying to say,” Harry said slowly once Hermione had calmed down to a point where she could listen. “Does this mean you don't want to— ”

“Of course not!” Hermione interrupted with a gasp. “No, don't be thick. I just mean that, well, maybe…maybe we should keep this out of the public eye? At least until Easter has past, so at the very least I can win the bet with Ginny.”

“You mean keep our relationship a secret?”

“Yes, exactly!”

“I don't know, Hermione…” Harry looked uneasy. “Neither one of us are accomplished liars…well, actually, I'm rather good at it…”

“Excuse me, but I do remember tricking Umbridge into going into the forest instead of torturing you,” Hermione said, looking rather offended. Under her breath she muttered, “Ungrateful git.”

“But that and this are a bit different, don't you think?” Harry asked. “I mean, remember when you went into Borgin and Burkes and you tried to convince Borgin that you were a friend of Malfoy's? And he threw you out?”

Hermione turned a horrible red. “Well, I-I…I mean…”

“You can't lie under pressure,” Harry said, as gently as he could, knowing that “failure,” even at lying, was a hard idea for Hermione to handle. “If it's life or death, you come through, but in stuff like this…”

“I'll be fine,” she said stoutly. “Believe me, Ginny's enough of a motivator.”

Harry still looked anxious. “This is going to blow up in our faces.”

“Oh, I know that's a possibility,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “The odds are most definitely against us, but I'm not one to let odds get in my way.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Oh, I can't wait to see the look on Ginny's face when she has to pay me fifty galleons,” Hermione said happily. “It'll be even better when we publicly announce our relationship the very next day.”

“But then won't everyone know that we're together?” Harry asked, confused.

“It'll be worth it just to see Ginny's complete disbelief and anger,” Hermione smirked, a sparkle in her eyes that reminded Harry very much of when she captured Rita Skeeter.

Dinner that night was a rather strange affair for Mr Granger. Harry and Hermione kept exchanging glances, only to look away quickly, a brilliant smile playing on both their faces. Mrs Granger, on the other hand, who was in a very positive mood due to her earlier discovery that day, hummed throughout dinner, and even surprised everyone with a gorgeous chocolate cake she had made that afternoon.

“What's the occasion?” Mr Granger asked, who was beginning to get a bit suspicious of the goings-on at the Granger dining room table.

“I just felt like baking,” she replied cheerfully as she handed Harry a slice of cake on a small, crystal-like plate.

Mr Granger narrowed his eyes at the sugary treat.

“Don't worry John,” Mrs Granger beamed, setting a plate in front of him. “It's sugar-free, of course. I may be in a good mood, but I'm not throwing our teeth out the window.”

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, and both burst out into a small fit of laughter. He knew that she too was imagining Ron's expression if he were faced with a sugar-free cake. Despite his own concerns about sugar-free desserts, Harry picked up his fork. It was right as he was placing a piece of cake in his mouth that Mrs Granger chose to ask the two teenagers, “So, how was your snogging session?”

Harry choked on his cake; Hermione, who had been drinking from her glass of milk, spit out a mouthful; and Mr Granger's fork missed the cake and cracked his plate in half.

Hermione took out her napkin and began sopping up the table, all the while patting Harry on the back as he coughed and began to regain his ability to breathe. “What on earth are you talking about?” Hermione asked nervously, not looking her mother in the eye.

“Oh don't even try it,” Mrs Granger said good-naturedly. “I saw you two in your room when I passed by.”

“But…but…” Hermione looked as if she were going to have a heart attack. “No!” she finally exclaimed. “You weren't supposed to know!”

“I think I need a drink,” Mr Granger muttered, looking queasy, and he quickly excused himself from the table.

“Oh don't worry about it, Hermione,” Mrs Granger said, waving her hand to show the insignificance of the event. “It's not as if it came as a shock. I've been waiting ages for this.” Instead of looking relieved by this news, Hermione banged her head onto the table and covered her face with her arms.

“Oh really Hermione.”

Harry looked between mother and daughter, not sure what to do.

“Well, nonetheless, congratulations,” Mrs Granger said, finishing up her cake. “And whenever you want my mother's wedding ring, just let me know so I can have it adjusted for your ring size.”

Hermione's head shot up. “You must be joking.”

Mrs Granger blinked. “Why on earth would I joke about something like that?”

Hermione groaned and let her face fall into her hands. Sighing, Harry placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. So far Hermione's plan was a bust, and he had a feeling this was just the beginning of their torture.

*****

“Write to me,” Mrs Granger told her daughter sternly as she gave her a tight hug. “I'm growing tired of not hearing about what's going on in your life!”

