It's not mine. I'd be much wealthier if it was, and then I'd be able to
afford all the things I so desperately want.
~*~
It was only a couple of weeks into their summer holidays after their fifth year. Things had been relatively peaceful in the weeks since the Ministry's acknowledgment of Voldemort's return. Well, as peaceful as they could be.
A redheaded boy sat in his room at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, writing what appeared to be a letter. He had not been allowed out of the house since his return from school, and frankly, he was a bit bored. Ron Weasley, for that was who the boy was, was the only Weasley boy living in the house. In fact, he was the only boy, whether a Weasley or not, living in the house. And while he got along with his sister, he wasn't sure he could listen to her talk about Dean Thomas any longer.
Which is why Ron had become such a wonderful pen pal over the last two weeks.
Hermione- I agree with you; there must be something we can do for him. He's very broken up about the whole situation, but you can hardly blame him. His godfather is gone, leaving him stuck more than ever with his aunt and uncle. I don't know what we should do. I can hardly figure out where to begin. I've been told that, for your safety, you'll be arriving here tomorrow. We can talk about this more tomorrow. Until then, be careful and take care. -Ron
Ron let the ink dry on the parchment before rolling it up, and walking over to Pig's cage. He carefully tied the roll onto the small owl's leg, and allowed him to fly off into the night. It took only seconds before Ron could no longer see the owl in the sky.
Sighing, Ron changed into his pajamas, and climbed into bed. Images of Hermione being hurt raced through his head as he slowly fell into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, Ron was awoken by the sounds of banging on his door.
"Ron, it's time for breakfast!" Ginny called through the wooden panel before he heard her hurrying down the stairs.
Groggily, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled some clothes on. Then he opened his door and walked slowly down the stairs, needing sustenance before he could be fully awake. Upon entering the kitchen, he sagged into a chair and waited for his mum to bring out the breakfast.
Ron didn't have to wait long.
After breakfast, Ron headed back upstairs to shower before doing his mother's bidding for the remainder of his day. At about 10 o'clock that morning, while Ron was cleaning another dusty and filthy room, they could hear a voice calling through the house.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
Ron jumped up, and began running towards the person, feet pounding the floor in an effort to see her alive and well. When he got to the landing, he put his hands on the rail, and quickly scanned the room. He spotted her almost immediately.
There she was, standing with her trunk in the middle of the living room. She was partly covered with soot, having just arrived by floo, but it hardly mattered; Ron was covered in dust and grime from cleaning all morning.
"Hermione!" he cried, racing down the stairs to meet her.
"Hello Ron," she said with a grin.
"Hello," he replied before sweeping her into an uncharacteristic hug. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you, too," she told him when he released her. "It's always weird to be home and not see the two of you every day."
Ron nodded, and picked up one of the handles on her trunk. "Let's get your stuff into Ginny's room, and then you can come help us clean."
"Alright," Hermione said, grabbing the other handle. "Lead the way."
Together, they lifted her trunk and climbed the flight of stairs. The two of them walked down the long hallway, before stopping at a door near the end, across from his room. Ron knocked, and when he received no reply, carefully opened the door.
"Just want to be sure she's not in here. I cannot imagine anything more scarring than seeing my little sister changing clothes or something," Ron muttered as an explanation.
Hermione giggled, but followed him into the room. They set her trunk down at the foot of the bed near the window.
"I'm sorry you have to have this bed," Ron commented, gesturing towards the other unmade bed. "But it's quite obvious that Ginny has staked her claim."
Hermione giggled again. "It's alright. I like windows. I especially love ones with window seats like this one. They're nice to sit on, and stare into the night. It's a nice place to sit and think."
Ron smiled softly. "Well, if Ginny is ever using yours, you're welcome to use the one in my room."
Hermione smiled as well. "Thank you, Ron."
They stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments, until they heard Mrs. Weasley. "Ron! If you've gotten Hermione settled in, Ginny and I could really use some help up here!" she cried, ordering his help more than requesting.
"Meet you up there?" Ron asked, gesturing out the door to another flight of stairs.
"Yes. I'll be just one moment. I'll have to change into clothes for cleaning. I don't want these to get dirty," she replied.
Ron nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind him. He headed back upstairs to help his sister and his mum, and only had to wait a few minutes before Hermione joined them in a frantic cleaning of the house.
