The Only Way

The Only Way

The dawn light filtered into the drawing room, its murky grey hue falling upon the three people stirring there. Harry Potter felt dozy as he watched the hearth. It was giving off a sweet, sickly fume as though one of the logs was damp and now that aroma was burning into the room. Harry felt it flowing around his brain, fogging his mind and sending him into some sort of drunken slumber.

Across the room, on the spacious couch, Hermione was nodding in and out of sleep. Ron lay sprawled across her lap, snoring loudly and making the occasional grunting noise. Harry watched Hermione's hand playing absent mindedly through his hair, a look of tender contentment on her face. Harry watched, feeling the strange sense of loneliness he'd felt all those months ago in this same room when he'd wondered if his two best friends had fallen asleep holding hands. It all seemed a lifetime ago now. He tried to dream of Ginny to alleviate his sense of longing; in the stifling sickly aroma from the fire, Harry was only slightly surprised that this didn't work.

A log settled in the fire, crackling and sparking and sending little glowing embers up into the chimney. Ron stirred, muttered something incoherent and nuzzled back down into Hermione's lap. She hushed him and smoothed his head as he settled back down. Harry looked fondly at her as she mothered Ron, wondering why it felt so uncomfortable to him. She looked up unexpectedly, her eyes meeting Harry's as if some magnetic force had drawn their gazes together. Harry looked away quickly; she had seen him looking at her, what if she thought he'd been watching her? That would be weird.

Harry looked around, fixing on any object he could, consciously avoiding Hermione's direction, all the time wondering why he felt the need to do this. He could feel her looking at him, as though her stare had a force all of its own that only Harry could detect. He could sense her eyes poring into him and after a while it made him feel quite exposed. A few minutes passed, though it felt much longer, and Harry got up to leave the room, unable to stand it much more. He flicked a glance at Hermione but she was head down, looking only at Ron. As he left the room he thought he saw her head snap up, but then it was still quite dark and he could have been mistaken.

Grimmauld Place was almost unrecognisable as the house Harry had first entered three years ago. The dank carpet, the peeling wallpaper, the archaic lamps had all been replaced by new, colourful decoration, all lit by powerful candles on the walls and high on the ceiling. The reformation of the house was all the work of Kreacher and fifty eager Hogwarts house-elves and the marked difference it gave to the air of the place never ceased to amaze Harry, no matter how many times he considered it.

After leaving the drawing room Harry made his way quietly upstairs. He passed the locked door of Regulus' old bedroom, his heart still heavy with all the nightmarish trouble of the Horcrux hunt. Up again and he reached Sirius' old room, now converted into Harry's own. A sparkling new four-poster bed dominated much of the space in here while a large chest of drawers and a couple of bedside tables took up most of the rest. Harry looked around at the tidiness of the place, watching the photos on his nightstand waving out at him. Then it struck him.

This isn't right, he thought. My room is never like this. He thought for a little while, then a wry smile crept onto his face. Hermione. She's been and cleaned up in here!

He smirked to himself as he crossed the room and sat down on his bed. He took a photo from the nightstand; it showed himself, Hermione and Ron throwing their pointed wizards hats into the air as they celebrated graduating from Hogwarts. Both he and Ron had been granted honorary NEWTS in recognition for their part in bringing down Voldemort. Hermione had refused the same offer, choosing instead to study for a month before actually sitting the exams. Harry smiled as he remembered the look of sheer joy on her face as she read her marks out, beating all other students despite missing a year. It was a look so well captured in the moving photo. Had it really been three months since that happy day?

“Harry?”

Hearing the girl's voice itself shook Harry from something like regret. He glanced up to see Hermione framed in the doorway, the light from the hall streaming in behind her.

“All right,” replied Harry. “Ron up?”

“No, I left him sleeping,” said Hermione, entering the room. “He's got a big day today, he'll need his energy.”

Of course - Ron's trial for the Chudley Cannons; Harry had almost forgotten.

“I really hope he does well,” Hermione went on. “He was so nervous yesterday.”

“He'll be fine,” said Harry, though he didn't quite meet Hermione's eye when he said this.

In fact, Harry had been realising that he hadn't been meeting Hermione's eye quite a lot recently, the reason for which he found quite confusing. The immediate aftermath of Voldemort's defeat had been one of jubilation and celebration, but the fanfare had died down now as people set about rebuilding the world, repairing buildings and the lives shattered by Voldemort. It was a time of soul-searching as the Wizarding community counted the cost of the war, but not for Harry.

