Justified By Reason

A/N: I won't finish this story. Sadly, you must accept this fact. I am a student once again (along with a parent, husband, and full time employee) with original writing projects all my own to focus on, but this has been sitting on my hard drive for many months (as diversion writing) and I need to dislodge it from my psyche. Unfortunately, I don't know any exorcists, so I think this is the best I can manage to get the damn thing out permanently. If nothing else, the prologue and first chapter are dedicated to all the people who don't believe that there is enough room in DH for Harry and Hermione to get together. Au contraire, my friends, I've just dispatched R/Hr (die you sick and twisted notion!) and H/G (to a lesser degree…the vile ruthless beast!) in less than 8,000 words.

For the record, I think the prologue works well by itself as a one-shot. Chapter 1, less so, but it could if you don't mind open-ended endings. Think of it much like the ending of HBP, both really open up in a figurative sense, with Harry taking the next step and accepting whatever it holds. If you don't like open-endings, fuck off (Oops! It just slipped out, honestly!) just read the prologue and stop there, but you'll miss out on a lot of my SnarkyIntrospective!Harry that I love writing so much.

And for my last trick (I'm hard to shut up, I know) and to entice you to actually read Chapter 1, I do have a fair bit of Chapter 2 written and may work on it a bit more as time, interest, and creativity allow. But hold fast, ladies and gentlemen of the jury (a little Humbert Humbert impression for you…the tip jar is to the left), I set myself no timeline nor obligation to complete the story and it certainly won't occur before JKR finishes Deathly Hallows which would suck all the excitement out of a year seven story for me anyway. So it's here for what it worth, feel free to read and ignore, read and critique, or even read and simply review, but above just have fun with it. We (myself included) have a tendency to take ourselves way too seriously much of the time.

Justified By Reason - Prologue

“Aunt Petunia?”

The Dursleys' could no longer feign ignorance about Harry's existence; not now that he'd broken one of the unwritten rules since his return from Hogwarts by speaking in their presence. Prior to this moment, any and all occurrences that involved Harry were written off as either unexplainable or nonexistent.

Harry was perfectly fine with this; he could handle getting the necessities of life on his own and was comfortable avoiding the Dursleys' whenever possible. As a result, he found himself resuming his old habit of roaming the neighborhood at all hours of day and night, just to be out of the house once and a while. He knew Dumbledore and Hermione would not be happy with this, should they have known, but he found himself itching for a fight; the unprotected walks made him feel like he was challenging Voldemort in some small way.

Dudley would sometimes glare at him as he walked out the front door, but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never looked away from what they were doing, though Harry found he had to sneak in more than a few times as he'd regularly return to a locked door no matter what the time of day was or if anyone was even home. He'd laugh morosely, curse the Ministry of Magic, and cast a simple Alohamora before walking in.

When Harry spoke, Aunt Petunia tensed, but adamantly refused to look up from her magazine. “What is it?”

Her voice was terse and Harry felt it best to get this nasty business over with quickly.

“The ceiling in my bedroom has a crack in it.” Harry caught Dudley's jaw tensing when he said “my bedroom”, but he didn't speak to it or challenge the notion in any way so Harry continued on. “I want to fix it, but I need some plaster or something. Do we have any or can you pick--”

“Just deal with it,” she snapped, “we'll fix it in a couple weeks.”

Harry couldn't explain why the crack had been bothering him so much, but in his mind, he connected it with his latest bout of insomnia and felt he would be able to sleep again, if he didn't have to stare at it every time he lay down.

“I don't mind fix--”

“Two weeks, boy!” Uncle Vernon raged, coming to life at last and jostling the kitchen table in the process. “Now, shut up and get out of my sight!”

Harry's face went red in a rush of anger, but he held back his temper, clenching his fists and jaw to expel the gathering fury.

“Fine,” he ground out in response after glaring at Uncle Vernon for several moments. He turned and made of point of leaving the kitchen with, at least, the outward appearance of composure. Inside, he fumed and stormed at the indignity of it all.

I'm helping them out, for fuck's sake!

