1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Blah blah blah. FanFiction.net should just put a blanket disclaimer on the site for all the idiots that could possibly believe we actually own these stories or make any kind of a profit.

A/N: Already have several chapters written. Expect one a day until I catch up with myself.

Loneliness

There was a silence in the Headmaster of Hogwart's Office. The half-life portraits on the walls were silent. Fawkes the Phoenix was silent. Two figures stood across from each other, both of them silent. This was a silence borne on the wings of bad news. The taller, older figure - the Headmaster - held a crumpled note in his fist. The smaller figure, a woman old, but sturdy, looked as if she had been told her family had been burned alive. That was close to the truth, in fact, because a family had been burned alive. It just was not hers.

Finally, the old woman broke the silence.

`It can't be true Albus,' she said, heartbroken.

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, gave a wearied sigh and let the piece of paper fall from his grasp. It landed, crumpled, on his desk. `It is true, Minerva,' he said. There was a pause - more silence. `Harry Potter set fire to his Aunt and Uncles house last night. The fire was unstoppable. The Muggle firefighters tried to stop the blaze, but they knew not what they truly dealt with. There were no survivors, save for young Harry himself. He alone remained unharmed. The Muggles found him wandering the blackened ruins.'

`Why would he do such a thing?' Minerva McGonagall couldn't keep the horror from her voice.

Dumbledore turned from her gaze guiltily.

`Albus?' Minerva asked curiously.

Dumbledore embraced the silence, unwilling to break it.

`Why don't you tell her,' one of the portraits said snidely, `tell her what you did Dumbledore.'

Albus Dumbledore turned to face the portrait with a terrifying fury. `Be silent Phineas!'

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus was unfazed by Dumbledore's anger. He gave the current Headmaster of Hogwarts a smug look, knowing his words would force Dumbledore's hand.

`Albus?' Minerva's voice cut through the tense stare down between Headmaster and portrait. `What did you do?'

Dumbledore lowered his head, ashamed. `Nothing,' he said quietly. `I did nothing.'

Minerva McGonagall furrowed her brow. `I'm not sure I understand…'

`I did nothing, Minerva.' When she went to open her mouth to query further, Dumbledore spoke again. `I sat by and did nothing. I watched as Harry was abused by his family.'

McGonagall stared in shock.

`I could have stopped it, but I didn't. I feared to break the protective magic Lily blessed us with, and so consigned the boy to a childhood of neglect and abuse. Now it's too late.'

`Then it was forced,' McGonagall said after much thought. `Harry was pushed to protect himself?'

`No. It was not self-defence. Not directly. Harry dreamt of burning his family, and so his magic made it a reality. He woke to the carnage his dreams had wrought.'

Minerva shuddered at the thought. `What has happened to the boy?'

`The Muggles have taken him. What they will do, I know not.'

`And what will we do?'

Dumbledore was silent one last time. This silence stretched on and on. It was a silence of inaction rather than of reality. Dumbledore was silent for close to four years. Then, once Harry turned eleven, the silence was broken.

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2. Chapter 2

Loneliness

The train to Hogwarts had departed already, yet Hermione Granger had yet to find a place to set her things and settle in for the journey. Some compartments overflowed with kids, others not so much, but Hermione didn't feel welcome in any of them, nor would she choose to sit in them if she did. She was what most would call a lonely child. As a young child she had never played with the other kids. In school she set herself apart from everyone and didn't make a single friend. On the playground, she would find a quiet spot and sit alone to read her books. Even her parents didn't know her that well. She spoke minimally to them and other adults, which some might consider a marked improvement over her absolute refusal to engage with others kids her age.

It wasn't that Hermione didn't want friends her own age. When people would call her a lonely child, they were spot on. She often cried silent tears at night, desperate for someone to reach out to and hold. Her need was strong, and yet when day came and she had the chance to connect with other kids, anybody, she just couldn't. Her father, whom she lived with, was often busy with work and didn't have much time for her. He also wasn't the cuddly, touchy feely type. Her mother saw her infrequently, once every two weeks, and sometimes she missed her scheduled appointments because she was hung over or passed out somewhere.