For he had seen so much and lost so much that it was a wound time might never heal. He had lost as much as anyone - Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Hedwig, Dobby - even tracing back to Dumbledore and Sirius, all lost in the name of this cause. It was a gaping hole that he was nowhere near ready to try and close. So instead he spent much of his time reflecting on the events of the last horrid year, the impossibility at its outset, the mysteries at its close. But one set of events kept sticking in his mind, and he could think of little else.

For reasons he couldn't fathom, Harry found himself more often than not thinking about the way Ron had left when they argued during the Horcrux hunt. He thought about the following weeks, the trip to Godric's Hollow, all that happened during the time where he and Hermione were alone, right up until Ron's return. There were solitary moments where he found himself longing for the sensations he had begun to experience during that time, though he couldn't quite recall what these were. All he knew was that he felt closer to remembering it when he and Hermione were alone and that somewhere, deep down, he felt a sense of danger for thinking of it.

“What's that, Harry?” asked Hermione, pulling Harry back to the present.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you this,” said Harry. He reached over and took a large, leather-bound photo album from the bedside table. Hermione perched herself next to him on the bed.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I was sent it by Dennis Creevey, you remember, Colin's brother?” said Harry. “Anyway, after Colin was killed, Dennis thought he would have wanted me to have this. It's some of the photos he took. There's loads - he took that camera everywhere with him”

“Ooh, there's you catching the Snitch,” said Hermione pointing at a victorious Harry circling the Quidditch pitch. “And there's us at the DA; me and you at the Yule Ball, I loved that dress; all of us by the lake after the Second Task; me and you at breakfast; me and you with Ron and Luna in the background. I look quite nice in that one.”

“You look quite nice in all of them,” Harry said fairly.

“Thanks, that's sweet,” said Hermione.

“Well you do,” said Harry stoutly. “I don't though. Look at me in this one! My hair's a right state. And here, you look really nice in this one while I look like I've gone few rounds with Grawp!”

Hermione laughed. “You're too hard on yourself, Harry. You know you're pretty, I don't know why you bother pretending.”

“Excuse me,” said Harry indignantly. “But I am not pretty! I'm rugged and masculine and hunky, and all that.”

They both laughed again.

“Actually,” said Hermione taking one side of the album from Harry and resting it on her lap, “there's quite a few of just you and me here. Bit odd, isn't it.”

“Yeah, weird,” said Harry absently.

Hermione had leaned in to look more closely at a picture on Harry's side. He felt himself tense as a wisp of Hermione's hair brushed his cheek. It was a strange response. Then he picked it up. These days Hermione was scented, dangerously fragranced with perfume. This wasn't ordinary Muggle perfume, this was witches perfume, the best seller according to Witch Weekly's cosmetics column. Harry fought a constant battle around the house against the delicate floral aromas of Essence De Amortentia. But it wasn't easily shrugged off.

“We actually look quite together cute in this one,” said Hermione, leaning back to let Harry see.

“Don't let Ron hear you say that, he'll have a fit.”

It happened in a flash and Harry knew he'd said the wrong thing. It was as if he'd thrown lead into the air and killed the pleasant atmosphere that had existed moments before. And this wasn't the first time it had happened, either. It always seemed to spring up between them every time the subject of Ron and Hermione's relationship was mentioned. It was like someone casting a shield charm whenever the subject was broached.

“Why does that always happen?” Hermione asked after a few, awkward moments.

“Hmm?” was all Harry offered by way of reply, though he knew what Hermione was getting at.

“Why is it that whenever Ron is mentioned between us the air just clams up?”

“Dunno,” said Harry dumbly. “You're the brains of this outfit. This is your area.”

Harry looked down at the photo album again. He was finding the room awfully hot and stifling, as if the rotting smell of the drawing room hearth was seeping up through the floors. A picture looked up at him; it was one of him and Hermione with Harry's Firebolt. His arm was around her shoulders, hers around his waist. He had a fleeting image of a snowy graveyard and a wreath on a headstone before he finally remembered the sensation he'd been dwelling on for months. The realisation wasn't a comfortable one.

“Harry? What is it?” said Hermione as though reading his thoughts.

“What? Oh, nothing - just thinking,” said Harry awkwardly. He tried to shift away from Hermione without making it obvious.