“Mum, I write to you every week!” Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. “And each letter is at least three pages. If I write anymore than I will go over the allotted time I set aside for owl post, and that will completely wreck my NEWTs study schedule.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may, now that you and Harry are finally together, I expect to receive page after page detailing every minute of your relationship.”

Hermione stared at her mother and then declared, “No.”

“No?” Mrs Granger repeated, gaping. “What do you mean, `No'?”

“I mean no, I won't tell you a single thing concerning what happens between Harry and me, because that is personal. Anyway, you know enough as it is.”

“Hermione…” Mrs Granger said warningly.

Remembering how effective it had been earlier, Hermione repeated what she had said at Christmas. “If you keep up like this you can say goodbye to any chances of grandchildren.”

At once Mrs Granger lit up and began talking rapidly to no one in particular. Suppressing a laugh, Hermione went to find Harry, who looked absolutely terrified as he received a severe talking to by Mr Granger.

“And if you so much as touch her I will carve out your eyes,” Mr Granger told him. “So don't. Just because I said you could date her does not mean that I gave you permission to lay a single finger on her.”

Harry gulped. “Y-yes, sir!”

“Oh for goodness sake, Dad,” Hermione interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I love you, I really do, but please give it a rest. Harry's not going to do anything that I don't want him to, all right?”

Mr Granger, however, did not appear comforted by this news.

“Dad, it'll be fine,” Hermione assured him, standing on tiptoe to give her father a peck on the cheek. In the background she heard a shrill whistle, signalling students to board the Hogwarts Express. “I'll see you when school lets out, all right?”

Mr Granger nodded grudgingly and let Harry and Hermione go, but not before giving his daughter a fierce hug and reminding her to take care. The couple climbed on to the Hogwarts Express and quickly found an empty compartment. As the train started, Hermione waved to her parents.

“I love you!” she called. “Take care. And make sure to use the correct barrier!” She turned to Harry. “Last time I left them here they crashed into the wrong one.”

“Your mother didn't hit her head by any chance, did she?” Harry asked surreptitiously.

“Hmm? No. Just badly bruised her arm. Why?”

“Oh, nothing…”

*****

“Love: a temporary insanity, curable by marriage.”

~Ambrose Bierce

*****

“Harry, stop,” Hermione said, tugging her books away from Harry. “I can carry them to the tower myself.” The two had finally returned to Hogwarts and they were now walking through the rather crowded Gryffindor common room in order to get to the Head Boy and Girl's tower.

“And Crookshanks?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. Hermione, who still felt terribly guilty about leaving Crookshanks behind for a good few months, had insisted on taking him with her instead of letting the house elves bring him up with the rest of her stuff (she had tried to bring all of her stuff up herself, due to her objections to the treatment of house elves, but finally gave in after Harry, who feared the house elves were going to murder her, convinced Hermione that she should let Dobby, who after all was paid, do it). “How do you expect to balance all those books and Crookshanks?”

“I'll just carry Crookshanks's cage in one hand and my books in the other,” Hermione explained, doing just that. She began walking again, her books, which were stacked one on top of the other, swaying precariously.

“Just let me carry your books,” Harry insisted.

“No! Do you know what that would look like?”

“Like I'm trying to prevent you from crashing into a suit of armour?”

“No, like you're my boyfriend,” Hermione hissed as they made their way up the final staircase. “And that's the last thing we want people suspecting.”

“Hermione, I've carried books for you before!” Harry looked indignant.

“Yes, well…” Hermione looked flustered, and was saved when they arrived at the portrait door. “Oh look, we're here!” She turned and gave Harry a look. “See, Mr Potter? Despite the fact that your chauvinistic beliefs told you otherwise, I can carry my own books.”

“I was being chivalrous!” Harry cried, throwing up his hands.

“Oh please,” huffed Hermione.

Harry was about to retort when a voice demanded, “Are you two going to stand there arguing like mindless idiots all day, or are you going to give me the password?” The two turned around and came face to face with the portrait of the old lady who guarded their tower.

Harry glared at the portrait, but said, “Buckbeak.” The portrait opened and the two climbed in.

“I was not being a chauvinist,” Harry said stubbornly as the portrait door closed behind them. “And the very idea that you'd think, after all these years of being friends with you, that I would end up a chauvinist, a word that I can only use to describe someone like Malfoy— ”

“Well why wouldn't you just let me carry my own things then?” Hermione demanded, swivelling on the spot. This sudden movement led to her books to finally topple to the ground around her.

Harry looked at her expectantly.

“Oh be quiet,” Hermione said. She stared at the disorganized books and gave a small sigh. “Fine. You're right, and I'm sorry. You were trying to be chivalrous. But you can't do that. Boyfriends carry their girlfriends' books,” Hermione said pointedly, leaning down and releasing Crookshanks from his cage.