When Hermione had received her Hogwarts letter, she had been thrilled at this new avenue into which she could explore and learn, and so, despite her fathers apprehension, she had demanded to be allowed to go.

There was one final compartment she had left to check. Hoping this one was empty; Hermione opened the door a crack and peeked inside. She saw a pair of legs stretched out, and that was enough for her. Heart racing, she pulled the door closed as silently as possible and took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

`They're fourth year Slytherin's.' Hermione jumped when the person behind her spoke. She turned to face the speaker and clutched the handle of her trunk tightly. The speaker was a boy her own age, small, skinny, wearing scruffy looking trousers and shirt with the collar turned up. His glasses had been broken and repaired with tape. Dark unruly hair fell to cover his forehead and obscure his eyes. He was sat on the floor next to his trunk, spinning his wand in his hand. `They don't want first years in their compartment. `Speshly not me.'

Hermione looked at the boy and felt her throat go dry. She clutched her trunk even tighter.

`Are you Muggleborn? You are, ain't you?'

The boy spun his wand and flipped it in the air, catching it as it came back down and pointing it at her. The tip sparked and a small flame flickered to life. Hermione jumped again and looked nervously at the flame, transfixed. The boy noticed her anxiety and a look of recognition crossed his face. He flicked his wand and the flame guttered out. With a quick motion he was on his feet and stowing his wand behind his back. His raised his hands as he stepped towards her.

`Erm, sorry,' he said, brushing a hand across his fringe. Hermione saw a flash of startling emerald green eyes. `My name's Harry Potter. What's yours?'

Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She had read about Harry Potter - the Boy-Who-Lived. He was in a few of the books she had picked up as extra curricular reading. In the older volumes he was spoken of in an admiring light, praised as the boy who had done what no other wizard could do, that being ridding the wizarding world of it's greatest threat - the Dark Lord Voldemort. However, in one volume she had, this one only a few years old, Harry was spoken of in a not so flattering way. This author raised doubts as to Harry's nature, and compared him to the very evil he was once praised for destroying. The book claimed that Harry had burned his relatives, his aunt, uncle and cousin, alive, and that since that day he had been held in a Muggle child psychiatric institution.

`What's wrong?' Harry asked. Hermione looked away from him, down at her feet. `You don't know your name…?' This last part was said with a slightly teasing tone. Hermione kept her eyes on the tips of her shinny black shoes. `Can't you speak?' When he got no reply, Harry cleared his throat. `Oh. I've never met a mute before.'

Hermione glanced up at him. Her cheeks felt hot from the faint blush on her face.

`It's okay,' Harry said, and offered his hand.

Hermione looked at it, and then shook her head furiously.

Harry looked confused. `I don't have a disease or anything.' When she made no move to take his hand, he retracted it and stuffed it safely away in his pocket, as if it were a lethal weapon. `Okay, so you don't like to touch people either? Will you at least sit with me?'

Hermione had to think about it. This boy could be dangerous, as the book she had read indicated. He had supposedly burnt his family alive. He was confident, in a odd kind of way. Yet strangely, she did not feel that threatened by him. He seemed isolated from others around himself, because here he was, sitting alone, just like she did.

`I promise I won't try to touch you,' Harry said, smiling a smile that was so reassuring and kind that she couldn't help but nod and give in to his request. She did, however, strategically place her trunk between his body and hers, just in case.

Harry spoke to her, his voice soft, talking about the wizarding world, things he had read and seen, other wizards he had encountered. He kept up a steady stream of dialogue, not once asking her anything, just letting her listen. Hermione began to relax a little, and kept stealing little glances sideways at this boy who had done more to penetrate her walls so quickly than anyone her age ever had before. He was an enigma, so different from what she had imagined when she had read about him. Most children her own age, when faced with her absolutely silence and unwillingness to touch, simply gave her up as a lost cause, too difficult to deal with. Not Harry. Why did he try? Why would he want to try? She offered nothing, and yet he didn't seem to mind. He was still talking to her, as if they were having some kind of conversation. And he was smiling, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Who was this boy? This Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Burnt-His-Family-Alive, the Boy-Who-Tried-To-Befriend-Hermione-Granger.