“About what?” she asked.

“Just some of the stuff we've been through,” said Harry vaguely.

“Yeah, we have been through quite a bit, me and you,” said Hermione with a sigh.

“I meant us as in everybody,” said Harry. “But it always seems to come down to just you and me so you were right anyway. Then it always falls to you to do something amazing to take us forward.”

Hermione hooted with laughter. “Like what?”

“Er, Horcruxes slipped your mind already, have they?” said Harry. “You destroyed one, worked out how to destroy them in the first place. I'd have never figured that out.”

“Stop, Harry, you'll make me blush,” said Hermione. “You would have worked that all out in the end. You're instincts are nearly always right, remember?”

Nearly always, Harry thought as he looked at her.

“Besides, you destroyed most of the Horcruxes,” said Hermione. “Including letting yourself get killed. Can I ask you something, though, just between you and me?”

“Since when did you have to ask permission for something like that?” said Harry, puzzled.

Hermione smiled coyly. “I just wanted to ask about the locket.”

Harry froze. He knew what was coming just as surely as he knew he couldn't lie to Hermione. Perhaps he might just try and bend the truth this once.

“What about it?” said Harry, trying to sound unconcerned.

“You destroyed it after taking the sword out of the frozen pond, yes?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded. “I was just wondering what happened.”

“We stabbed it with the sword,” said Harry.

“I didn't mean that…and you know it,” said Hermione. Her tone of voice had changed, softened, and Harry was powerless against it.

“When you came back, things were different. Between us, I mean. You and Ron were back to being best friends like nothing had happened but you and me - well, that was different.”

“I - I didn't notice anything different,” said Harry evasively. He tried to get up, he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“Don't try and get away from me,” said Hermione hotly, gripping Harry's arm and yanking him back down. “I want an answer. I've been thinking about this for weeks.”

“Eh? You too?”

“What? You mean you've been thinking about it as well?” said Hermione, startled.

“Depends,” said Harry wryly. “We might not be talking about the same thing.”

“I will hit you, Harry, if you carry on like this,” said Hermione. “What happened, tell me.”

“I don't think we should talk about this,” said Harry. “If Ron knew…”

“He's downstairs, asleep,” said Hermione bluntly. “Besides, this is about you and me. Ron and me is something else.”

“That's what you don't get, you see,” said Harry. “You can't separate them.”

“Meaning what?”

“I don't know. It sounded good in my head.”

“Harry…”

“Hermione - what do you want me to say.”

“I'd like you to say that some things never happened between us,” said Hermione. “That you didn't act the way you did for the same reasons I did. It would certainly make things easier. But you aren't going to say that, are you?”

“Couldn't if I wanted to,” said Harry, perplexed. “What did you do anyway? What way did you act in?”

“I didn't speak to you just after Ron left,” said Hermione glancing away. “I was distant with you, and you were with me. I felt really…odd…after what he said.”

“Which part?”

“The - um - part about me choosing you.”

There was now the deepest silence between them that had ever existed since they'd met. Harry couldn't stand it; if he was ever going to say this to her, it would have to be now.

“I felt it, too,” he began. “You weren't alone. I felt -”

“- nervous, like he'd touched a -”

“- nerve. Other people had seen it, but I laughed it off -”

“- but for him to think it, it must mean something -”

They both looked at each other as if seeing each other properly for the first time.

“I felt like my deepest secret had exploded in my face,” said Hermione.

“I felt like I'd betrayed my best friend and at the same time knew I couldn't ever have what I wanted, just when I found out what that was,” said Harry.

“Then we went to Godric's Hollow,” said Hermione.

“And the graveyard,” said Harry fondly remembering. He closed his eyes.

“It was so pretty there, all the snow…” said Hermione. Harry could sense that she was copying his reminiscing pose. “But I ruined it - I broke your wand. If I hadn't…”

“You saved my life, you were beyond amazing, as always,” said Harry. “You stayed up all night nursing me. There was no need to do that.”

“You were calling for me, what else was I supposed to do?”

“Calling for you?” asked Harry, slightly embarrassed.

“You remember when Ron was cursed and he said my name when he was in the Hospital Wing?” said Hermione, blushing furiously. “It was like that; you kept asking for me, saying my name. I couldn't tell whether you were awake or not. Anyway, it was all I could do.”