“I thought I was your boyfriend,” Harry said, walking towards Hermione as she stood back up.

“Well of course you are. But if we're going to keep this a—mmmph!” Harry cut her off with a kiss.

“Harry, I am trying to…mmph…” He kissed her again. “To…have a serious…conversation…here,” Hermione said between kisses. “This is our first …” Breathless, she pushed Harry slightly away. “This is our first fight as a couple!” she repeated. “And we need to solve it properly.”

“Amazing how our first fight is about carrying books,” Harry laughed, resting his forehead against hers.

“Books are important.”

“I know, they're sacred,” Harry grinned at her. “Nothing else matters more in the world.”

“Well, if it's any consolation, you're a close second,” Hermione teased. Wrapping her arms around him, she gave him a small kiss that only lasted a few moments. As fate would have it, it was during these very few moments that Ginny climbed down from Hermione's room. Hearing the noise of Ginny's feet, Hermione opened her eyes, and at the sight of her redheaded friend, Hermione shrieked and pushed Harry away from her, who, losing his balance, fell on top of Hermione's books.

“What were you doing in my room?” Hermione cried. “In our common room?”

“Waiting for you two to get back, of course,” Ginny said, looking terribly pleased with herself. “I got tired and decided to take a kip, but your couch was too hard, so I went up to your room. And thank Merlin I did,” she smirked, settling herself into an armchair. “Imagine the display of platonic affection I would've missed had I not been up there.”

“How did you get in?” Hermione demanded, ignoring Harry who was rubbing his side. “I changed the password when we left and everything!”

“Oh come on, Hermione. Buckbeak? You have to come up with something less obvious than that.”

If looks could kill, Ginny would be setting the dead up on dates at this very moment.

“Well, I guess it's out then,” Harry sighed. “I told you the plan would blow up in our face.”

“It didn't blow up!” Hermione cried, looking indignant. “It never was properly set in motion!”

“What plan?” Ginny asked. Hermione's eyes widened and Harry, after a nudge in the ribs, shut up. Ginny gave a small laugh. “Surely you two weren't planning on keeping this a secret from me, were you?” When neither spoke Ginny's grin became wider. “Oh really, you couldn't possibly think I wouldn't find out within the first few days, did you?”

“Well, I was hoping…” Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. “I think I have a headache…I'm going to go rest.” Hermione turned around and walked up to her room, looking horribly lost.

“Well, you can get me those fifty galleons when you come back down,” Ginny said good-naturedly.

Hermione turned around and glared. “I hate you.”

“Really? Because right now I'm loving you for financing my wardrobe.”

Hermione looked as if she were going to say something, but shook her head. “Not worth it,” she said, turning back around and continuing her trek. “Just not worth it.”

“So, out of curiosity, how long have you two officially been together?” Ginny asked Harry.

“Since New Years,” Harry answered.

Ginny looked surprise. “What? You mean you got together a mere few hours after she kissed Dean?”

“Actually, she didn't realize she was kiss— ” Harry stopped mid-sentence and stared at Ginny. “How did you know Hermione kissed Dean, Ginny?”

“You're telling me,” Ginny continued, ignoring Harry's question. “That Dean's kiss didn't prevent you two from becoming a couple?”

“No, in some odd way it ended up being the reason why we finally admitted everything, but I still want to know how you— ” Before Harry could finish his question. Ginny was racing towards the door.

“Ginny!” Harry exclaimed.

“No time to talk, Harry,” Ginny called over her shoulder. “I have to find someone.” The door closed firmly behind her.

“Is she finally gone?” Hermione asked, coming down from her room.

“I thought you had a headache?”

“No, I just couldn't deal with anymore of, `I won the bet, I was right,'” Hermione sighed. She leaned back against the wall. “Not even in the castle for twenty minutes and she found out.”

“Hermione…” Harry said.

“Yeah?”

“You know how you and Dean kissed at midnight?”

“Oh, please don't bring that up again,” Hermione begged. “I thought we cleared that all up anyway and that you understood that I had no clue that I was kissing him?”

“No, I do,” Harry said. “It's just that…I think Ginny orchestrated the entire thing. I think Dean actually kissed you and he lied and told me that you kissed him in hopes of making me jealous and realize that I liked you, even though I already knew that, but the point is…”

Hermione, looking absolutely furious, grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him out the door.

“Hermione! What are you doing?”

“If Ginny Weasley thinks she can play around with us like we're dolls…” Hermione snarled, walking down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room.

“Hermione, it's Ginny. This is what she does.”

