"Harry? Are you in here?" The seventeen-year-old groaned inaudibly and shut his eyes at the sound of his best friend's voice. It was ironic that after nine months of leaving him to his own devices Hermione's overbearing nature made its reappearance at the exact moment he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. The ancient knob creaked as it turned, although the freshly greased door hinges were silent. Hermione's dress robes rustled against the wood.
Harry didn't have to open his eyes or listen for the telltale groan of the floorboard to know when exactly she entered Ron's bedroom. The gentle click-click of her high heeled shoes pronounced her steps toward him, but she stopped about a foot away. He had been expecting her to sit down next to him or give him one of her infamous scoldings, and the silence that followed unnerved him. When he finally ventured to peek through squinted eyelids, the first thing he saw was the gently embroidered waist of her robes. The small curlicues made him dizzy. When he looked up from the pale brown material and met her eyes, he found her staring at him with something akin to sympathy. A lump grew unexpectedly in his throat. She didn't shy away from the defiance in his gaze or the ghostly shadows underneath his eyes; and her face, naked of any make-up and framed by ornery hair, bore an understanding even worse than her compassion. "Don't let him have today, Harry. He gets every day after this for a long time, but don't let him have this one, too." Her honey-colored eyes sprang to life with a defiant fire and darkened perceptibly.
"It's not that," he lied. His voice carried the practiced air of boredom he had acquired when the how are you?'s after Sirius's death grew too exhausting to ignore altogether.
"I noticed that Ginny wasn't dancing with anyone." Her voice softening, she settled down across from him on the floor and rested her head on her arms. They were foot-to-foot, and the wave of nostalgia that hit Harry was so strong he could almost believe they were back at Hogwarts in fourth year, trying to find a way to accomplish the impossible. An unexpected flood of emotions temporarily rushed him.
"So?" he answered, and this time the tiredness in his voice was genuine. "We broke up weeks ago. She knows where we stand."
"Are you saying you wouldn't care if she was dancing with Dean or Neville?" Hermione replied, eyebrow raised calmly in question. The chest monster that had given him so much trouble last year merely let out a pitiful whine of protest.
"She's free to move on if she wants to," he said firmly. He could tell that she didn't believe him and it made his hackles rise. Who was she, the girl who had been a complete mess over Ron for the entirety of the year, to be commenting on his love life? Your friend, the voice remarkably like hers whispered. When he let out a troubled sigh she looked at him worriedly. "I'm fine," he snapped, "no aching scar, no dying father figures, no Half Blood Princes." A sheen that markedly resembled tears glimmered in Hermione's eyes, and Harry felt a stab of regret. She was, after all, only trying to help.
"You should know that I really was worried about you – during that mess with the potions book," she said after a moment. "It wasn't all jealousy. I didn't want you to get mixed up in something dangerous, not when we had no idea what could happen."
"Well it's done now, isn't it?" he said bitterly. "You were right, of course." Her withdrawal was palpable. He found himself flinching as she drew her knees in and stood unsteadily.
"If I wanted this sort of argument, I'd go find Ron." Her voice was quiet and trembled slightly. "I only wanted to make you feel better, you know. But I won't sit here and let you make me feel guilty about looking out for you." The softness of her voice made her words sting even more. As she walked to the door he called out after her.
"You used to stay when I said that sort of thing." Hermione stilled. She turned around, her features stony and her eyes guilty.
"What?"
"When I would say or do something awful. You... you would stay anyway. You would be hurt, and you would make sure I knew that, but... it never stopped you from convincing me to do whatever needed doing." Her shoulders stiffened and her face pinched up in a way reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.
"You're not a little boy anymore. You have Ron, after all, and if you would let her be a part of your life you would have Ginny."
"They're not you," Harry said, and the weight of Hermione's absence from his life in the past year bore down on him for the first time. Hermione wore a curious expression.
"Well you don't exactly want me, do you?" Harry was sure that this time he wasn't imagining her tears. "You're going to go off and fight Voldemort and come back to Ginny and become Ron's brother-in-law, and I'll be where I've always been: on the sidelines. It's not as if we'll be friends once this is all over with," she said, her only outward sign of emotion the shaking in her voice. Harry leapt to his feet and glared at her, striding forward until their faces were inches apart.
"Who was the one who visited you for hours every day in the hospital wing last spring? Who was the one comforting you while Ron was off snogging Lavendar? Merlin's beard, Hermione, you were the one trying to get Ginny and I together!"