The four of them cleaned until the early evening, with only a small break for lunch. When they finally stopped fighting their battle with dirt, Mrs. Weasley went downstairs to begin cooking for the people who dined with the Order every evening, including a large number of Order members themselves. Ginny went to take a shower in the girls' bathroom just as Ron was going to shower in the boys' bathroom.
That is, until he realized that Hermione probably wanted the shower more than he did. "You can use my bathroom, Hermione," he offered.
"Are you sure?" she questioned.
"Yes. Just take your clothes into the bathroom with you, and I'll go help Mum with dinner," he insisted.
Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Ron. I feel like such a mess, and I don't want to have to wait for your sister."
"It's no trouble," he replied airily before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Unfortunately for him, however, the dish of choice that night was a time-consuming one. Dinner was late, and Ron did not have time to shower before it was served.
In fact, dinner was so late that Ginny and Hermione went to bed right after helping clean up the dishes. Ron would have done the same, knowing that he would be woken early the next morning to clean more, but he desperately wanted his shower. So Ron took his pajamas into the bathroom with him, and indulged in a long, hot shower. After about fifteen minutes, Ron turned the water off, and toweled himself dry. He put on his pajamas, and then toweled most of the water out of his hair. He hung the towel on the rack, knowing it meant instant death from his mother if he didn't. Then he exited, ready to fall into his bed and go to sleep.
But Ron had to change his plans when he saw Hermione curled up on his window seat with her knees tucked up under her chin, looking out at the sky.
"Hello Hermione," he said softly, not wanting to scare her as he padded across the room to sit on the other side of the window seat in the same position.
"Hello Ron. I'm sure that you didn't mean for me to use this at night, but Ginny likes to sleep with the curtains closed. I needed to think something through, to see if it was as ridiculous as it seemed when I first heard it," she replied.
Ron got situated on the seat while Hermione turned her attention back to the stars and streetlights. "Would you like some help? I'm very good at identifying ridiculous things," he offered.
Hermione turned and stared at him for several minutes, as if she was carefully calculating her response in her head. Ron did not look away, positive that Hermione's scrutiny was necessary for some reason.
After wrenching her gaze from his, Hermione finally spoke. "My parents sent me to a specific kind of Muggle doctor called a psychologist last week."
"What's a psychologist?" Ron inquired.
"Their job is to understand problems of the mind and suggest solutions. So when Dumbledore sent my parents an owl explaining about Voldemort, begging them to keep me in Hogwarts, they decided to send me to one so that I could get out all of my feelings before I went back to school. They were hoping that by doing so, I would be able to face things more calmly and with a clear conscience," Hermione explained to him.
"What does a person do when they go to a psychologist?" Ron asked, still not quite sure what they did.
"Well, they ask you some very basic questions about your life. Then they just let you ramble on and on and on about whatever it is that works you up the most. When I went as a younger child, when I was about seven or eight, we played games where I had to make up scenarios. Then the psychologist made her decision based on the kinds of scenarios I concocted. I suppose she saw some sort of pattern. I don't really know what she said; my parents never told me," she answered, looking out of the window, this time at the street below.
"So a psychologist helps you work out the root of the problem, rather than the surface?" Ron asked, wanting to clarify and simplify.
Hermione nodded, still avoiding looking at Ron. "Exactly."
"Do you mind if I ask what you talked to the psychologist about?" Ron asked tentatively.
She shook her head. "She started by asking me a few questions about my family, but then I told her I went to a boarding school in Scotland. Once I did, she started asking questions about my school."
Ron panicked, remembering many of the laws the Ministry had passed to keep their world safe from the Muggles. "What did you tell her?"
Hermione smiled, knowing what sparked Ron's rapidly spoken question. "I told her that even though I went to a boarding school, I spent all of my time living in a world of my imagination. Anything and everything about this world affected me, so any problem of mine had stemmed from that."
Ron relaxed immediately. "What did she do then?"
Hermione chuckled quietly. "She smiled at me like I was crazy, and asked me how long I'd been living in my imaginary world. I replied that I had lived there since I had discovered I was going to boarding school. And then I began to tell her about everything that happened to me while I was there. I told her about how I had memorized all of my schoolbooks before the year had even ended. I told her about the famous boy and the redheaded boy that I met while on the train to school while looking for another boy's pet toad. I told her how I heard them talking about how horrible I was after I left the compartment. From that moment, I was determined to show the whole school that I didn't need any of them."