“I hope I didn't say anything incriminating,” said Harry, grinning.

“Well, there was this one thing…” said Hermione, grinning back.

“Then there was the thing with the Horcrux,” said Harry. “That ended it. I knew Ron was right. He got it and I didn't - in every sense.”

“Oh, Harry -” said Hermione looking forlornly at him. “So can you tell me now what the Horcrux did?”

“It turned into you and me, and well, we sort of…kissed,” said Harry clumsily.

“Ah, that would have been nice for Ron.”

“Yeah, just about as much as a bout of bubonic plague,” said Harry. “I told him that we weren't - you know - and he was okay after that.”

Hermione smiled as she thought back to the time. It diffused a glow over her face that suited her more than Harry would have ever been able to find words for.

“I knew then that I had to go back to the way things were,” said Harry. “Our decisions had been made. I couldn't betray Ron again. Besides, I didn't think I was going to outlive the end of the war and if you had to be with anyone else, I wanted it to be him.”

“And now?” said Hermione.

“Now nothing,” said Harry. “Nothing has changed and you know that.”

Hermione sighed; sadness filled her eyes. “Yes, of course you're right. But we both know, don't we, that we have something.”

“Had, Hermione; we can't ever mention this again.”

“But as long as we know, it'll be okay. I'm just not sure what to do now. And I was so certain before all this.”

“You'll be okay with Ron,” said Harry. “He loves you. If I knew nothing else about it, that would be enough. But he's a good guy, too. A prat at times, but generally good and as loyal as you can find. That makes him worthy of you.”

“Oh, Harry, don't say things like that,” said Hermione frantically. “It makes it so much harder to do this. But what about you? What will you do?”

“I'll be okay,” said Harry bracingly. “Ginny's hot. We'll make pretty kids together, so she'll do.”

“Oh, Harry!” said Hermione, laughing.

Harry got up and crossed to the dresser. He opened it up and took out a small bag charmed to have unlimited room inside. He started putting some things in it and when he spoke he didn't look over at Hermione. He didn't think he could say what he had to say if she looked back at him.

“I have to go away,” said Harry. “Things to do…clear my head…put some distance between us.”

“I thought you might say that,” said Hermione resignedly.

“I knew you would,” said Harry smiling to himself. “I hate to say it but I don't think we should see each other for a while.”

“Damn you and those instincts,” said Hermione trying to keep things light. “Where will you go?”

“Still, a few Death Eaters to take care of,” said Harry. “And Kingsley wanted to talk to me about heading up a new Auror department. Didn't think the last one was up to much considering the Ministry went down without a fight.”

“When will you be back?”

“You'll know when I get here,” said Harry. “You and Ron are welcome to stay here. Keep the place going.”

Harry finished packing and started to cross the room. Hermione was looking pensive, as though concentrating on the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Harry heard her take a deep breath as he passed her, then he heard a creak as the bed sprang up and the next thing he knew was the taste of Hermione's lips as she kissed him with more passion than he'd ever known. He kissed her back, hungrily, knowing it was the only real kiss they would ever share, and the last kiss in his life that he would truly mean.

“Didn't think you were going to leave without a proper goodbye, did you?” said Hermione breathlessly, her eyes glistening with tears. “Sorry for that, but I just had to, you know?”

“I know,” said Harry, smoothing a clump of her hair in his fingers. “And if you hadn't, I would have.”

“What now?”

“Hug me, thank me for saving your life a few times, I'll thank you for saving my heart, then you'll say goodbye to me.”

Hermione drew him into the most tender embrace they'd ever shared, shaking as she wept. It was like when they had walked from the Godric's Hollow graveyard, only deeper and more painful than Harry could have imagined was possible. She kissed him lightly on the head; he closed his eyes at the touch, fighting back the tears that, if allowed to spill, might make him reconsider this noblest of acts.

“Thank you for saving my life all those times,” Hermione whispered in Harry's ear, her warm breath flowing down to his heart like phoenix song. “Goodbye then…m-my love.”

Harry tensed and turned away. He literally had to bite his tongue at the words. A sob caught in his throat as he turned back, kissed Hermione on the cheek and walked away. He couldn't face her. He had only gone a few steps, though, before he turned back to see Hermione one last time.

“You know,” he said, “I told Ron I loved you.”

“You…what? I -”

“Loved you like a sister,” Harry cut across. He smiled to calm Hermione and stop her tears, which were free flowing now. “Don't tell Ron, but only half of that was true.”