“Because we let her!” Hermione cried. “And we can't let her…any…more…” She dropped Harry's hand as she stared at a couple kissing passionately on the couch.

“Harry, please tell me that isn't…”

“It is,” Harry said, in as much disbelief as she.

“Ron?” Hermione cried. “Luna?” She looked up at Harry. “When did this happen?”

“Clearly over the holidays,” Harry said, still gaping at the two.

“I can't believe it,” Hermione whispered, her anger towards Ginny forgotten.

“I know,” Harry nodded. “Well, I mean, I can, because Ron's crazy about her, isn't he? But— ”

“No, I mean I can't believe that Ron brought her into the common room!” Hermione looked indignant. “He knows this goes directly against the rules. I used to quiz him on house common room rules when we were both Prefects, and now he turns around and breaks them!”

“Hermione…” Harry groaned, shaking.

Ginny, meanwhile, had found who she was looking for on the other side of the common room.

“Dean!” she called, slightly breathless.

Dean turned around at the sound of his name and immediately stiffened. “Ginny,” he said, barely acknowledging her.

“Dean, look, this is really difficult for me to say, so don't make it any harder, okay?” Ginny said, looking, for the first time, rather unsure of herself, although the panting as she fought to catch her breath might have had something to do with it.

When Ginny didn't go on, Dean said, “Well, get on with it.”

“You didn't mess everything up!” Ginny blurted out.

“Sorry, what?”

“You didn't mess it up. It worked, just like we hoped it would. Well, like I hoped it would. Well, okay, not exactly like I thought it would, but that's not the point.” She took in a deep breath. “My point is that I was wrong. And not just because of that, but, for, well…for blaming you for no reason whatsoever. And I'm sorry. I really am. It wasn't your fault, you're right. It was mine for devising this plan, and while I really wanted those two to finally get it together, I had no right to drag you into it and force you to help me, especially seeing how much you hate me, and I'm sorry.”

“Ginny,” Dean said, after fully comprehending what she had said, “just for the record, I wouldn't have helped you if I hated you.”

Ginny looked up. “What?” Although this was good news, at the same times she couldn't help but feel a blow to her ego. The idea that she didn't have absolute power over everyone was very disconcerting.

“I don't hate you,” Dean said, shrugging.

“But…I thought…I mean the other night…”

“I was pissed at you, and I said some horrible stuff, but I don't hate you. In fact, the only reason why I helped you was because…well…never mind,” Dean finished, suddenly studying his fingers.

Ginny's frown slowly turned into a smile. “Interesting,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, her self-assurance returned.

“What's interesting?”

“Oh nothing,” Ginny said in a singsong manner. “I'll see you around, okay? Say next Hogsmeade weekend?”

Dean's eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh! Oh, yeah, of course. Sure. I mean, I'll be there, and you'll be there, and— ”

“So I'll see you there then?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, and he walked away, looking slightly dazed.

Grinning as she always did whenever she had this affect on a male, Ginny turned around and came face to face with Harry and Hermione. Ginny, who knew that the two must have figured out what she had done by now, was surprised that Hermione didn't look angry, but was smirking.

“Aren't you two the cutest couple?” she teased.

“Oh please,” scoffed Ginny, although Hermione could've sworn she saw a trace of a girlish smile underneath her frown. “I don't do the couple thing anymore. I just go on a few dates with guys every now and then and have the occasional snog.”

“Oh really?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. “Somehow I suspect that you and Dean will end up in a rather loving relationship, don't you Harry?”

“I dunno, Hermione,” Harry said, feigning doubt. “I think we may just need to get the opinion of everyone else…”

“I know!” Hermione exclaimed. “Let's start a list of everyone who thinks Dean and Ginny should get together.”

“Now there's an idea.”

“Like a little list would bother me,” Ginny said, giving out a short laugh. Hermione gave a small, frustrated sigh, knowing fully well that Ginny was telling the truth. “I'm surprised that you're not attempting to murder me, though,” Ginny continued, looking at Hermione with interest. “I thought for sure that you'd be furious with me.”

“Oh, I am,” Hermione nodded, “but I think I've come to terms with the fact that manipulating people is simply part of who you are.”

“Oh good,” Ginny said, clapping her hands together in pleasure. “So you won't mind that I'm planning your wedding?”

“Planning my what?”

“Your wedding,” Ginny repeated. “To Harry.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione demanded.

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny sighed as she walked away. “Your lack of intelligence is very unsettling.”

“Did she just accuse me of lacking intelligence?” Hermione growled.

“It's Ginny,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around her. “Don't let her get to you.”

“I'm not!”

Harry gave Hermione a look.

“What? I'm not. And I won't!” Hermione insisted.

“If you say so…”

“Oh, as if she's not bothering you, too.”