Ron looked stricken. "I'm sorry you heard that Hermione; I'm sorry we were so nasty to you; but I'm most sorry that we said that in the first place."
"It's okay now, Ron," she said. But when she turned her head to reassure him, Ron saw that her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. He instinctively opened his arms to her and enclosed her in his embrace once she had settled in with her back against his chest. Hermione was still looking out of the window as she spoke.
"I continued to tell the psychologist about those two rotten boys, Harry and Ron, whom I'd met on the train. I told her about every time they had gotten in trouble and had points taken away from them. I even told her about when the three of us plus Neville found Fluffy at the end of the third floor corridor. She thought I was mad when I explained that in my imaginary world, I went to a school that taught magic. She believed that I was even crazier when I continued to explain that Fluffy had three heads, much like Cerberus."
Ron chuckled, his chest vibrating against Hermione. "If I were a Muggle, I'd think you were crazy too. Hell, I believe you're crazy already."
When Hermione craned her neck to see and chastise him, she noticed his grin and softened. "I believe I am, too. Especially after what she told me was the root of my 'problems.'"
"And what was that, exactly?"
"I'm getting to that. But then I told her about Halloween, and how Ron had said the nastiest thing about me, and I had overheard it. The walls I'd built at such a young age crumbled instantly, and I cried in the bathroom the entire afternoon. It was several hours later that I was beginning to leave when a large troll walked in. The troll was ugly, and many feet taller than I was. I'd never been so scared. But just when I was sure I was going to die, Harry and Ron came to save me. Harry distracted the ugly brute, and Ron used a fantastic levitation charm and knocked the troll out with his own club. When the professors came in to investigate, I lied to them. I was so amazed and grateful that the two boys had done this for me, even after all the nagging I had done, that I lied. And then the psychologist asked me a peculiar question."
"And what question was that, Hermione?" Ron pressed her, wanting Hermione's story to end so that she could tell him what it was that psychologist had told her.
"She wanted to know why I was smiling. She thought it was strange that retelling a seemingly traumatic event made me smile like a love-struck fool."
There was a long pause, but finally Ron could wait no longer. "Then what happened?"
"She asked me about the two of you, one at a time. First, she questioned me about Harry. I told her that he was my friend. I would always be there to support him, and that I was willing to die for him. I explained about the Sorcerer's stone; about flying on Buckbeak to save Sirius from the Dementor's kiss; about teaching him to do many simple charms and hexes for the TriWizard Tournament; and how even though he'd pushed us away this last year, we still stood by him."
Ron smiled at the memories as Hermione continued.
"And then she asked about you. I told her that even though I know it was Harry's idea, I've always thought of you as my savior from the troll. I told her about you sacrificing yourself on the chessboard so that Harry and I could go on. I explained to her about how you defended me every time Malfoy said something nasty to me, but especially the first time he called me a Mudblood, and you wound up vomiting slugs for the rest of the day. I explained to her that the two of us always argued about the stupidest things, except for third year when you thought Crookshanks ate Scabbers. But even though we always argued, we were always still best friends afterwards. I told her about every time Harry wound up in the Hospital wing, and the two of us spent so much time talking to one another that we knew everything about each other. And then she asked about our fourth year."
"What did you tell her about our fourth year?"
"I told her about the Quidditch World Cup, and how we had such a wonderful time together before Harry got there, because for once, he wasn't injured during our time together. But the next thing I remember about you from our fourth year was the Yule Ball. I probably spent an hour ranting and complaining about you and your behavior in the month before the ball. I told her about how Viktor invited me to the ball, but I had to accept even though I hadn't wanted to. I told her about how you hadn't believed me, and had seemed even more surprised to find that I was a girl. Then I told her how you had badgered me about my date for the remaining time, but then hadn't noticed I was there when you passed me in the Entrance Hall. I told her about our fight that evening. And then I stopped talking, only to discover that I had stood up and started pacing the room. And even worse, she was smiling at me in the weirdest way."
"Did you ask her about it?" Ron wanted to know.