They smiled at each other one last time before Harry turned and, this time, he really did leave.

-->

Chapter Two

Author Note: Quite simply, I couldn't leave it as it was.

* * *

Nineteen Days Later…

The advent of autumn had brought with it a chill uncommon to the time of year. Though still only October the temperature was cold enough to demand long sleeves and jackets and houses up and down Britain were cranking up their thermostats early. Mornings were often characterised by a glistening frost and the birdsong of the high summer had long since died away. The Winter promised to be particularly cold, especially for Harry Potter, though his own bleak mid-Winter would, he suspect, have little to do with the falling temperatures and the panic over global warming that was being associated with them.

He pondered the prospect as he stared out of the shattered window of an upstairs bedroom in the ruined house his parents had once called home. Shards of glass still littered the floor and the small, jagged rock that caused them lay quietly against the back wall. Harry looked out over the narrow lane leading towards the village square; only the pub was open now, its brightly lit windows standing out amidst the fast descending darkness. Harry half thought about going in there; he had a handful of loose Muggle coins in his pocket that would change quite nicely into a pint of beer, aiding his desire to drown the sorrows threatening to drown him. But wallowing would not do and Hermione certainly wouldn't approve.

Tightness gripped his chest at the thought of her. He stared wistfully out into the night as he remembered their parting words, the look of despair haunting her eyes, reflecting the image in his own. She could be anywhere now; she was probably curled up, warm and cosy, with a steaming mug of something hot in front of the roaring fire in the hearth at Grimmauld Place, basking in its glow as the cold night drew in. The thought of her, so content and in such comfort, made Harry smile as he drew back from the window.

He looked around the room, wondering for the hundredth time why he had come back to this place. The answer was obvious and no matter how many times and in what myriad of ways he tried to ignore it, the truth still lingered on, droning away in the silence of solitude. The one thought, the one focus of all his musings, stared back at him from all four walls, from the street outside, from the sign in the garden, from all the things that they, and only they, had shared together. It had been then, in those precious, beautiful moments, stolen from the way they both knew things had to be, that Harry had finally realised what he had been looking for all his life. And that short time was all he would ever have if it.

Oh, the damnable misery of the thing! It scalded Harry on his insides, where he couldn't reach to sooth them. His inner torment mirrored the blankness of his external situation, for that was how he saw himself now; enclosed, trapped, unable to move to do anything right. Hermione was out of reach, gone, a truth realised too late. Then there was Ginny, an empty truth and promises of a hollow everything. The frustration swelled in Harry's chest and he kicked out at the air as if determined to vent on life, on his destiny itself.

Common sense, in Hermione's voice, calmed Harry and brought him reason. It was all very well to feel sorry for himself, but he knew that there really was no other way. He and Hermione had said it all; there was no way they could betray Ron like that, no way that they could break his very essence by being together. They both loved him too much. Harry felt that same corrosive hatred bubble up on his dark side that he'd felt for Ron back in the old tent all those months ago. It wasn't his fault, but now he had everything while Harry played for scraps of nothing. He lay down on the mouldy bed in the corner, dreaming longingly of snatched moments with Hermione; they were together on Buckbeak, they were laughing at the image of Pince and Filch with a love potion, her arms were around him after Dumbledore died…

Dumbledore. The thought came to Harry with an unexpected jolt. I counted on Miss Granger to slow you up. He closed his eyes as a shiver of sorrow flooded him. He had known; he'd known all along. But by the time he was ready to tell some truth's Hermione was already lost. Was it his influence that swayed the Sorting Hat to ease Hermione away from Ravenclaw just so she and Harry would meet? Did Dumbledore know that she was going to be that important? Harry wouldn't have put it past the old man and the more he thought on it the more likely it became. The Philosopher's Stone - she was there till the end; she found out about the basilisk; she helped save Buckbeak, and then saved Harry when he locked himself in the Hippogriff's room; there was too much sense for it all to be coincidence. Why didn't you tell me, Dumbledore?

At some stage during these maddening thoughts, Harry must have drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He was woken by a soft tapping nearby, a constant drumming that gnawed into his skull. Groggy and half-awake, Harry roused himself and made for the source of the noise fully prepared to curse into smithereens the foolish entity who dared disturb his despair.