Back in his bedroom, he fell into bed and tossed his glasses onto his desk, rubbing his eyes to get them to adjust to the haziness that obscured his vision. After dropping his hands, his gaze mechanically drifted back to the offending crack.

That damn crack.

He'd understood with perfect clarity why the crack could wait two weeks more weeks. In two weeks, he'd be seventeen. In two weeks, he'd leave their household. In two weeks, they'd be rid of him forever. The crack would be repaired when Aunt Petunia scoured the room and purged any evidence of his existence from it.

They'll probably burn the furniture.

And still, the crack remained fixed in his mind; there was no simple way around it. In the past, he had tried rolling on his stomach and sleeping that way, but it just wasn't that comfortable. The one or two times he had managed to fall asleep that way, he woke up with a sore back. The rest of the time he just struggled to fall asleep, always ending up on his back again, staring at the crack, physically comfortable if not mentally so.

His latest tactic was to try and occupy his mind with other things. Three days ago he tried reading to forget about the crack, but found himself re-reading the same page ten times before realizing what he was doing and casting aside the book to stare at the crack some more.

More Hermione's thing, anyway, he had told himself.

He tried thinking about Quidditch, but the sport was out of season so all he had were a few letters from Ron, detailing the various trades the Cannons had made during the off-season and how they'd affect the team's performance in the upcoming season. It was kind of funny, Ron was always pretty spare in his letters except when it came to the Cannons. Despite loving Quidditch, Harry found his eyes glazing over after the first page of Ron picking apart the different strengths and weaknesses of Muirin McGee, the latest acquisition for the Cannons. He knew Ron was nervous about the horcrux hunt and was avoiding the subject by going more nuts than usual over a no-name, third string prospect for a perpetually dead-in-the-water Quidditch team.

Harry himself, was avoiding thinking about the subject, putting it off until after Bill and Fleur's wedding. That's when I'll start, he told himself numerous times. Can't do anything here, I'll only make myself nuts.

All thoughts of Ginny were strictly off limits. The separation helped him forget about her. She had been perfectly aloof on the train ride home, acting as if nothing was at all awry on the few times he passed her in corridors. She would smile at him as she always had, say hello, and continue on her way. She'd even made a point of poking fun at his few budding whiskers when everyone was going their separate ways at King's Cross Station.

Harry ran his hand across his cheek where she had touched his cheek, pointing out the little cluster of short, black hairs to Ron.

Nope. Not going down that road again.

And still, the crack tormented him. To make matters worse, he was nearly out of topics to distract himself with.

Maybe a nice Obliviate would do the trick.

He began to wonder what everyone was doing now…Ron's summer life was quite predictable, with the wedding coming up, Mrs. Weasley would be keeping him extremely busy helping prepare the house. And, of course, drooling over Fleur was a full time job in and of itself. In fact, all of the Weasleys were probably overwhelmed with the wedding about now.

Except Percy, Harry thought with a grimace and shake of his head. The bastard.

Harry's thoughts turned to Hermione, trying to imagine what she was up to. He sat up suddenly, realizing that he couldn't picture her doing anything in the muggle world. He'd never seen her there and she didn't talk about what her summers were like much…at least the times when she wasn't at the Burrow.

And with that thought, the now familiar discomfort crept into Harry's stomach. When he thought it over, she did spend a lot of her time at the Burrow…especially when everyone should be with their families.

Except you, Harry. You spend just as much time there, if not more.

“Yeah, but I'm escaping from the Dursleys',” he said aloud, challenging himself.

What's she escaping from, then?

“Or who's she escaping to?”

He swung his legs to the floor and brought his elbows to rest on his knees, kneading his scalp. Recalling the last few summers and Christmases pulled a groan from his throat…she was always where Ron was. He groaned again as he recalled her behavior over Ron last year.

“She's had it bad for a while.” He stood up and began pacing the room. “They'll never work out,” he sputtered, trying to convince himself. “Look how much they've fought. No one wants that in a relationship!”

He stopped at one edge of the room, before turning around to start another circuit and rest his head against the wall. “Do they?”