"I did, but since I was quite cranky at the time, I ended up snapping at her. She dismissed my question and asked about our fifth year. I told her that the two of us had never spent so much time together, but that it had been fun. Even though we had our big tests at the end of the year, I had learned to relax a lot because of you. We got along better, and I told her about how proud I'd been when you made the house team. I told her about the kiss I gave you on the cheek before the first game, and then her smile got even wider."
"That must have been very frustrating for you," Ron commented knowingly.
"Yes, so I asked her again. And she told me why she was smiling. And her response is the reason I was sitting in here, looking out at the stars from your window seat," Hermione finished quietly.
But Ron was not ready for the story to end. He was madly curious, and was determined to find out the answer the psychologist had given. "What did she tell you?"
Hermione ignored him, looking out of the window, again gazing at the streetlights that shone into the window.
After several impatient moments, Ron repeated his question. "What did she- "
Hermione interrupted him with a barely spoken question "Do you think it's silly to fall in love with one of your best friends?"
And at that moment, Ron knew that Hermione was either in love with him or Harry. He prayed to all that he considered holy that it was him. But whether it was The-Boy-Who-Lived or his sidekick that held the heart of the girl they both held most dear, Ron was determined to answer the question truthfully.
"I think falling in love with your best friend makes the most sense in the entire world. It's the next natural step if you're attracted to them. And I think that having them as your best friend only makes the relationship more special," he replied to her question.
Several more moments of silence passed before Ron braved to speak again. "Which one of us did she say you were in love with, Hermione?"
Hermione immediately, but briefly, tensed before craning her head to see him. "It was you, Ron. She said that she had seen that smile on the faces of a thousand patients, and she never failed to enjoy telling them. But she especially enjoyed telling patients like me-patients that had spent hours of time and hundreds of pounds, telling her about that one person. By the end of the session, she knew her patients love so intimately, she could immediately tell me or the next person if they felt the same."
"What did she say about my feelings, because I know you asked," he teased gently.
"She believes that you feel the same," Hermione said softly.
What seemed like a million years passed as Hermione held her breath, waiting for Ron to speak again.
"She was right," he stated softly before pressing his lips against hers. And as he pulled her into his lap, creating a more comfortable position for both of them, the new couple thought of little but each other and the feelings they could now let free.
~*~
It was only a couple of weeks into their summer holidays after their fifth year. Things had been relatively peaceful in the weeks since the Ministry's acknowledgment of Voldemort's return. Well, as peaceful as they could be.
A redheaded boy sat in his room at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, writing what appeared to be a letter. He had not been allowed out of the house since his return from school, and frankly, he was a bit bored. Ron Weasley, for that was who the boy was, was the only Weasley boy living in the house. In fact, he was the only boy, whether a Weasley or not, living in the house. And while he got along with his sister, he wasn't sure he could listen to her talk about Dean Thomas any longer.
Which is why Ron had become such a wonderful pen pal over the last two weeks.
Hermione- I agree with you; there must be something we can do for him. He's very broken up about the whole situation, but you can hardly blame him. His godfather is gone, leaving him stuck more than ever with his aunt and uncle. I don't know what we should do. I can hardly figure out where to begin. I've been told that, for your safety, you'll be arriving here tomorrow. We can talk about this more tomorrow. Until then, be careful and take care. -Ron
Ron let the ink dry on the parchment before rolling it up, and walking over to Pig's cage. He carefully tied the roll onto the small owl's leg, and allowed him to fly off into the night. It took only seconds before Ron could no longer see the owl in the sky.
Sighing, Ron changed into his pajamas, and climbed into bed. Images of Hermione being hurt raced through his head as he slowly fell into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, Ron was awoken by the sounds of banging on his door.
"Ron, it's time for breakfast!" Ginny called through the wooden panel before he heard her hurrying down the stairs.
Groggily, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled some clothes on. Then he opened his door and walked slowly down the stairs, needing sustenance before he could be fully awake. Upon entering the kitchen, he sagged into a chair and waited for his mum to bring out the breakfast.
Ron didn't have to wait long.
After breakfast, Ron headed back upstairs to shower before doing his mother's bidding for the remainder of his day. At about 10 o'clock that morning, while Ron was cleaning another dusty and filthy room, they could hear a voice calling through the house.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
Ron jumped up, and began running towards the person, feet pounding the floor in an effort to see her alive and well. When he got to the landing, he put his hands on the rail, and quickly scanned the room. He spotted her almost immediately.
