She knew what could have happened the second Ron left them. As she chased him, begging and pleading for him to come back, the possibilities regarding the aftermath if he did so throbbed at the back of her mind; it was a part of the reason she didn't want him to leave. Though months prior she'd accepted her romantic feelings for him and cared for him deeply, there was something else that triggered her to take off into the rain that night. Quite frankly, she didn't want to be alone with Harry.

It wasn't that she was afraid of him or anything, she knew he'd never raise a hand to her or hurt her intentionally in any way, but still, that fear was there. He was her best friend, a boy she'd known since she was eleven; they'd shared secrets and helped each other through the most difficult of times. Believe it or not, this relationship, as good as it was, threatened everything she'd worked so hard to build. She cared for Ron, she'd fallen for him instead. She wasn't sure what exactly she'd fallen for if she were to ask herself, she just knew that her feelings were so intense that she sunk to her knees and vomited instantly after his disapparation. She couldn't bear to lose him; not only was he the person she loved, but he was one of her closest friends. Though abandoned in the middle of a war, she wanted to preserve that feeling for his return; she felt if she lost her love then she'd lose him forever, that a part of him lingered in her and would remain there as long as she missed him. She wasn't ready to let him go, and Harry threatened that.

She never felt romantically for the chosen one, but she feared the reason was because Ron was always there; that the gleam of his ginger hair was so bright that it masked the other. Now, the light was gone, and Harry was exposed.

At first, Hermione did her best to ignore him. She would think about Ron to force herself to cry, for she knew if she did, he'd most likely leave her be. Out of all his amazing qualities, Harry did have that one fault, amongst a few others, and those were what she was focusing on right now, just in case. She didn't think she could fall for him even if she tried, but there was always that possibility. Love is not a choice. If it was, she wouldn't still be loving the boy who left her, and she wouldn't have to hate herself for doing so. She knew it was horrible, unsensible even, but she came to accept the fact that he could probably run her through with the sword of Gryffindor and she'd still want him. Her head told her no, but her heart screamed against it; the soul wants what it wants, and there's nothing anyone could do about it.

When it came to Harry, she was glad he ignored her most nights. When they'd talk, it was almost always about horcruxes, and when it wasn't it was about something she'd read up on which could possibly save their life in a duel, whether it be a jinx or curse. However, often times she'd find him staring at her. She didn't think it was in the way she feared, because the corners of his eyes were turned too far down in order to be anything like that. He felt bad for her. Normally, she wouldn't accept anyone's pity, but quite frankly, she felt bad for herself too. She was contributing to her own sadness, but that was just how she wanted it. Normally, Harry kept to himself, but not tonight.

She sat fantasizing, buried within the blankets atop her bunk; she'd stolen Ron's, and they smelled like him, only contributing to her thoughts. She wiped her eyes with the corner of one of the blankets, only to hear a soft tune above the sound of her sniffles. Harry had turned on the radio. She was well aware it was probably to drown out her sounds, but the theory only made her laugh; she wondered how she'd allowed herself to get as low as she was. The sounds of pots and pans banging together came next. Without having to turn, she knew her friend had taken the liberty to clean the kitchen after their makeshift dinner. She got Ron's blankets, he got Ron's chores. Her shoulders slumped and she began picking her nails, thinking about whether or not she was treating the only companion she had left kindly enough.

She looked up and stared at tent seams when she heard Fred's voice over the speaker. He wasn't Ron, but he was Ron's brother. That was close enough. Tears threatened to spill from her lids again, so she slumped back into her previous position, pressing her face into the pillow. She told herself not to cry again, that she needed to get together, and that she was pathetic. If you were Ginny, I'd tell you to get out of bed and make something of yourself to show him! She thought. She was right, but when she'd shared that advice with her friend she hadn't known the feeling. Though she was irritated with her close friend for being lethargic after a breakup, she realized that grass is not always greener on the other side. Taking her own advice, she sat up and wiped the purple bags under her eyes with her sleeve. It was usually easy for her to keep herself from crying, she'd just think of all the happy things. Sadly, there were no happy things left.

She couldn't think of her parents, because no matter what memory she recalled, their current absence and withdrawal from her life only made the pain worse. She couldn't think of any other friends at school without worrying about them, and she couldn't think about Ron or Harry given they were two of her largest emotional tolls. She decided not to think about people, so she thought about the stars.