How the hell would you know? You can't even sort yourself out.

As he settled down and tried to get some sleep, the crack in the ceiling no longer bothered him. It was the anticipated crack in his friendship with Hermione and Ron that troubled his dreams. Over and over throughout the night, his mind replayed the image of him leaving for the horcrux hunt alone, while Hermione and Ron bickered over wedding streamers and failed to notice his absence.

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A/N: Boom, baby! Double updates! Everything I said in my author's notes from the prologue remains true. Hate me if helps you feel better.

Justified by Reason - Chapter 1

“Few things matter more in life than love, Harry. Remember that.”

I guess Ginny doesn't kiss and tell. Thank God for that.

Harry nodded vaguely as Mr. Weasley clapped him on the shoulder, took a long pull on his pint of ale, and walked off in the direction of Mrs. Weasley.

For his part, Harry retreated out of the Weasleys' garden and onto their porch where he could continue to hide from the festivities. He knew tonight was his last night before beginning the horcrux hunt, his last chance to ignore the task he set before himself, his last chance to be a kid, but everything about the wedding irritated him, from Hermione asking him to dance with her periodically, to her actually dancing with Ron, to Fleur's haughty relatives, to her sister, Gabrielle, stalking him virtually everywhere.

The worst of all was Ginny. She was receiving more than her fair share of attention from all the guys present. Word had spread quickly that she and Harry were no longer dating and, as a consequence, she was a hot commodity. As it happens, more than a few eligible young men were invited to the wedding party, leaving Ginny with a regular contingent of admirers.

At first, he was jealous. He thought several weeks spent apart after Hogwarts let out would allow him to face her rationally and with minimal residual feelings. He had imagined that Hermione would be proud of him for tempering his emotions with logic and reason. Unfortunately, this notion flew out the window when one of Fleur's cousins--a very handsome cousin--first asked her to dance. The same feelings that had plagued him when he and Ron stumbled on her kissing Dean Thomas resurfaced and he was saved from embarrassing himself by rudely cutting in on their dance by Hermione's intervention, her first request for a dance that night. He declined, claiming he was feeling a little nauseous and retreated to the punchbowl Fred and George had spiked with what they claimed was “a little something special.”

As the night wore on, Harry's jealousy grew into anger at Ginny herself. It became pretty obvious that she was trying to rub his face in all the attention she was getting; she always made sure that she and her partner of the moment were dancing or laughing loudly together wherever Harry was near. If he wasn't near, she had a way of turning up within earshot of his vicinity. She even went so far as to let another of Fleur's fair-haired cousins dip her directly into Harry's path. Weary of the abuse, he decided to get away from the dance floor; an inebriated Mr. Weasley cornered him shortly thereafter, pontificating on how fortunate he and Mrs. Weasley were that “love had graced their eldest son's threshold” and that he hoped Harry might one day soon “receive the bounty that love bears within its bosom.”

What the hell do you say to that, he thought. The chuckle that accompanied it was uncommon for the night and hurt just a bit.

Coming back to the present, Harry saw Mr. Weasley swinging his wife around the dance floor with wild abandon. Apparently, Mrs. Weasley had partaken of Fred and George's punch as well, since she was offering no objection to her husband's exuberance, despite the fact that it sent her skirts flying to levels that pushed the boundaries of modesty for a woman her age and made her children wince.

Harry looked away, not wanting to see any more than he dared.

Now, had that been Gin--

He stopped the thought before it got any further and a cloud crossed his face.

Not going there.

It seemed every time he was ready to stop thinking about Ginny, something always drew his mind back to her. It was unnerving and unwanted amidst his anger with her. He didn't appreciate her malicious attempts to make him jealous.

A hushed laughter jarred his attention, bringing it to the opposite end of the Weasleys' long porch. Ron and Hermione emerged from the far side of the garden and were grinning and pointing at his parents' antics. They quieted down after a moment and spoke to one another quietly so that Harry couldn't hear what they were saying; both seemed to be looking off into the distance towards the edge of the Weasleys property.