There she was, standing with her trunk in the middle of the living room. She was partly covered with soot, having just arrived by floo, but it hardly mattered; Ron was covered in dust and grime from cleaning all morning.
"Hermione!" he cried, racing down the stairs to meet her.
"Hello Ron," she said with a grin.
"Hello," he replied before sweeping her into an uncharacteristic hug. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you, too," she told him when he released her. "It's always weird to be home and not see the two of you every day."
Ron nodded, and picked up one of the handles on her trunk. "Let's get your stuff into Ginny's room, and then you can come help us clean."
"Alright," Hermione said, grabbing the other handle. "Lead the way."
Together, they lifted her trunk and climbed the flight of stairs. The two of them walked down the long hallway, before stopping at a door near the end, across from his room. Ron knocked, and when he received no reply, carefully opened the door.
"Just want to be sure she's not in here. I cannot imagine anything more scarring than seeing my little sister changing clothes or something," Ron muttered as an explanation.
Hermione giggled, but followed him into the room. They set her trunk down at the foot of the bed near the window.
"I'm sorry you have to have this bed," Ron commented, gesturing towards the other unmade bed. "But it's quite obvious that Ginny has staked her claim."
Hermione giggled again. "It's alright. I like windows. I especially love ones with window seats like this one. They're nice to sit on, and stare into the night. It's a nice place to sit and think."
Ron smiled softly. "Well, if Ginny is ever using yours, you're welcome to use the one in my room."
Hermione smiled as well. "Thank you, Ron."
They stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments, until they heard Mrs. Weasley. "Ron! If you've gotten Hermione settled in, Ginny and I could really use some help up here!" she cried, ordering his help more than requesting.
"Meet you up there?" Ron asked, gesturing out the door to another flight of stairs.
"Yes. I'll be just one moment. I'll have to change into clothes for cleaning. I don't want these to get dirty," she replied.
Ron nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind him. He headed back upstairs to help his sister and his mum, and only had to wait a few minutes before Hermione joined them in a frantic cleaning of the house.
The four of them cleaned until the early evening, with only a small break for lunch. When they finally stopped fighting their battle with dirt, Mrs. Weasley went downstairs to begin cooking for the people who dined with the Order every evening, including a large number of Order members themselves. Ginny went to take a shower in the girls' bathroom just as Ron was going to shower in the boys' bathroom.
That is, until he realized that Hermione probably wanted the shower more than he did. "You can use my bathroom, Hermione," he offered.
"Are you sure?" she questioned.
"Yes. Just take your clothes into the bathroom with you, and I'll go help Mum with dinner," he insisted.
Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Ron. I feel like such a mess, and I don't want to have to wait for your sister."
"It's no trouble," he replied airily before heading downstairs to the kitchen. Unfortunately for him, however, the dish of choice that night was a time-consuming one. Dinner was late, and Ron did not have time to shower before it was served.
In fact, dinner was so late that Ginny and Hermione went to bed right after helping clean up the dishes. Ron would have done the same, knowing that he would be woken early the next morning to clean more, but he desperately wanted his shower. So Ron took his pajamas into the bathroom with him, and indulged in a long, hot shower. After about fifteen minutes, Ron turned the water off, and toweled himself dry. He put on his pajamas, and then toweled most of the water out of his hair. He hung the towel on the rack, knowing it meant instant death from his mother if he didn't. Then he exited, ready to fall into his bed and go to sleep.
But Ron had to change his plans when he saw Hermione curled up on his window seat with her knees tucked up under her chin, looking out at the sky.
"Hello Hermione," he said softly, not wanting to scare her as he padded across the room to sit on the other side of the window seat in the same position.
"Hello Ron. I'm sure that you didn't mean for me to use this at night, but Ginny likes to sleep with the curtains closed. I needed to think something through, to see if it was as ridiculous as it seemed when I first heard it," she replied.
Ron got situated on the seat while Hermione turned her attention back to the stars and streetlights. "Would you like some help? I'm very good at identifying ridiculous things," he offered.
Hermione turned and stared at him for several minutes, as if she was carefully calculating her response in her head. Ron did not look away, positive that Hermione's scrutiny was necessary for some reason.