It appeared to be coming from downstairs and Harry was halfway there when the cause of the rapping revealed itself. The door, which was only loosely closed and nowhere near securely fastened, came away from the makeshift bolt Harry had fashioned for it. A flash of light blasted through the gaps in the rotting frame and Harry vaulted the final few stairs to meet the intruder, only to be enveloped by an expanse of bushy hair as they collided.

Harry was so overwhelmed by the surge of emotion he felt upon seeing Hermione that he couldn't think clearly for several minutes and speech was a concept suddenly alien to him. For her part, Hermione simply held Harry close, breathing slowly and seeming to emanate tangible waves of contentment that set about soothing the hurt Harry had been feeling.

Hermione spoke suddenly. “I'm so sorry, Harry, but I just couldn't stay away any longer. I just couldn't.”

Harry's response was to cling onto her tighter still as though she were some apparition on the verge of fading away. He had no thought beyond that of holding Hermione; the feel of her, the warmth of her, her scent so intoxicating yet so familiar and comforting.

“Come on, lets go upstairs,” said Harry.

They walked up arm-in-arm, both unwilling to let go of the other. Harry guided Hermione into the bedroom; the flickering light from the little fire still burning in the centre of the room fell onto her face, showing her to be tired and lined. Harry felt an acidic loathing for himself rise in his throat; how dare he let her get into a state such as this?

“How did you know I'd be here?” asked Harry, sitting on the edge of the grubby bed.

“You may be an enigma to everyone else, Harry, but I can read you like book,” said Hermione. Harry couldn't help but smirk at the truth of this. “I knew this was where you'd be. I spoke to Kingsley at work and he said he hadn't seen you. It didn't take me long to find out that nobody had seen you in ages. They're thinking about declaring you officially missing, actually.”

For a fleeting, beautiful moment Harry thought this would be a perfect thing; him missing and Hermione as the chief in charge of finding him. The time they could have together! Reality interrupted this dangerous chain of thought like a blunt instrument.

“Ron suspects something,” said Hermione. “You disappear and I fall into near depression. I've been excusing it away as worry over where you are, but that wont last. He's slow on the uptake but he's not completely stupid.”

“You fell into near depression?” Harry asked dismally. And he was just thinking that he couldn't possibly feel any worse.

“I haven't stopped crying since you left,” said Hermione. “Your words stayed with me like they'd scorched my ears. I tried to do what we'd agreed at first; I went back to Ron, tried to console myself with him. But everything just felt empty and wrong. I knew after a few days that it wasn't going to work. There is no way I can be with Ron, not now I know how you feel about me.”

“Have you said anything to him?”

“Oh yeah!” cried Hermione incredulously. “`By the way Ron, me and Harry kissed and have stronger feelings for each other than you and me.' I'd have to be crazy to say something like that.”

“Then why are you here?” said Harry. “Why have you come?”

“Because I can't handle the despair anymore,” said Hermione. “I've missed you so much that it actually hurts. I swear I've got bruises over it. A-Aren't you happy that I'm here?”

“No, I'm not,” said Harry, standing up. “This can't happen, Hermione, we agreed on that. I left Grimmauld Place to get away from you, to stop thinking about you.”

“And has it worked?” said Hermione taking a step closer to him.

“Well - no, it's worse,” said Harry. “But there isn't anything we can do about it. Ron would never forgive us.”

“Oh, why does it always have to be about Ron? Don't you think we've stepped on eggshells for him long enough?”

“You tell me!” said Harry, his voice rising. “You're the one going out with him.”

“You're the one knocking around with his sister!” said Hermione angrily. They were so close Harry could see her pupils dilating in the firelight. “If she wasn't so irresistible…”

“She isn't what I want, as you well know,” said Harry, wounded. “But you're the one turning into little Miss Molly for Ron.”

Harry felt Hermione slap him before he could even react. She fumed at him, her hot breath tickling his face. His cheek was tingling from the slap and starting to burn a little as Hermione suddenly flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. He responded, meeting her intensity with passion of his own. For a moment they were simply lost in the moment, Harry unable to form a cohesive thought aside from that of Hermione's embrace. Then she broke away, breathing heavily.

“Now don't you dare tell me this isn't what you want,” Hermione panted. “Not after a kiss like that.”

“I never said that, and I never would” said Harry, drained by it all. “It's the only thing I want, but we can't have it. You won't do it and neither will I. There's just no way without hurting everyone closest to us.”