Remembering that he'd come up here to be alone, Harry realized that the same idea might not be too far from their minds either. And given the way they'd danced together so much tonight…

I really don't want to see this.

Harry stood up and quietly crept around the corner of the house, taking the longest and least visible path to Fred and George's punch bowl.

Maybe I can drink away the nausea.

Unfortunately, the punch led back to Ginny's performances and Harry redirected himself to the Weasleys' Quidditch paddock. Once there, he cast himself into the grass and stared at the stars, pushing his anger at Ginny away and letting his mind travel forward to the horcrux hunt.

The thought process never took flight. Just as he had told Ron and Hermione, his first stop was Godric's Hollow, to see his parents' graves. Unfortunately, his mind froze on the image of himself standing before their cold headstones. He saw his shoulder's shudder as his mental self cried. As inconsequential as he had spoken to Ron and Hermione about it before, his mind was telling him without a doubt that the sadness would overwhelm him then, that his projection of strength and composure had been a farce. He sat up suddenly, removed his glasses and slid his palm across his eyes.

Not now! Not yet!

The tears didn't heed his thoughts and only got worse when he realized he'd imagined himself standing alone before their graves…without Ron or Hermione. With that understanding came the renewed onslaught of thoughts that had plagued him in the aftermath of Dumbledore's death.

He had to go on alone. Ron and Hermione seemed to have forgone their past differences and were beginning to explore new territory together. He laughed bitterly at them sneaking off to kiss behind the obscuring overgrowth of the Weasleys' porch. He was now the outsider in their fragile little circle and being reminded of that on a daily basis would only distract him.

“The horcruxes are too important for that shit!” he snapped at himself, angry for getting so caught up over something so petty.

His mind revisited the same conclusions it had drawn before.

I'll go on alone. Just tell them it's only to Godric's Hollow. Hermione'll understand me wanting to be alone for that and Ron'll just want to avoid confrontation. Yeah…that'll shake `em off for a while.

Harry stood up and began pacing, tromping the grass flat as he trod back and forth.

“I'll still need Hermione's help, though,” he said. “Researching history, artifacts, spells, and stuff like that.”

“You had better believe it!”

Harry's head snapped up to find Hermione standing just inside the line of trees surrounding the paddock, with Ron looking wary a few steps behind her.

Hermione marched into the clearing, looking determined.

“Just what is going through your head, Harry?! What are you planning on doing?!”

Harry turned his back on her and wiped the evidence of any tears away and resumed his pacing, trying to act if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“It's nothing, Hermione. Just thinking ahead is all.”

He turned to start another lap, but found Hermione had followed in his steps and was now standing resolute, blocking his return path. He looked up and over her shoulder. Ron was still slightly behind her, now looking determined as well. Harry's jaw tensed.

“It didn't sound like nothing. It sounded more like you were considering taking off on your own.”

Harry's eyes met hers and shrunk from the challenge in them. He didn't want to fight with her if he was going to leave the next day. Mrs. Weasley's reaction to Fred and George after the Quidditch World Cup came to mind. This was the same, though, unlike Mrs. Weasley before him, he knew exactly what he was walking into and was not going to be caught unawares by it. The bald truth floated in the air between them--he really didn't know if he'd see her ever again, maybe swapping letters while he was on the hunt, but quite possibly never again in flesh and blood.

Ugh. I feel sick again.

Harry kicked his brain into gear and tired to come up with a quick excuse.

“Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. We already settled this weeks ago.”

She folded her arms and stared and him, unconvinced. Harry ventured further into the lie.

“I was just thinking…maybe--when you're ready, of course, you should go to Hogwarts and start researching historical artifacts that might've belonged to the founders. You're the best at that kind of stuff.”

Hermione unfolded her arms, bringing them to rest on her hips and studied Harry's face. He tried to keep it as impassive as possible.
“I think--” Harry continued, “well, I think you and Ron should stay here or at Hogwarts or something while I go to Godric's Hollow. I mean that--I just think I want to do that alone.”

He looked to his feet. There was true discomfort playing across his face. He knew Hermione well enough to understand how she would take it, though.