After wrenching her gaze from his, Hermione finally spoke. "My parents sent me to a specific kind of Muggle doctor called a psychologist last week."
"What's a psychologist?" Ron inquired.
"Their job is to understand problems of the mind and suggest solutions. So when Dumbledore sent my parents an owl explaining about Voldemort, begging them to keep me in Hogwarts, they decided to send me to one so that I could get out all of my feelings before I went back to school. They were hoping that by doing so, I would be able to face things more calmly and with a clear conscience," Hermione explained to him.
"What does a person do when they go to a psychologist?" Ron asked, still not quite sure what they did.
"Well, they ask you some very basic questions about your life. Then they just let you ramble on and on and on about whatever it is that works you up the most. When I went as a younger child, when I was about seven or eight, we played games where I had to make up scenarios. Then the psychologist made her decision based on the kinds of scenarios I concocted. I suppose she saw some sort of pattern. I don't really know what she said; my parents never told me," she answered, looking out of the window, this time at the street below.
"So a psychologist helps you work out the root of the problem, rather than the surface?" Ron asked, wanting to clarify and simplify.
Hermione nodded, still avoiding looking at Ron. "Exactly."
"Do you mind if I ask what you talked to the psychologist about?" Ron asked tentatively.
She shook her head. "She started by asking me a few questions about my family, but then I told her I went to a boarding school in Scotland. Once I did, she started asking questions about my school."
Ron panicked, remembering many of the laws the Ministry had passed to keep their world safe from the Muggles. "What did you tell her?"
Hermione smiled, knowing what sparked Ron's rapidly spoken question. "I told her that even though I went to a boarding school, I spent all of my time living in a world of my imagination. Anything and everything about this world affected me, so any problem of mine had stemmed from that."
Ron relaxed immediately. "What did she do then?"
Hermione chuckled quietly. "She smiled at me like I was crazy, and asked me how long I'd been living in my imaginary world. I replied that I had lived there since I had discovered I was going to boarding school. And then I began to tell her about everything that happened to me while I was there. I told her about how I had memorized all of my schoolbooks before the year had even ended. I told her about the famous boy and the redheaded boy that I met while on the train to school while looking for another boy's pet toad. I told her how I heard them talking about how horrible I was after I left the compartment. From that moment, I was determined to show the whole school that I didn't need any of them."
Ron looked stricken. "I'm sorry you heard that Hermione; I'm sorry we were so nasty to you; but I'm most sorry that we said that in the first place."
"It's okay now, Ron," she said. But when she turned her head to reassure him, Ron saw that her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. He instinctively opened his arms to her and enclosed her in his embrace once she had settled in with her back against his chest. Hermione was still looking out of the window as she spoke.
"I continued to tell the psychologist about those two rotten boys, Harry and Ron, whom I'd met on the train. I told her about every time they had gotten in trouble and had points taken away from them. I even told her about when the three of us plus Neville found Fluffy at the end of the third floor corridor. She thought I was mad when I explained that in my imaginary world, I went to a school that taught magic. She believed that I was even crazier when I continued to explain that Fluffy had three heads, much like Cerberus."
Ron chuckled, his chest vibrating against Hermione. "If I were a Muggle, I'd think you were crazy too. Hell, I believe you're crazy already."
When Hermione craned her neck to see and chastise him, she noticed his grin and softened. "I believe I am, too. Especially after what she told me was the root of my 'problems.'"
"And what was that, exactly?"
"I'm getting to that. But then I told her about Halloween, and how Ron had said the nastiest thing about me, and I had overheard it. The walls I'd built at such a young age crumbled instantly, and I cried in the bathroom the entire afternoon. It was several hours later that I was beginning to leave when a large troll walked in. The troll was ugly, and many feet taller than I was. I'd never been so scared. But just when I was sure I was going to die, Harry and Ron came to save me. Harry distracted the ugly brute, and Ron used a fantastic levitation charm and knocked the troll out with his own club. When the professors came in to investigate, I lied to them. I was so amazed and grateful that the two boys had done this for me, even after all the nagging I had done, that I lied. And then the psychologist asked me a peculiar question."
"And what question was that, Hermione?" Ron pressed her, wanting Hermione's story to end so that she could tell him what it was that psychologist had told her.
"She wanted to know why I was smiling. She thought it was strange that retelling a seemingly traumatic event made me smile like a love-struck fool."