Harry sat with her for the entire train journey, sat with her in the boat that took them to the magical school Hogwarts, and stayed close beside her (although not too close) as they made their way into the Great Hall and up to the front. Feeling the eyes of many of the older students on her, Hermione folded her arms across her chest and hunched down, hiding behind her long curly hair. She took deep, even breaths as she slowly made her way forward, counting the steps to distract herself - one, two, three, four. She knew coming here to this unknown place was going to be tough. She had expected it and prepared for it as best she could, but even so, the feeling was nearly overwhelming, far more than she could ever have expected.

`It's okay,' Harry whispered behind her, noticing her behaviour.

Hermione wasn't really reassured, but she appreciated the effort. The professor leading them, an old witch named McGonagall, instructed them to form a line in front of the other professors. Professor McGonagall placed a single stool before them, upon which she set a scruffy, old looking hat. Hermione came to the conclusion that this must be the Sorting ceremony she had read about, and as if to confirm her thoughts, Professor McGongall began to speak and explain how each child would come forth, sit on the stool and place the hat upon their head.

As the ceremony began, Hermione thought back to all she had read about Hogwarts and it's houses. Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Hufflepuff values hard work, patience, and loyalty. Gryffindor values bravery and chivalry. Ravenclaw values intelligence and wit - Hermiome suspected that would be were she would end up. Slytherin values ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness - it was also notable to mention that most Dark Wizards, such as Lord Voldemort, had been a member of Slytherin.

`Granger, Hermione!'

So soon, it was her turn to enter the spotlight and be sorted. Hermione steadied herself, and then, counting the steps again, she made her way forward to sit on the stool and place the hat on her head.

`Aaah, aren't you an interesting little bunny,' a voice whispered in her ear. `Hmm. Yes, I sense a great deal of intelligence in you. It's clear to me that you could only belong in one house, and that would be RAVENCLAW!' This last was shouted out loud.

Hermione took the hat off as the Great Hall gave her a loud round of applause. She blushed as she rushed to quickly take a seat at the Ravenclaw table. She chose a seat as far away from the crowd as she could, so that no one could pat her on the back, and kept her eyes down on the table before her as the rest of the house welcomed her. Luckily, their attention was quickly caught up again as the Sorting ceremony resumed.

Hermione lost herself in her thoughts until, `Potter, Harry!' was called and the Great Hall fell deathly silent. She raised her head just a little to sneak a glance at the scruffy boy who had done his best to befriend her on the train. He moved calmly up to the stool, ignoring the rest of the room. As he pulled the hat down onto his head, Hermione idly wondered which house Harry might end up in. She held her breath, like the rest of the Great Hall, as Harry sat on the stool for what felt like a very long time.

Finally, the silence was broken, and a deafening roar broke out in the room as the hat proclaimed: `SLYTHERIN!'

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3. 3

A/N: Okay, I'm back. I know I said I'd be getting one out a day, and that was my intention, but I ended up going to stay with a friend for a few days (totally out of the blue). Anyway, here's the next little chapter. Warning: lengths will vary.

Loneliness

The welcoming feast had ended hours ago, the first years had been shown to their homes away from home, the older students had fallen into bed after catching up with their dormitory mates, and most of the professors had decided to call it a night, well aware of the early start they would have tomorrow.

Two wizards, however, had not yet succumbed to the allure of their pillows, and instead met to discuss a worrisome portent. Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin.

Severus Snape stood by the fire, watching it's flickering flames, his back to the Headmaster. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his eyes locked on the back of his colleague, peering over the rim of his spectacles.

`You will remember,' Dumbledore said gravely, `I have been here before. Tom Riddle showed many of the signs that young Harry has already displayed. Both of them were orphaned early in life. Both of them possessed a dangerous, reckless magical energy and an obsession with theft and destruction of property. This new development has not helped to allay my fears.'

Severus Snape was still as stone, his posture tense.