Hermione's scrutiny evaporated and her eyebrows lifted in disbelief.

“You don't want me to come?” she whispered.

Damn! Not what I figured she'd say.

Harry shuffled his feet a bit and stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling a twinge of guilt emerge. Ron stared at them quietly.

“It's not like that, Hermione,” Harry said, still considering his feet. “I just think this is something I should do alone, you know? I mean…they are my parents and all. They're my family, you know?”

Hermione's hands slid from her hips and came together in front of her. Harry followed her gaze to them, both of them watching her thumb trace indeterminate patterns into the palm of her other hand.

“Yeah, I understand,” she said softly.

The three of them listened to the chirp of crickets for a few moments, Harry and Hermione studying Hermione's fingers, Ron staring away into the woods.

Harry suddenly realized the situation and where they were and why Ron and Hermione found him.

Not enough privacy on the porch, I guess.

“I'm gonna head back,” he said suddenly, starting back towards the Burrow. “I'll see you guys later.”

Ron finally piped up, sounding incredulous.

“What? Where the hell are you gonna go now? Are we not good enough to walk back together with you, or what?”

Harry stopped short and turned to look at them. Standing several feet apart they both wore similarly confused expressions.

“I just thought…” he trailed off, not sure if he could bring himself to address the situation at all or even if he wanted to discuss this with them ever.

A roar of laughter from the wedding filled the gap of silence he left behind the evaporated statement before he tried starting again.

“Well, the paddock and all…” his eyes swung from one to the other and back again as his face heated up. “It's a nice place to be… alone… usually, that is.” He turned sharply and started out towards the wedding, thankful for the low light that hid his embarrassed, flushed face. “I'll leave you two to it, then,” he muttered.

Once again, silence followed in his wake.

Dealing with Ginny's bullshit is better than this.

He got five more steps before Ron's enormous laughter stopped him short. He turned around on instinct and saw Ron bent over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard he Harry thought he might expel a lung. Hermione had taken a few steps away from him, jaw hanging wide and looking just as bewildered as Harry.

Harry and Hermione looked to each other several times in between dubious looks back at Ron's display, each trying to figure out what the devil was going on. This process lasted for about thirty seconds before Ron had composed himself somewhat and was standing upright again, looking from Harry to Hermione and having to bite down a grin every time he looked at Harry.

Now calm and collected enough to move again, Ron began walking towards Harry, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed with a wide grin and continuing on towards the wedding.
“As thick as a bludger, mate.” he chuckled over his shoulder. “Way off the mark, mate! Waaaay off!”

Harry stared dumbly at Ron's back as he walked away, his mind mired in a dead stop. He didn't know what to think until he sensed Hermione at his side. When she stepped next to him, his mind began firing on all cylinders.

That stupid, fucking git! You don't do shit like that in front of Hermione!

He felt his face burn with anger at Ron shooting her down in such a fashion.

Oh my God…Hermione! His face sank and he turned quickly to try and console her. She must be a wreck.

But she wasn't. She looked as confused and unsure as she did when first forced to fly on a broom, but she wasn't upset, by any means…

Yet. Just wait till she puts it all together.

“What does he mean, Harry? I honestly don't understand what you two are going on about.”

Harry scratched behind his ear awkwardly, feeling his rage at Ron smolder into indignation for burdening Harry with telling her that Ron didn't fancy her.

I'll deal with that fuck later.

Hermione's confusion sobered Harry considerably, reminding him that she was about to be suffering significantly more than he ever would. This was the end of her friendship with Ron, he was certain of it.

His heart went out to her as he took her hand.

“C'mere. You'd better have a seat.”

He led her to one of the logs the Weasleys used for spectators during their make-shift Quidditch matches. She sat down obediently, but was now staring at Harry as if he was losing his mind.

“What is going on, Harry?”

Her voice was demanding and he could tell she was getting impatient with him and Ron. He kneeled in front of her, trying to speak as gently as he could manage.

“You deserve much better than this, Hermione, but--”

He took a deep breath and Hermione eyed him curiously, totally clueless as to where Harry was going with this. Harry looked down into the grass, plucking at a weed to avoid looking her directly in the eyes; he didn't want to see the hurt there. He wasn't sure he could comfort her if he did.