It wasn't soon before long when she felt Harry's eyes burning between her shoulder blades. She sighed. It's been a month. He's not coming back. He abandoned you, so abandon him. The two remaining teens were living together for Merlin's sake, she couldn't avoid him forever. So, for the first time in months, she turned to look at him, but to her surprise, he wasn't at the sink. Instead, he came towards her with his hand cautiously outstretched, as if he were approaching a stray animal. She looked down, and noticed the music had changed. This next song was upbeat, and not as sad as the last. Her gaze shifting about the room, she took his hand.

Without a word, he guided her to the middle of the tent and took her other hand. He began to move her arms slowly then attempted to spin her under his arm. She didn't want to, but complied anyway. He was trying, and she had to let him try. She could tell he knew she wasn't all into it, but he tried to make her smile by doing odd, poorly choreographed moves. Some nearly had him on the floor, but it was worth it, for over time she indeed began to laugh. As he flung her around with care, the weight she'd been carrying lifted off her shoulders; she could breathe again. The two laughed, and as the song slowed he instinctively pulled her close. She clung to him as if he were her last lifeline, and rested her chin on his shoulder before closing her eyes. They swayed on the spot long after the song ended. They danced through Lee's chatting until he said goodnight and the station went dead. With the static of the radio they stepped apart, leaving only a couple inches between them. They looked at each other then. It was odd for her to be this close to him for so long, but despite her discomfort, she remained. She needed to let Ron go, and what better way than to grab a hold of something else, even if she didn't want to. There was a sadness in his eyes too. Guilt, loneliness, and longing radiated from him. He felt the same way she did. When he danced with her, he pictured Ginny, just as she did Ron.

Some odd feeling panged through her as their stomachs brushed against each other; he still held her one of her hands in his from dancing. He squeezed it.

"No commitments?" He asked, quietly and without energy.

She wasn't quite sure what he was asking. Commitments to each other, or commitments to Ron and Ginny? Either way, the answer was still the same. She shook her head before looking up at him. He sighed and gazed at her a second longer. She gazed back. She didn't want him, she just wanted to feel wanted. He didn't love her, he was just lonely. Harry's hand then rested on her cheek as he lowered his mouth to hers.

It felt wrong. Everything within her pleaded for her to step back, but she didn't. Her head told her to continue, to force it, because the more times you do something, the more natural it becomes. She always listened to her head, for the one time she strayed from it she allowed herself to be hurt. Besides, they could die at any moment, and the last time she'd been kissed was three years ago by Viktor. She was confused though, because the same part of her that demanded she forget Ron imagined him as Harry was kissing her. She wondered how she could feel if it had been Ron instead, if he'd never left. She wanted to know if the skin of his lips felt the same way, and she imagined it was his large had at the small of her back, pressing her against him. Suddenly, she wanted isolation again.

Her hands reached his shoulders and gave him a slight push. He backed away immediately, and in the midst of him asking what was wrong, she told him,

"I can't do this," She said, her eyes glued to the floor. "I'm sorry."

He inhaled loudly then sighed, not in annoyance but in understanding. Harry clapped her on the back as he walked away to give her the space she so desperately desired. She exhaled loudly and moved to sit on her bunk. She did not cry. It was an action she couldn't do for whatever reason. She then wondered if she'd cried so much that her body was physically unable to do it anymore. So instead, she rolled over and went to sleep.

She awoke the next morning to the sound of pots and pans clinking together, and wondered if the whole thing had been a dream.

"Hermione?" Harry asked from across the tent, hearing her stir.

"Yes?" The brunette sat in her bunk, blankets around her waist with her hand rubbing her eyes in exhaustion. He turned to face her with a dishrag in his hand, and leaned back against the counter.

"I'm sorry I kissed you last night."

It had not been a dream. Hermione's eyes found Ron's deserted bunk and made their way back to Harry clear across to the other side of the room.

"I'm sorry I let you." She attempted to joke, forcing a half smile. The corner of his lips turned up too as he chuckled under his breath and shook his head before returning to his duty of wiping counters.

"If it makes you feel better, it was on a whim. I don't," he paused, sighing and speaking behind him. "Care for you like that."

"I know." She answered. "I feel the same way. Let's just, never do that again?"

"Agreed."

The pair then began to discuss horcruxes and Voldemort the same way they'd been doing so since the day they were left. Hermione began to instruct on the protective spells she used for the campsite, so that he could do them in case of her injury. He nodded his head in attendance, listening to her every word. They appeared to be almost back to normal, but they both knew that the other was dying inside not only to the loss of the one they love, but also because of the burning betrayal they felt they'd committed against their respective Weasleys.