Dumbledore let out a weary sigh. `Severus, I know how you feel, but I have been in this position before, and I promised myself I would not make the same mistake I made with Tom Riddle.'

When Snape spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. `You would kill the boy?' He laughed, sharp and mocking. `Or I suppose you would have me do it? He is one of my students now. It would be easy to sneak into his dormitory at night and cast one silent Killing Curse. Is that what you want Albus?'

Dumbledore looked horrified. `What I want is for Harry to be a peaceful, well-adjusted child. He is not, however, and we must deal with this, but do not think for one second that I want this Severus.'

`Have you even considered the prophecy?'

`I have.'

`Then how can we do it? Even if the boy is destined to become a dark wizard, how can we kill him, knowing he is the only one capable of truly ending the Dark Lord?'

`Prophecies are not set in stone,' Dumbledore explained. `They are fickle things. I cannot leave it to chance. If we let Harry be, and he does become a dark wizard as I fear, then we will not only have to deal with Voldemort, but him as well. Can you imagine the destruction those two would wreak on the wizarding world? No, Severus, it is best we end it now. Tonight.'

`I won't do it,' Snape said emphatically.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but Snape cut him off before he could.

`You're being hasty. You think that the boy is too much of a threat, but he is still just that, a boy. We have time. You do not need to make this decision now. Wait. I beg of you. Do not do this thing now!'

`And how long would you have me wait? A week? Two? A year? When do we decide Severus? When it's too late?'

Severus Snape was silent for nearly a minute, his mind a whirl of thoughts. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resigned. `A year. Give the boy a year.'

`And if at the end of this year he shows no sign of hope?'

A longer silence. Dumbledore waited. Snape ground his teeth as he spoke, `we kill him.'

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4. 4

Loneliness

It had been a little over a week since Harry had arrived at Hogwarts. His first few days he had used to familiarise himself with his new surroundings, exulting in his new found freedom. The castle and its grounds were much larger than the children's wing of Waltham's psychiatric hospital. When not in class, he took to roaming the corridors, adapting to the strange behaviour of the moving staircases, noting the numerous half-alive portraits, creating a virtual map of Hogwarts within his own mind.

At night he would use a handy spell he had found in one of his books, a charm that alerted him to the presence of others, allowing him to move through the castle at night and avoid detection. If he was particularly bored, he had fun sneaking into classrooms and pilfering random objects - a fancy golden quill from McGonagall, a rare book of charms left carelessly on Flitwick's desk, whatever he fancied at the time. Of course, he was smart enough to hide these objects in a safe place. One of his first acts when he arrived at Hogwarts was to find a hiding place for his collectables. He'd chosen a specific wall near the Hufflepuff common room, magicked lose a piece of the wall, and crated his own little incognito safe. Just in case anyone came asking, and they did, he made sure they couldn't prove anything.

It was only his second day at Hogwarts when he was summoned to the Headmaster's office. The old wizard who had “rescued” him from the mental hospital reminded him of the promise he had made Harry make before giving him his Hogwarts letter - that Harry must never steal again. Harry lied and played up his innocence and with no proof, Dumbledore was forced to allow him to go, albeit grudgingly.

By the end of the third night, Harry had a pretty complete map of Hogwarts in his head, or at least, a complete map of all the obvious locations. An old castle like this, Harry was sure held some secrets, and he was determined to find them all.

By far the most intriguing thing to happen to him all week was his first meeting with his Potions Master - Severus Snape. The wizard picked him out from all of the students during their very first lesson, asking him some basic, and some not so basic, questions regarding Potions. Harry had done lots of studying prior to arriving at Hogwarts, so he was more than prepared, answering all three correctly. Snape made no acknowledgement of his accomplishment, but simply moved on, his face betraying no emotion. And yet Harry sensed something. Severus Snape was definitely assessing him. Why? He did not know. Yet. Snape may have some kind of interest in him, Harry decided, but now Harry had an interest in his Potions Master.