“I've happened to accept that she's mental and a Weasley,” Harry shrugged. “I thought you had, too, what with your little speech and everything.”

“That was before all of this ridiculous marriage stuff,” Hermione exclaimed. “If she starts on about it, then everyone will, and we'll have the list issue all over again.”

“I'm sure there's nothing to worry about,” Harry said, attempting a soothing tone.

“Well if I'm going down, you're going down with me,” Hermione said stubbornly.

Harry tilted his head back and let out a laugh, but when he finally stopped he smiled at Hermione and nodded his head. “You can count on it.”

*****

“Give her two red roses, each with a note. The first note says `For the woman I love' and the second, `For my best friend.'”

~Anonymous

****

The Top Ten People Who Believe That Harry and Hermione Will Marry

As Recorded by Harry James Potter

1. Ginevra “Ginny” Weasley - According to her, “Let's face it, that's the only name that you really need. I was right about Harry and Hermione liking each other, and I'm right about this, too.” Hermione's response was a brief laugh. Brief because Ginny threatened to write another essay.

2. Elizabeth Granger -Now that she knows that Hermione and I started dating, she's been sending us stuff by owlpost constantly (apparently she has overcome her fear of owls…lucky us). Last week it was a list of wedding locations (Italy was on the list, of course), Sunday it was an “Our Wedding” journal, and today she sent me her Mother's engagement ring. Hermione insisted that I send it back, for reasons including a) We're not getting married and b) her grandmother's still alive and married.

3. Ronald “Ron” Weasley - But I'm pretty sure it's only because Ginny put him up to it. Even Ron's not that nuts.

4. Molly Weasley - As my surrogate mother, she owled me, wanting to know when we wanted to host our engagement party and, of course, our rehearsal dinner, which, as the groom's family, the Weasleys would apparently be more than pleased to host.

5. Luna - All because of that initials theory, of course. “You two are lucky. When Ronald and I marry” (this caused Ron to turn a rather violent shade of…I have no clue what to call it…purple…maroon…red…green?) “we'll have to sign our names on letters separately. Think how easy it will be for you: HJP, and that's it.” I said that maybe we should sign it, “HJP²,” and when I explained what “squared” meant, she fervently agreed. Hermione wasn't very pleased with me for promoting Luna's ideas, and she put off our date until the next Hogsmeade weekend as punishment.

6. John Granger - Though I'm not sure if he really believes that we're going to marry… All I know is that howler last week that said, “If you get my daughter pregnant, I will be putting my dental tools to better use,” made Hermione very sorry that she told her father how exactly a howler works, and even sorrier that she told him that Mr Weasley could help him record one (as much as I love her, sometimes I just wish she didn't have to talk about everything she knows). Mr Weasley later sent us a letter apologizing and adding, “For a muggle, Mr Granger can be very scary when he puts his mind to it.” He doesn't need to tell me. I've decided that I'm not having sex until marriage. That seems like the safe alternative to getting hacked to pieces.

7. Mona and Lia Howard - They asked Hermione if they could be her flower girls. Mrs Howard found out and now she's had the family tailor draw up about five different dresses for the girls. Hermione looks as if her head's going to explode.

8. Crookshanks - Yes, I realize he's a cat (well, Kneazle), but he's been rubbing up against me quite a lot lately and he's taken to sleeping in my room (Hermione says that he only sleeps with people whom he considers family). Needless to say, Hermione feels a bit betrayed.

9. Draco Malfoy - While I was trying to get to class, he called over, “I guess history does repeat. So you're going to marry a m-------, just like your father, huh, Scarhead?” I hexed him. Professor McGonagall was in the hallway, but I could've cared less. Anyway, her back was turned (or maybe she just ignored what happened…I could've swore she winked at me when I walked into Transfiguration…).

10. Harry James Potter - Just don't tell Hermione. I'm in deep enough as it is with the whole initials issue. Anyway, if you do tell her, I can't exactly propose to her and have it be a surprise…and when I say propose to her, I mean in ten, maybe fifty years. Either when Mr Granger allows it or Hermione decides that she never wants to see her father again…. And I'm aware that neither scenario's going to happen, but that's perfectly fine. Marriage is overrated anyway (well, that's my alibi).