There was a long pause, but finally Ron could wait no longer. "Then what happened?"
"She asked me about the two of you, one at a time. First, she questioned me about Harry. I told her that he was my friend. I would always be there to support him, and that I was willing to die for him. I explained about the Sorcerer's stone; about flying on Buckbeak to save Sirius from the Dementor's kiss; about teaching him to do many simple charms and hexes for the TriWizard Tournament; and how even though he'd pushed us away this last year, we still stood by him."
Ron smiled at the memories as Hermione continued.
"And then she asked about you. I told her that even though I know it was Harry's idea, I've always thought of you as my savior from the troll. I told her about you sacrificing yourself on the chessboard so that Harry and I could go on. I explained to her about how you defended me every time Malfoy said something nasty to me, but especially the first time he called me a Mudblood, and you wound up vomiting slugs for the rest of the day. I explained to her that the two of us always argued about the stupidest things, except for third year when you thought Crookshanks ate Scabbers. But even though we always argued, we were always still best friends afterwards. I told her about every time Harry wound up in the Hospital wing, and the two of us spent so much time talking to one another that we knew everything about each other. And then she asked about our fourth year."
"What did you tell her about our fourth year?"
"I told her about the Quidditch World Cup, and how we had such a wonderful time together before Harry got there, because for once, he wasn't injured during our time together. But the next thing I remember about you from our fourth year was the Yule Ball. I probably spent an hour ranting and complaining about you and your behavior in the month before the ball. I told her about how Viktor invited me to the ball, but I had to accept even though I hadn't wanted to. I told her about how you hadn't believed me, and had seemed even more surprised to find that I was a girl. Then I told her how you had badgered me about my date for the remaining time, but then hadn't noticed I was there when you passed me in the Entrance Hall. I told her about our fight that evening. And then I stopped talking, only to discover that I had stood up and started pacing the room. And even worse, she was smiling at me in the weirdest way."
"Did you ask her about it?" Ron wanted to know.
"I did, but since I was quite cranky at the time, I ended up snapping at her. She dismissed my question and asked about our fifth year. I told her that the two of us had never spent so much time together, but that it had been fun. Even though we had our big tests at the end of the year, I had learned to relax a lot because of you. We got along better, and I told her about how proud I'd been when you made the house team. I told her about the kiss I gave you on the cheek before the first game, and then her smile got even wider."
"That must have been very frustrating for you," Ron commented knowingly.
"Yes, so I asked her again. And she told me why she was smiling. And her response is the reason I was sitting in here, looking out at the stars from your window seat," Hermione finished quietly.
But Ron was not ready for the story to end. He was madly curious, and was determined to find out the answer the psychologist had given. "What did she tell you?"
Hermione ignored him, looking out of the window, again gazing at the streetlights that shone into the window.
After several impatient moments, Ron repeated his question. "What did she- "
Hermione interrupted him with a barely spoken question "Do you think it's silly to fall in love with one of your best friends?"
And at that moment, Ron knew that Hermione was either in love with him or Harry. He prayed to all that he considered holy that it was him. But whether it was The-Boy-Who-Lived or his sidekick that held the heart of the girl they both held most dear, Ron was determined to answer the question truthfully.
"I think falling in love with your best friend makes the most sense in the entire world. It's the next natural step if you're attracted to them. And I think that having them as your best friend only makes the relationship more special," he replied to her question.
Several more moments of silence passed before Ron braved to speak again. "Which one of us did she say you were in love with, Hermione?"
Hermione immediately, but briefly, tensed before craning her head to see him. "It was you, Ron. She said that she had seen that smile on the faces of a thousand patients, and she never failed to enjoy telling them. But she especially enjoyed telling patients like me-patients that had spent hours of time and hundreds of pounds, telling her about that one person. By the end of the session, she knew her patients love so intimately, she could immediately tell me or the next person if they felt the same."
"What did she say about my feelings, because I know you asked," he teased gently.
"She believes that you feel the same," Hermione said softly.
What seemed like a million years passed as Hermione held her breath, waiting for Ron to speak again.
"She was right," he stated softly before pressing his lips against hers. And as he pulled her into his lap, creating a more comfortable position for both of them, the new couple thought of little but each other and the feelings they could now let free.