The rest of the week was like a chess match between the two, silent, subtle and totally unrecognisable to others, but it was there. Snape often asked him specifically for answers to questions during Potions, as if trying to catch him in checkmate, yet Harry always had the way out. Snape would watch him surreptitiously, but Harry was always aware. He could feel the wizards eyes on him. When Snape looked away, Harry would look up and scrutinise his head of house in return.

The question, of course, was why? Why did this particular wizard have so much interest in him? It couldn't just be the fact that he was supposedly famous. No one else looked at him so intently, questioned him so rigorously. People looked, they whispered, but none of them took it to the level this Severus Snape took. So why? Unanswered questions infuriated Harry, so he vowed to find the answer.

It was a fine Sunday evening and most of the Hogwarts students had taken to roaming the grounds, some of the older ones playing a game called Quidditch, others just lounging in the sun, the younger students running around and exploring. Harry was one of the few that remained inside that day. He was looking for someone. Someone who was most definitely not outside with the others. She was the brown haired girl he had met on the train. He had learnt her name during the first class they shared - Potions - when Snape called her name and she raised her hand meekly. Snape had called her name again, and when he got no response, he looked up, saw her hand, scowled, and then moved on. Her name?

Hermione Granger. Harry smiled just thinking it. She was perhaps the most damaged person in Hogwarts, next to him of course, and he was determined to befriend her.

Harry found her in the library, tucked away in the back. She was bent over a piece of parchment; energetically scribbling away with her quill, scratch scratch scratch without a pause. Harry watched her for several minutes, hidden in the stacks, peering between the gaps in the bookshelves. All alone, she seemed so relaxed and at peace. She was even smiling as she worked. It was a nice sight, and he almost hated to break it, but he wasn't going to make her trust him by stalking her from the shadows.

`Hi,' Harry said, appearing from behind the stacks and walking slowly towards her.

Hermione gave a little squeak and looked up like a startled little rabbit, eyes wide. She stared at him apprehensively.

Harry smiled in what he hoped was a soothing way and continued his slow approach. `It's okay,' he said, `I just saw you studying and thought I'd come over and sit with you. You don't mind, do you? I've got plenty of homework I need to do as well.'

Hermione said not a word, but Harry didn't expect her to. She watched him as he pulled out a chair across the table from her. He didn't want to sit too close. She obviously valued her personal space. He pulled out his books, parchment and quill while she stared, then gave her one last reassuring smile before lowering his head and getting to work. Or at least, he pretended to work, but he was actually sneakily watching Hermione watch him. He occasionally hummed, flipped a page, scribbled a note, but he kept one eye on the nervous girl across from him. After about five minutes, she seemed to relax a little, and lowered her own head to her books.

Harry smiled and got to work for real. They studied together for nearly three hours, neither saying a word the entire time. It was nearly time for the afternoon feast when Harry finally put away his books and stood up.

`Bye Hermione,' he said, giving her a little wave as he left.

Hermione only looked up and watched him leave.

It was the first of many study sessions they had over the following months.

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5. 5

Loneliness

Hermione loved the Ravenclaw common room. It was one of her most favourite places in Hogwarts. The circular room was large and airy, with many windows showing spectacular views of the mountains and landscape around the castle. The thing she loved most about it was the unspoken rule that if a person was seen with a book in hand, doing homework or studying in anyway, then they were to be left in peace. This allowed her to come here and sit and listen to the conversations in the common room as if she were actually a part of them, without fear that anyone would attempt to engage her.

On this particular afternoon she overheard a conversation between a few of her fellow classmates. Terry Boot, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Lisa Turpin sat at a nearby table, talking amongst themselves, seemingly unaware, or maybe just not caring, that she was at the next table.

They were talking about Harry Potter.

`I heard it wasn't just his family he burnt alive,' Michael Corner said. `I heard he burnt down several other homes, with the families trapped inside and screaming for help!'

Lisa Turpin looked horrified, hand over her mouth. `How horrible!'

`That's why they locked him away in that mental place,' Michael explained.

`Until Dumbledore let him out,' Anthony said, `and put us all at risk. Potter is clearly a dark wizard.'