11. Hermione Jane Granger - Only not really, as the only way I could write anything on here is if I wrote my name. Harry James Potter, we need to have a talk right now. Not to mention a bonfire. If Ginny gets a hold of this (or Rita Skeeter…or anyone for that matter), this year will make fourth and that small bit back in early Winter look like a piece of cake. And by the way, you can consider next Hogsmeade weekend cancelled, too. And if I see you walking within ten metres of a jewellery store, I will change the password to our Common Room. I swear, I will. And if that's not enough of a threat, I'll tell my father. But I love you! See you at the S.P.E.W. Meeting. ~Hermione

12. Ginny Weasley - Don't worry Harry, she'll come around.

13. Ron Weasley - Eh, I wouldn't put it past her. She can be rather stubborn when…well…always. She threw birds at me once, you know. You better watch out, Harry…

14. Hermione Granger - Now this is just getting ridiculous. Let me just say right now that I have no intention of marrying anytime before twenty-eight, at the earliest. I have a lot of goals to accomplish. (And you deserved those canaries, you sexist, womanising…! You're lucky Luna can get through to your human side.)

15. Ginny Weasley - So that's not a “no” on the “Are you going to marry Harry?” front?

16. Hermione Granger - Ginny!!

17. Ginny Weasley - Ha! I thought so. Perfect. That's definitely going to be categorized as “evidence” for my essay.

18. Hermione Granger - HARRY!

19. Harry Potter - It's Ginny, Hermione. What do you expect me to do?

20. Hermione Granger - You can kill off Voldemort, but you're afraid of a sixteen-year-old redhead?

21. Harry Potter - IT'S GINNY! You go confront her then if she's just a “sixteen-year-old redhead”!

22. Hermione Granger - So, about that Hogsmeade date…

23. Ginny Weasley - Those two owe me so much. They should give me one of their children for every problem I solve in their relationship…

24. Hermione Granger - We're not going to have chil— This is never going to end, is it?

25. Ginny Weasley - Never. You still owe me fifty galleons, by the way. And I charge interest!

*****

~Fin~

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Yay! Extras! (Hee)

Well, time for some alternative scenes…

Alternative Scene 1: In the first version of the “finally get together” scene, Harry admitted his feelings for Hermione after a jealous outburst concerning Dean (although he tried to cover it with, “He kissed you while you were drunk! Any friend would be angry,” he decided to just tell her). Hermione would be shocked, and Harry, downtrodden, would leave her with her thoughts. The next day he'd return to her room, wondering if she had made up her mind…

“I have an answer,” Hermione mumbled, blushing under Harry's intense gaze.

“Well?” Harry waited patiently, but Hermione did not answer, instead massaging the back of her left hand with her right thumb. “What is it?”

Biting her lip, Hermione handed Harry a piece of parchment. He looked at her, clearly confused, but then looked down at the parchment to read that it was “The List.”

“Hermione, what…?” Harry didn't understand at all.

“I…I think it'd be best if you hid that somewhere,” Hermione said, turning away so as not to be face-to-face. “I…I don't think it'd be wise to keep it anymore.”

“Are you…are you saying…” Harry felt as if he was choking on air. “That…that your answer is…that you…no?”

Hermione closed her eyes, slowly breathing in and out. “I…” she trailed off. “Maybe you should read the list again, to understand why I'm replying as I am.”

“How will rereading the list help me understand your rejection?” Harry demanded, his anger and disappointment almost getting the better of him.

“Please?” Hermione begged softly, turning to face him once more. It took Harry a full two minutes before he finally gave in and began to read the list, all 187 names.

“Ginny…McGonagall…Mrs. Weasley…Ron…Mrs. Granger…Luna…Draco…Ernie…” Harry read on and on, until his eyes fell on number 187, “Harry Potter.” He was ready to ask Hermione how on earth this had helped him when he realized that there was something written underneath his name.

188. Hermione Granger

His eyes widened as he looked up to find Hermione grinning widely at him. “Are you…are you serious?” he managed to ask (cue ending from posted chapter)

In the end, I decided that the characters were a bit too OOC, and it just didn't flow as well as I wanted it to. Furthermore, I wrote that excerpt back when I started the story, and by the time I had reached the point when I needed to get moving on the second to last chapter, this version just didn't feel right anymore. So I finally rewrote it on July 4^th, at two am, while waiting for an episode of Kim Possible to download.

*****

Alternative Scene 2: This is one of my three endings that I wrote up for The List… This first one would begin right after “number ten” on the final list.

“Harry! What is the meaning of this?” Hermione stormed over to Ron, Harry, and Ginny, holding the journal containing The List in her hand and looking absolutely livid.

“Oh no,” Harry said, blanching. “You didn't see…did you?”

“Yes, I saw,” Hermione snapped at him. “And I can't even begin to say how angry I am that you would go and…” She gave a small scream and flung the book at him.