"You don't think I know that?! I didn't say it made any sense!" she shouted, her face now streaked with tears. "Besides, Ginny was vastly over exaggerating my role in your relationship. I may have given her some advice after third year but that was the extent of it. And the only reason you visited me every day in the hospital wing last year was because you felt guilty!" Her voice had risen in volume steadily, and Harry was almost tempted to cover his ears.
"Of course I felt guilty! I led us all into a trap, one which you had recognized beforehand, and you ended up almost getting killed! Do you really think that I could forget that so easily?"
"You never said anything!" she protested, her voice much more resigned. "I was waiting for you to say it."
"That I was wrong?" Harry stared at her in disbelief, unable to recognize her as the girl he'd befriended seven years ago. She shook her head furiously. "What then? That I was sorry? That I was worried about you?" Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"That you cared. Oh, Harry, that was all I ever wanted to hear. I know that you show it; you and Ron both. But Harry, you were always the one who told me anyway - that you were sorry, that I was right, that things would be okay or that we really were best friends. I didn't need you to say you loved me or that you would have died if I hadn't been all right, but you never-" She broke off, and it was then that Harry saw that the faint lines around her eyes weren't from smiling but from worrying.
"I do care, Hermione. How could I not, after all we've been through?" A muffled sniffle was the entirety of her response. Harry ran an awkward hand through his hair, searching his mind desperately for the perfect words to repair their brittle friendship. Nothing came to him. His pulse fluttered in his ears, and for the first time ever he was worried that he might lose her for good. "You've been there when no one else has. You believed me when I said I didn't put my name in the cup. You spend hours in the library whenever you hear about anything that might pose a threat to my wellbeing. I can't stand it when we're fighting."
"You've been mad at me lots of times," she said bitterly. "You spent most of fifth and sixth year mad at me, and a good deal of third, too." He let a small smile form on his lips.
"Like I said, I'm not in good shape when the two of us are arguing." Her face softened, and the smile she gave him was so far from maternal or sisterly or whatever he'd always classified Hermione as that his breath caught. She might not look as perfect as she had at the Yule Ball and her eyes might not be dancing in that insanely becoming way they did when she was truly amused; but she was beautiful. "Hermione," he began, not sure what he intended to say.
"Yes?" Her smile was so eager and endearing that he couldn't finish verbalizing the half-thought on the fringes of his mind. To ruin this moment with silly out-of-place feelings would be a crime.
"Thank you for coming to check on me." If her smile didn't dim, the light in her eyes did.
"You know me; never able to resist taking Harry Potter down a peg or two." A hint of a dimple appeared in her cheek. The self-deprecating remark hurt for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom.
"You make it sound like a bad thing," he said, playing along. The unconcerned shrug she gave didn't draw him away from the way her shoulders suddenly slumped. "You look exhausted." At her questioning glare he blushed. "No, I don't mean - what I'm trying to say is - well, why don't we leave now? The reception's been under way for more than an hour, and I don't think Ron will miss us. We can apparate up to Hogsmeade for a bit." It was impulsive and unplanned and very likely against a few rules, but she nodded in assent all the same.
As they made their way to the door two disgruntled redheads came down the hall at a clipped pace. "Where have you been? You both disappeared hours ago," Ginny exaggerated, cocking her head to the side and studying the shoulder of Harry's robes.
"Hermione, I was wondering... would you fancy a dance?" Ron asked, sputtering and turning a mottled shade of beet red. An impish grin covered the younger Weasley's face and she made a motion to hide it behind her hand.
Hermione glanced between the two boys for a moment, and Harry couldn't help the dread that filled him at the indecisiveness in her eyes. There had been a time when she would have declined Ron's offer instantly just to make sure he was all right (or had he imagined that time?). Now things were different. Now she and Ron fancied each other. "I - that is, Harry and I were just -" She stumbled over her words much in the same way Ron had, and Harry finally decided to be merciful and come to her aid.
"It's all right. It'll keep," he told her, knowing very well that neither Hogsmeade nor the moment would be the same soon enough. A frown worried her forehead as she took Ron's hand and let him escort her down the hall. He kept his eyes firmly planted on the floor but noticed her head craning to keep him in sight for as long as possible.
"Well," Ginny said brightly, "what do you say? For old times' sake?" They could hardly be classified as old times, and Harry was still feeling Hermione's absence more keenly than he should have. Maybe it was because of this that he held out his arm for the red-haired girl to take.
"Why not?"
Her body was unmistakably Ginny's; his eyes (and sometimes hands) had traveled its length too many times to mistake. But as they made their way to the backyard, he couldn't help but imagine the girl next to him to be someone else entirely.