Just say it, you bloody coward!

“--Ron doesn't fancy you,” he slung the words out as quickly as he could manage.

Her chuckle shocked him into looking up.

“Thank god for that!” she said, shaking her head. “Now, what's really going on, here?”

Harry rocked back onto the balls of his feet before falling on his butt with a jolt.

“That is it,” he muttered in disbelief. “Seriously…”

Hermione's amused grin evaporated. She stood and smoothed her dress roughly.

“You seriously thought I fancied Ron?” she snapped, placing her hands on her hips and glaring down on him.

Harry sputtered out a few nondescript sounds in reply.

Her eyes hardened and her jaw tensed.

“Honestly, Harry. After all these years, it still amazes me just how willingly you will misconstrue things.”

She stomped away in a rush, leaving a dazed Harry in her wake, sitting amongst the dirt and weeds.

What the hell does misconstrue mean? Hold on--she doesn't fancy him either? Really?

Yeah…they don't fancy each other…Really?

It took a few minutes of batting the idea back and forth before Harry accepted it. He had held onto the notion that they liked each other for so many years. The episode after the Yule Ball had sealed the deal in his mind, at least from Ron's side of the matter and then the whole girly madness that had consumed Hermione last year seemed to cement things.

Where'd I go wrong? Seems pretty straight forward to me.

After he'd convinced himself that he wasn't imagining things and both Ron and Hermione had genuinely rejected the notion that they liked each other, he felt the tension in his gut loosen.

If he doesn't like her and she doesn't like him, then we're all okay, right? I'm not an outsider anymore, right?

He nodded to himself as a means of settling the matter and stood up, brushing the loose dirt from his slacks in the process. Unfortunately, no sooner had the relief set in when his own embarrassment took over his emotions.

He didn't mind Ron's amusement at the mistake. They'd have a good laugh at how stupid Harry was and then move on and forget about it. Hermione was obviously upset and had an impeccable memory. That she was somehow upset at him for such a suggestion bothered him more than he could measure and he rapidly grew eager to smooth things out with her.

She was almost at the party and there was little chance he could catch her before she got lost in the mix. He trotted after her anyway, hoping to steal her away for at least a moment to apologize. Unfortunately, she managed to avoid him for the remainder of the night and was far better at it than Ginny was at trying to catch his attention.

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Ugh…can't make a habit of this.

The summer sunrise pushed Harry's eyes open, if only to a minimal crack. His hands worked them the rest of the way open, rubbing the heels in tight circles until the dried muck sealing them was fully broken up. Still, the high perch of Fred and George's old room was miles better than waking up in his former and highly personalized gloom-and-doom of the Dursleys' house.

That's something to be thankful for.

He stabbed a hand at the table separating Fred's and George's old beds. He knocked over the vase of flowers perched there in the process of grabbing for his watch and was forced to soak them up with his tee shirt from the night before.

He eyed the stained shirt in his hands. Damn, washing this'll delay me.

Something about the shirt caught his eye and he squinted closer, fishing for his glasses from the table top in the process. With his sight restored, he pulled the bedroom shade fully open and spread the tee out along the table's now dry surface.

He hadn't mistaken it; the soiled section had a definite green tinge to it. There was something other than plain old water in that vase. He snatched up the vase by its neck and placed his nose to the opening.

Hmm…same smell as always.

“Forget it.” He replaced the flower in the vase and returned it to the tabletop. “I've bigger things to worry about.”

He chucked the tee-shirt into the hamper deciding to leave it behind and grabbed up the towel at the foot of the bed, mentally thanking Mrs. Weasley for having the foresight to place it there prior to the advent of her inebriation. By the lack of sound from the house, her celebrations last night marked the first time--to Harry's knowledge--that she had not been the first one up.

Well, there was the Weasley rescue the summer after first year.

Harry grinned at the memory for a moment before his thoughts took a downturn.