Looking rather amused, Ginny took The List and began flipping through it. “Wait a second!” she exclaimed. Hermione turned on the spot and her face transformed from that of anger to panic. “You wrote your name, too. Number eleven: Hermione Jane Granger,” Ginny read. “Only not really, as the only way I could write anything on here is if I wrote my name. Harry James Potter, we need to have a talk right now. Not to mention a bonfire. If Ginny gets a hold of this (or Rita Skeeter…or anyone else for that matter), this year will make fourth and that small bit back in early Winter look like a piece of cake.

“Well, looks like I've got a hold of it,” Ginny grinned at Hermione.

Hermione glared at Ginny and then turned on Harry. “You can consider next Hogsmeade weekend cancelled, too. And if I see you walking within ten metres of a jewellery store, I will change the password to our Common Room and you can bunk with Ron. I swear, I will. And if that's not enough of a threat,” Hermione continued, “I'll tell my father.”

Harry stared at her, horrified. “You wouldn't!”

“But I love you!” Hermione said, giving him a smell peck on the cheek, happy now that she felt she had put her boyfriend in place, and settled down on the couch.

“Don't worry, Harry,” Ginny said airily. “She'll come around.”

“Eh, I wouldn't put it past her,” Ron said, flipping casually through a book about the Cannons that Harry had given him. “She can be rather stubborn when she wants to. She threw birds at me once, you know. You better watch out, Harry…”

“Now this is just getting ridiculous,” Hermione cried. “First off, stop talking about me as if I'm not even here. Second, let me just say right now that I have no intention of marrying before I'm twenty-eight, at the earliest. I have many goals to accomplish, not the least of which include lobbying the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to take proper measures to ensure house elves' equality, and who knows how long it will take for them to come to their senses? And for the record,” Hermione continued, turning on Ron, “you deserved those canaries, you sexist, womanising, little…” Hermione took in a deep breath and then added, “You're lucky Luna can get through to your human side.”

“Speaking of which, I said I was going to meet up with her five minutes ago,” Ron said, closing his book.

“Typical,” Hermione muttered.

“Gotta go!”

Harry shook his head. No doubt Ron was just trying to escape a rather long lecture.

“So that's not a `no' on the `Are you going to marry Harry?' front, right?” Ginny asked once Ron had left the room, her pen poised above a spare piece of parchment as if she were taking notes for an article.

“Ginny!!”

“Ha! I thought so. Perfect. That's definitely going to be categorized as `evidence' for my essay.” Ginny smiled satisfactorily as she began writing.

“Harry!” Hermione cried, turning towards Harry for help.

“It's Ginny, Hermione. What do you expect me to do?”

“You can face off with Voldemort, but you're afraid of a sixteen-year-old redhead?”

“IT'S GINNY! You go confront her then if she's just a `sixteen-year-old redhead'!”

Hermione's eyes widened. “So, about that Hogsmeade date…” she said, quickly changing the topic.

“You two owe me so much,” Ginny said, shaking her head in disgust. “You should give me one of your children for every problem I solve in your relationship…”

“Ginny,” Hermione said, looking angry, “we're not going to have chil— ” She suddenly stopped as realization dawned on her. “This is never going to end, is it?”

“Never,” Ginny said happily. “And when you two get married, I'll be the one objecting just so I can say, `I told you so.'” Ginny stood up, brushed off her jeans, and walked towards the door. “I'm going to go work on that essay now. And by the way, you still owe me fifty galleons,” Ginny called over her shoulder. “And I charge interest!”

Harry and Hermione looked at one another, shook their heads, and laughed.

“You're paying the interest, you know,” Hermione told Harry, resting her head on his shoulder. “And the rest of the fifty galleons.”

“Me, why me?” Harry demanded.

“Because,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, “you just had to make that stupid list, didn't you?”

“But…I thought…I mean…” Harry fought for words. “I thought The List ended up being a good thing!”

“Who said I was complaining?” Hermione asked, a small smirk playing at her lips. “Now come on. We have some catching up to do.”

“Catching up?” Harry perked up immediately. “Really?”

“Mmhmm,” Hermione nodded as she stood up and pulled Harry with her.

“Where are we going?”

“The library.”

“The library?” Harry looked apprehensive. “Hermione, are you sure that's a wise place to `catch up'?”

“Of course!” Hermione said, looking at Harry with a look that clearly said he was out of his mind. “Where else are we going to get enough peace and quiet? We still have 472 pages until we've finished reading Hogwarts: A History - Revised Edition!”

*****

Alternative Scene 3: A week after I finished the above ending, I added this…

Harry groaned, but complied, sighing, “I might as well. At least this way I'll know what on earth you're talking about.”

Hermione beamed at him and pecked him on the cheek. “Perhaps you're not a lost cause after all.”

*****

In the end, I decided that neither ending worked well. I never seemed to get either to a place where I was actually comfortable with it. Plus, by ending with a list, it sort of wraps everything up.

