hey! so, here's my next fanfic. i was uber-pleased with all the responses i got from 'second kiss', so if u havent read that, then i suggest you should! anyway, enjoy this one, it's a oneshot! AHAHAHAHA have fun! and merry christmas everyone!
HPloveofmylife

She hadn't moved for what felt like hours. The locket hung around her neck, so lifeless and still, and yet it brought dark thoughts to her mind. Thoughts so dark that she would never be able to repeat them. About murdering Harry just so that they wouldn't have to fight this battle where enough blood had already been spilled, so that she would be able to see her parents again. So that she could go and find Ron and bring him home. Bring him home to her. She wanted him next to her, where he belonged, so that at least she could feel that, feel his familiar presence next to her as she had for 7 years.

Harry came in from his watch duty and sat in the loveseat over in the corner, but Hermione refused to look at him, instead focusing on the old radio that sat next to her, and she reached out, fiddling with the dial until she reached a station that was playing one of her mother's favourite Muggle song, 'O'Children', by Nick Cave. She could feel Harry watching her, but she didn't meet his eyes – she couldn't. As far as she was concerned, it was his fault that Ron had left, even though a little part of her kept whispering, 'No it's not. You're just mad at him because of the locket.'

And eventually, she felt a presence in front of her, and she looked up to see her best friend, the boy with the pitch black hair and the dark green eyes and the glasses and the lightening bolt scar, standing in front of her, his hand outstretched toward her. She stared at him for a moment, and then took both his hands, letting him pull her to her feet. He led her to the space in the middle of the room and gently released her hands, looking down at her chest. At first she was wondering what he was looking at but then she felt cool hands reach behind her neck and unclasp the locket. He brought it out from underneath her dark, frizzy ponytail and tossed it aside, letting it land on the side of the tent with a sharp clang. Hermione stared at it, eyes blurry. She felt better without the locket, but not much.

Harry took her hands in his and stared into her dark brown eyes, and she looked back, unblinking, uncaring, into his sea-green irises. He entwined his fingers with hers, and it hit Hermione, the realization of what he was doing: he was going to dance.

And she let him.

Harry spun her around the tent, making her laugh and giggle in what felt like years. She hadn't laughed like that since Ron had left – hell, she hadn't said anything since Ron had left. Harry was spinning her and twirling her and making her laugh, and she was doing the same, letting the music get the best of her. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, letting the feeling of happiness surge up inside her as all her fears and worries dropped away. But then her imagination slipped in, took hold of her mind, and suddenly it wasn't Harry who was spinning her around, it wasn't Harry whose arms she was wrapped in.

It was Ron's.

His long, freckled arms were the ones that twirled her; the ones that closed around her and made her feel safe. It was his light blue eyes that stared into her, not dark green. But she couldn't see his light, playful smirk anymore. The image that was burnt into her brain was the sneer he had given her when he had left, when he had walked out into the pouring rain without as much as a look back. How hurt and dark his eyes looked. And the image tore at her insides, ripped her heart to shreds. She just wanted Ron to be the one holding her, be the one making her laugh as he had done so often. And with her eyes closed, it felt like it.

But then, she opened her eyes, and her fairytale world faded, her imagination lost its kick, and she was left in Harry's arms, her head on his shoulders as she breathed him in and he pulled her closer. They stayed that way for a bit, just wrapped in each other's embrace, comforting each other as though hoping that by closing the distance between each other, they could somehow comfort each other about the loss of their best friend. But it was impossible – he was still missing, like a hole in a circle.

Hermione stepped back, and Harry released her, obviously waiting for her to say something, a reaction, anything.

She knew she should have thanked him or apologized for her crappy attitude over the past few weeks. But she couldn't bring herself to do it, couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes and thank him, but know deep down that she was thanking him not for making her laugh, but for making her realize that she needed Ron more than ever. Hermione blinked at him, tears clouding her vision as he peered at her, love in his eyes. He looked so much like Ron, and she wanted to believe that it was him, that it was the boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago, but it wasn't.

Hermione turned on her heel and walked back to her bed, pulling her legs close to her chest as she rested her head on her knees and cried. She needed him, she needed Ron, that was all there was to it. But Harry had made her feel a little bit better by making her dance, making her laugh and enjoy herself for once in a long time.

Sometimes Hermione wished you could just dance your problems away.