They'll all have to enjoy that joke without me. Things to do, he reminded himself as he crept passed Ginny's room quietly. He looked towards the door imagining the room beyond and frowned when he envisioned Ginny's bed, recalling her circus act from the night before. The frown became a penetrating discomfort when he pictured Hermione's fold-out cot opposite of Ginny's bed.

The shower got his brain moving and the initial draft of his horcrux-to-do-list was nearly fully formed in his head when he got out.

“Hermione'd be proud,” he muttered into the towel as he dried his face. He froze upon hearing his own words and dragged the towel down his face to look at himself in the mirror.

New high priority: Patch friendship with Hermione.

He dried and dressed, arguing with himself over how best to proceed. He knew he needed to leave today; any delay would chip away at his resolve and he was going to need every ounce of it. But then again, he couldn't just leave without squaring things with Hermione first.

Disappearing without a word to her would take you from bad to worse to worse, Potter. Try again.

He buckled his watch and noted the time.

“Not enough time for a proper note, either. Everyone's gonna be up soon.” Kind of a lame idea anyway.

Harry padded back to Fred and George's room, once again moving extra quietly past Ginny's room. He was pretty sure now which female's wrath he was concerned about more. Ginny just needed to grow up, but Harry hoped Hermione could offer a small dosage of forgiveness for his wrongfully drawn conclusions.

Misconstrued conclusions, he corrected himself, grinning.

Back in the bedroom, he packed quickly and finished getting ready to leave before sitting down to jot out a quick note to Hermione.

Dear Hermione,

I'm sorry to be saying goodbye via a note, but I'm leaving for Godric's Hollow today. I know this reeks of cowardice, me sneaking out like this and all, but I'd never be able to convince the Weasley clan let me go otherwise. And I suspect you'd be on their side as well. I never win any arguments unless you're with me.--

Harry grinned to himself. “Flattery can't hurt, can it?”

--I'll be back in a day or two. I know you and I are leaving on a rough patch. I'll fix that, okay? I was making stupid assumptions and last night was a bit of an awkward awakening for me. I am very sorry.

He paused, unsure of how to close the letter. He didn't want to just sign it “Harry” as he had always done before; he wanted her to know he was genuinely sorry and that he cared about their friendship and was dedicated to fixing his mistakes. His--

--miscontruences…Is that even a word?

But then again, “Love, Harry” seemed a little strong. What if she took it the wrong way? He didn't even know what the hell love was anymore; let alone how to walk that tenuous line between friendly love and romantic love. He had inwardly thought of what he had with both Ginny and Cho as something akin to love, at least in the heat of the moment, and had thought also that Ron and Hermione were in love. But now, these notions that had seemed so concrete and straightforward, were proven to be ludicrous, thrown into turmoil by the mistakes Harry made with each of them. Cho wanted a Cedric replacement, Ginny was petty, and Ron and Hermione were very much not in love with one another.

He knew Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in love, Tonks and Remus too, and Bill and Fleur were apparently in love--disgustingly so, in fact.

He's probably loving her a whole lot right now. Harry smirked.

But could you just say “Love, Harry” to a friend?

A good, female, friend? Dangerous territory, that. Then again, what else can I put that fits?

He sighed and glanced at his watch.

I'm pushing it!

He looked back down at the paper and scrawled out a quick “Love, Harry” while his determination held, before folding it up and sealing it. He grabbed his bag, dashed down the stairs (miraculously, Ron was stirring early) and scooted his letter under Ginny's door. Once in the kitchen, he grabbed a slice of leftover cake for breakfast and headed out the back door and onto the porch.

The garden was a disaster. The floating candles that had provided the light after sunset had done an excellent job of hiding the breadth of destruction the party had generated. He felt a twinge of guilt at leaving without helping to clean up, but he had planned this for so long now that he couldn't deviate. He glanced at today's Daily Prophet now hovering outside the door and redoubled his resolve; he didn't want to know what the latest death toll was.

He stepped out off the porch and into the grass. He focused on Hogsmeade and spun round into his apparition. A loud crack sounded--he was still rough at it--and Harry felt his arms press into his torso as he disappeared.

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