*****

And now, time for some Fun Facts…

*Originally, Harry and Hermione were going to watch When Harry Met Sally on December 30^th, and Hermione would confess to Harry that it's her favorite movie because, “There's nothing more romantic than falling in love with your best friend.” This would lead not only to a rather awkward moment between the two, but to Harry deciding to tell Hermione how he felt at New Years, just like Harry did with Sally, and repeat the famous line, “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” Don't worry! You didn't miss out on something horribly romantic. Hermione was still going to snog Dean, destroying Harry's plan (yes, I'm evil).

*In my first outline, Harry and Hermione were going to actually carry out the “secret dating.” There was no getting caught by Ginny the second they returned to school. Harry and Hermione would continue to act as if nothing had changed, while Ginny and co continued to place them in situations to get them to admit their feelings (i.e. the classic lock them in a closet scheme, in which Harry and Hermione would snog until they heard footsteps, when they would tidy up. When Ginny opened the door, the two would be talking). Hermione would also date Dean as a cover, who would reluctantly do so on Ginny's orders to “make Harry stew with jealousy.” Hermione would eventually break up with Dean, feeling like every time she kissed him she was cheating on Harry (even though he had agreed to it and hadn't been jealous/angry at all). In the end, Ginny would catch Harry and Hermione the day before Easter, thus winning the fifty galleons. Needless to say, I decided that this plot would not only string along the story for chapter after chapter, but it was pointless and would only destroy the fic. Plus, I would have to write three more months!!!

* The hardest chapter to write was “Christmas with the Grangers.” Hermione's relatives were so annoying to write! I wrote out half of the chapter before I realized that Aunt Anna was being an absolute bitch (acting incredibly snobby - more so than how I eventually wrote her - and just plain cruel at times; almost like Julie Cooper or the earlier version of Summer, for any of you O.C. fans out there), and no one but Hermione's cousins were accusing Harry and Hermione of dating - hardly the hell I promised you. In fact, I wrote almost all of the final chapters before I finally wrote “Christmas.” One of the worst writer's blocks in my life (with my current one for One Last Adventure beating it).

* Originally, I was going to reveal that Dean was only happy to hear that Hermione was going to be at the party because he wanted to talk to her about his chances of winning Ginny back. Sadly, that never made it into the final cut, as other things took precedent. You still, hopefully, get the feeling that Dean still likes Ginny (and that Ginny may just like him as well), and that something might just work out for those two after all.

* Hermione initially lived in a house out in a more suburban area, but I had such little luck with research, and I'm so picky when it comes to getting things right, that I opted to move her into the city.

* I spent two hours researching where Hermione would live (after deciding it would be a city). In fact, I used Google satellite images to see if certain areas would work. Then I spent another half hour researching what houses in the area looked like.

* In an alternate ending for The List, to get back at Ginny, Harry and Hermione threatened to start the “How many people think Ginny and Dean should get back together” list (instead of just teasing her). Ginny would then, in a rage, threaten to make up her list, and Harry and Hermione would back down. Of course, Ginny makes the list anyway (H² are too nice to go through with their threats).

* While trying to write “Christmas” by hand, I instead brainstormed what all of the presents would be (from Ron to Harry, Hermione to her cousins, etc.), started making floor plans for the Granger house, doodled a weird Hermione, and made three drafts of the family tree (which included the lovely two Granger-Potter daughters from “Neurotic!”). You can see all of these pictures, etc., on my LiveJournal (HMSHarmony).

* Hermione's grandparents were going to come for Christmas, but then I got lazy and wrote them out…

* I had actually forgotten about Crookshanks and Hedwig until Hermione came home! That brief explanation about Crookshanks getting injured and Hermione's mum being afraid of Hedwig was an attempt to cover up Crookshanks disappearance from Hogwarts and Hedwig's from Christmas.

* I spent two days searching for quotes.

* In my original plans, Harry and Hermione had no romantic developments over Christmas. They were going to return to Hogwarts with their relationship in the same state as before because I was determined to avoid the cliché of, “Harry goes home with Hermione and a relationship blooms.” Well, I guess it's a cliché for a reason, because the relationship developed all on its own.

* Mona was supposed to have a cute, little crush on Harry. In fact, my only mistletoed planned kiss was a peck that Harry gave Mona on the cheek when she came rushing in with mistletoe. Aunt Anna was going to get into an argument with Mrs. Granger about who was better suited for Harry - Mona or Hermione (yes, even though Mona was seven. You know how mothers can be…)

Well, I hope you all enjoyed that. Thanks again for reading. I've had the most amazing time writing this story, and I can't begin to say how grateful I really am.

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