`I'm sure Professor Dumbledore knows what he's doing,' Terry Boot argued.

`But how could anyone want to do that?' Lisa was still transfixed on the idea that Harry had burnt all those people alive.

`Hello! I told you, he's a dark wizard. Like You-Know-Who. They're mental. They don't think like you and I.'

`You act like this is fact,' Terry Boot, the voice of reason, reminded everyone. `We don't really know that he burnt all those people. It's just a rumour.'

`But we do know he burnt his family alive, so it's not really a stretch, is it? If he can do that to his family, he can burn some random people.'

`Let's talk about something else,' Lisa said, shuddering.

Hermione stopped listening after that. It wasn't the first time she had heard people talking about Harry. In the stories they told, he seemed like a monster, and yet she couldn't see him that way. Granted, she hadn't spoken to him, but she had spent many an evening sat with him, and he didn't seem like a monster. She was actually beginning to enjoy the times they spent together just studying. She was getting used to his quiet presence. He was… soothing.

The idea that this very same boy could have done those horrible things was unthinkable. Terry Boot was right. The stories about the other families were just rumours, but it was a fact that Harry had torched his families home with them trapped inside.

Hermione couldn't make the pieces fit. She couldn't connect the boy she knew to the stories they told. It just didn't make sense. Either Harry Potter was a very good actor, or there was more to the story. She was more inclined to believe the latter. Rather, she hoped it was the latter, because she didn't want the closest thing she had to a friend be a lie.

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6. 6

Loneliness

Afternoon Potions had just finished and the class was emptying fast, many students anxious to get away from the imposing figure of Severus Snape. Harry was sorting through a few sheets of parchment, arranging them into order so that he wouldn't have to do it later. Unlike the other students, he didn't fear the Potions Master. As he flipped a sheet the right way up, he could feel Snape's eyes on him from the front of the classroom.

The room was now empty except for the two of them. Harry heard his teacher approaching as he continued to sort his things. Snape stopped in front of him, on the other side of his desk. Harry finished what he was doing and slipped the parchment into his bag, before looking up and meeting Snape's cold eyes.

`Professor?' Harry asked, his voice perfectly innocent sounding.

`How are you finding things in Slytherin House Potter?'

Harry thought for moment. This was highly unusual. Aside from asking him questions during class, Snape had never spoken to him. `It's fine,' he finally replied.

`No trouble with the other students?'

Harry could detect no sense of emotion in Snape's icy drawling voice. `Should there be?'

It was Snape turn to pause, but only for a moment. `Very well. I expect three pages of parchment from you on the uses of the rhylin root in potions.' With those final words, Snape turned abruptly and strode into the back room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Three pages? The rest of the class only needed two pages. Snape was pushing him again, but why?

`Alright,' Harry said softly to himself. Playtime was over. It was time to do some research, and Harry knew exactly where to start. Pulling up the map of Hogwarts in his head, he left the classroom and dungeons behind.

Harry found what he was looking for on the third floor, across from the trophy room. Inside this room, decorating the walls like some strange mural was a list of every single student of Hogwarts down through the ages, sorted into years and houses. Harry began by scanning the nearest tiles, his eyes flickering over the names as he speedily read them all. He stopped when he found the name he was looking for - Severus Snape. Year 1971 to 1978. Slytherin.

Harry took a mental picture of the tablet, fixing the dates in his mind so that he could cross reference them with the school newspaper archive later. Satisfied he had all he needed, he went to leave, but out of the corner of his eye he caught something he had not anticipated - another name, further up the tablet in the Gryffindor column. James Potter. His eyes widened, then darted quickly over the rest of the Gryffindor section. Yes, there. Lily Evans. His mother.

Harry took a step back. So his parents had been in the same year as Severus Snape. That couldn't just be a coincidence. He had to check those old newspaper, and quickly. Luckily, the archive was open to all students of Hogwarts. He ran all the way to the library. Madam Pince shushed him when he arrived, but he ignored her and went straight to the archives.

Harry found the years he wanted and began to flick through the pages as fast as he could, looking for anything that might shed light on the mysterious Severus Snape. He spent the next few days scouring the records, but finding nothing of any importance regarding Snape.