“Including me and you!”

“Me and you more than most!” said Harry hotly. “It's a straight choice between you and me being hurt, but still being friends, or incurring the hatred of the Weasleys. They've been like a family to me since the beginning but seven years of friendship will count for nothing if I steal you from Ron. They've lost enough.”

“And what about you?” cried Hermione shrilly. “Is there anything you haven't lost? Your parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, not to mention all those years of abuse by your Aunt and Uncle. What difference is that to what the Weasley's have lost? There's no good reason why you should have to suffer again for someone else.”

“Alright then - leave Ron,” said Harry. “We'll turn our backs on everything we know and run away together.”

Hermione fell silent and turned away. The fire crackled and outside an owl hooted somewhere.

“You see, it isn't as easy as all that,” said Harry. He moved to Hermione, who was looking through the window, and put his hands on her shoulders, his head against the back of hers. “This has never been about just you and me. If it was there'd be no problem, but it isn't. It's you, me and everyone else that's meant more to us than just friends. Would you really betray them like that?”

“For you, I already have,” said Hermione. She turned to face Harry. “I'm here, we've kissed, my heart belongs to you. The only one I'm betraying is me. But I'm not like you, I'm not noble. I don't want to hurt Ron but I don't want to give you up either. I'm Ron's girlfriend but I don't feel guilty about being here with you. What does that say about me?”

“It says that you're a no-good, dirty tramp,” Harry teased. “Or that your heart belongs one place and your head another.”

“No, that's not right,” said Hermione, turning so that their faces were an inch apart. “All of me belongs in the same place - and that place is right here. Look, Harry, I'm offering to do what we both want. I'm prepared to deal with all that will come from the Weasleys. The only question is whether you can. Do you love me enough to be happy with just me and turn Ron and Ginny and the rest away?”

Harry looked at Hermione. Up close she looked so scared, so vulnerable but she really meant what she was saying. She was ready to sacrifice the life they'd known for a new one together. It was a gesture so powerful that he couldn't get his head around it.

“I think it's about time you stopped doing things for other people and got something you really wanted,” said Hermione. “The whole of the Wizarding World knows that you've earned a little bit of selfishness.”

“You seem to have thought a lot about this,” said Harry.

“It's all I've thought about,” said Hermione. “It'll be the hardest thing we've ever had to do, and that's saying something. But I'm willing to do it because giving each other up is harder, and we both know this because of what we've suffered by being apart. Even Luna said I look terrible.”

“Luna? What does she know about it?”

“Oh…pretty much everything,” said Hermione. “I've been hiding out a lot at Hogwarts. The new term's not long started there, you know, and I've been using the Library as cover for avoiding Ron. Luna's been very kind, she knows what I'm going through.”

“You told her!” said Harry in disbelief.

“She sort of guessed,” said Hermione. “She just came out and said `It's about Harry, isn't it?' one day. She said she'd always thought there was something between us and was surprised that we'd never given it a shot.”

Harry felt a powerful rush of affection for Luna. “Smart girl, that one. There's more to her than meets the eye.”

“You're not wrong,” said Hermione. “I'd never have thought she was so perceptive. Then I realised that she's in exactly the same boat as me. I feel awful for having given her such a hard time.”

“What do you mean, `in the same boat'?”

“She with Dean Thomas now, isn't she,” Hermione explained. “But she doesn't really want to be. An owl came from him when we were in the library one afternoon. I could tell from the look on her face that her heart isn't really in it. She must like someone else.”

“I never thought I'd see the day when you and Luna would bond,” said Harry. “Did she give you any advice?”

“Just to be true to myself,” said Hermione. “She said one of the things about being different is that you learn to be happy as long as you like yourself. She knows people call her names and poke fun but she's happy who she is and lets them get on with it. It was all the spur I needed to come here. As long as we're together I'll be happy. I can take whatever flak comes with that.”

“And if you can, I can,” said Harry finally. The decision was made now and the glow on Hermione's face told Harry instantly that it was the right one. “The only thing now is how we break it to them.”

“One obstacle at a time, Harry,” said Hermione gently, stroking a stray hair back from his face. “Besides, we have more important things to attend to.”

“Like what?”

She leaned in and kissed him again, her hands roving. They tumbled backwards, locked together, onto the mouldy bed. All their problems could wait until the morning; for now, there was just tonight.

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