Harry did, however, learn a lot about his parents. His mother Lily was top of her class nearly every year, well liked and respected amongst her peers. His father James was a top class Quidditch player, being a star Chaser and Seeker, depending on the teams needs. He also found lots of photographs of them, which he spent hours staring at, wondering.

Wondering, if they hadn't died, what his life might have been like. Where would they have lived? How would they have treated him? Would he be the same person he was now if they hadn't died? He found himself imagining another life for himself, until one day he realised he was wasting his actual life sitting at the table and staring at old photographs of dead people. He put the papers away and didn't come back. It was pointless to imagine. This was his life, and he had to live it.

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7. 7

Loneliness

Hermione had a lot on her mind. Last week, she had come to the library to study and found Harry looking at old editions of the Hogwarts Gazette. She had frozen on the spot. Harry hadn't noticed her, even as he left the library. The look he had on his face, she had never seen that before. Not on him. It was such a resigned sadness that it broke her heart. She had wasted no time in going over to see what newspapers he had been looking at. When she saw, the broken pieces of her heart had shattered into a thousand more pieces.

Before this event, she had been debating something, going around in circles, her fear of contact and her longing for companionship battling each other. But after witnessing Harry's pain, she was finally able to make a decision. She was ready.

So here she was. Her chance had arrived. Across the library desk, Harry sat, scribbling away with his quill, his forehead scrunched up in concentration. Nervous butterflies roiled in her stomach, making her want to throw up, yet her determination was absolute. She was going to do it. Dry mouthed, she tore of a little bit of parchment and wrote one single word on it: Hi. Her hand was half extended when she froze. All she had to do was drop the little note. It was so simple, and yet so hard. Tears came to her eyes and she fought down a sob as her hand retracted and she slumped back in her seat, feeling ashamed and defeated.

Harry looked up, hearing her chair screech against the floor. She quickly ducked her head to hide her teary eyes. She glanced up through the curtain of her bushy hair and watched as confusion played out across his face. Eventually, he gave up and went back to work. She quickly rubbed her eyes with her free hand; the note crumpled up in her other. In her anger she had made a tight fist. Fingers shaking, she opened up the note and read the one, pathetic little word she had written. Why was it so hard? Why could other, normal people speak so easily to one another? Why couldn't she? Why was it so hard for her to even take this tiny little step towards communication? It wasn't fair.

Realising she was falling into a self-destructive downward spiral, she attempted to calm herself by taking slow, even breaths and counting in her head. One, two, three, four. The simple task, her go to mental exercise, helped her regain her calm and composure.

Hermione looked at the piece of paper in her hand, tracing the one word with her fingertips. This was her chance to finally connect, even if it was tenuous, with the boy who had done more for her than anyone. If she failed this, she would never have another chance. Her failure here would haunt her and destroy any other chances she might have down the line, a poisonous memory. She had to do this.

Hermione steeled herself this time, closed her eyes and counted to three. One. Two. Three. Then she, hand trembling, reached across the desk and dropped the note in front of Harry. She opened her eyes and peered at him sheepishly. He stopped what he was doing, his frown deepening. Finally, a small smile curled his lips, and he looked up at her.

`Hi.'

Hermione blushed, and then ducked her heard and scrawled a reply on her parchment: Thank you for sitting with me. This time it was easier to reach across the table and drop the note.

Harry read it, and then said, `thank you for letting me.'

Hermione's cheeks felt so hot she feared they might explode. Her heart was pounding as she wrote another little message: There's so much I want to say and ask.

Harry smiled. `We have all the time in the world.'

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She raised her hands to cover her face in an attempt to hide what felt like the world's brightest blush, but not just that. She was also hiding a huge smile. She wasn't used to the feeling. It kind of hurt, but in a good way. She kept her hands in front of her face until she felt like her blush had subsided and the smile had gone. When she took her hands away, Harry was still sat there, waiting patiently.

`You okay?'

Her hand flew across the parchment as she replied: Very.

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