A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! Here's the next segment. Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you do/don't!

As expected, Hermione had a hard time finding sleep after her dinner with Harry. She had finally decided to give in to her feelings for Harry even though she knew they would lead her to disastrous results. There was some part of her, a very well hidden part, that almost knew that this time was different and that she would finally get Harry. But the rest of her was telling her that she was playing with fire and she was going to get burned. She wasn't sure if she could recover from a wound like that, but she was sure she had to try. She couldn't keep on caring for Harry like this and not have her feelings reciprocated. It wasn't healthy in the slightest, and if Harry breaking her heart was what would finally end her perpetual, puerile love for him, then maybe that was exactly what she needed.

Hermione found it odd that when fantasizing about her later life when a child, she never seemed to have imagined a man. That was never a part of the plan. She knew it was a very common thing for people when they grew up to find someone and fall in love. She read many tales and sagas about the wonder of love growing up, but somehow she never incorporated that into her grand scheme. She was somehow always alright with being alone, even frightened of the prospect of sharing a life with someone, she made herself not want it. That mindset seemed so foreign to her now. Her whole life seemed to revolve around Harry, and that made her afraid. Maybe that was why she never wanted this, never wanted to go through this. Before falling in love with Harry, she considered herself quite independent. In fact, she was constantly told by her parents and other adults, even some classmates from Hogwarts, just how independent she was. Now, to be so dependent on someone scared her beyond measure.

She guessed it was good and bad that that someone happened to be Harry Potter. Good, because she knew Harry was probably the best person she had ever met. If she were to be dependent on someone, she knew there were countless worse people to be dependent on. It was bad because of the same reason it was good. Because Harry was so downright special, it is tough have that person make you love them so much when you couldn't ever be their equal. It hurt a lot that Harry would probably never choose her, but she couldn't at all blame him. Bland ol' Hermione Granger. She would never catch the eye of a wizard like Harry Potter. Maybe she was smart enough, but she knew she was lacking in physical beauty, even with her attempts to change. She knew rejection would sting, but she had to tell him. She couldn't live in "what if" land any longer.

She had finally slipped into unconsciousness late that night, much later than she was accustomed to. Dreams of butterflies with lightning symbols on their wings filled her head.

Harry quickly signed his signature on the last document of the three, foot high stacks of papers that had accumulated on his desk this last week. Sitting back and taking a deep breath, he examined his work with a great sense of achievement. Why they had so much paperwork in the Ministry was beyond him. All it accomplished doing in his opinion was to make his hand hurt. Hand aching or not, he was happy to get it all done today. He had planned on asking Hermione if she would accompany him for lunch today, but instead opted to work through his lunch break and finish these cursed documents. He was a little worried, because he had owled Hermione early this afternoon to see if she would be agreeable to dinner again tonight, but hadn't gotten a response yet. Looking at his watch, the time read a quarter to seven. What would keep her from owling back?

Locking the door to his office, he apparated home. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he decided this time he would apparate into Hermione's living room. It was a bit rude, but he didn't want to chance getting seen apparating onto her porch too often.

Making his way through the mountains of books, he called out, "Hermione! I'm here for dinner. Did you get my owl?"

Hearing no response, he headed upstairs. He went from room to room looking for her, reminding him of yesterday, going through her house for the first time looking for a death eater. He finally found her in the room at the end of the hall, fast asleep in her bed. He walked over to her and just watched her sleep for a while. A lock of her hair had fallen to her face and was being flung against her nose with every breath. He carefully snagged the lock and tucked it behind her ear. She rolled a bit at the contact but otherwise didn't react. Harry conjured a nice chair and silently perched himself next to her bed.

Looking at her there sleeping so peacefully, he realized he cared about her too much to keep up the appearance of being just her friend. His feelings went far beyond friendship, and he knew then that it would be impossible to remain just friends with her. And he couldn't not have her in his life. That was a dark, dark world that Harry didn't want to imagine. So he'd have to tell her. But how? How could he express the way he feels so that she wouldn't laugh him off. Or worse, what if she took him seriously and ran off again to get away from him? Would he go after her? Of course he'd want to, but would that help or hurt his chances? All these questions, and Harry couldn't really answer any of them. All he really knew were two facts. First, he needed Hermione. Second, he had to tell her how he felt.

Tonight, he thought. I'll do it tonight. If she ever wakes up, that is.

Although Harry was actually perfectly content to sit there and watch her as she slumbered, concern entered his mind. Is she ill? What was that bloody temperature charm?

Failing to remember the spell, he tried the muggle method of putting his hand on her forehead. Upon doing so, Hermione shifted her head and mumbled, "Harry...butterfly scar..."

Harry's first reaction was one of utter joy. Hermione said his name in her sleep? Was she dreaming about him? The feelings that pierced him at the possibility served as another righteous example that he should tell her about his feelings for her. Then he remembered the other part of her drowsy speak. Butterfly scar? What did that mean?Maybe she really isn't feeling well. She didn't feel hot, not any warmer than anybody should be. Harry knew that there were illnesses that didn't sport a fever, but he wasn't very knowledgeable in that field. To be honest, he knew more about Muggle treatments for health than he did about the magical. Deciding she probably wouldn't wake until he got back, he apparated silently.

Hermione's dream was starting to fade. Vaguely she was aware that someone was near her, but she brushed it off to drowsiness and continued to sleep.

It wasn't till sometime later that she heard someone calling her name and something rumbling around the end of her bed.

"Hermione, I think it'd be best for you to start waking up."

She recognized the voice as Harry's and almost jumped at the realization. "Blimey, Harry! What are you doing here so early. I agreed to something today but I didn't think you meant this early!"

"Early? Hermione, don't you know what time it is?" he asked, almost incredulous.

Curious about his tone, she looked to the corner of her room where a great grandfather clock stood. Half past eight! How long have I been sleeping?!

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I must have been more tired from yesterday than I thought." It probably didn't help that I was up half the night thinking of you.

Harry chuckled. "So you're not sick, then?" He wondered. Despite the smirk on his face, she could tell there was some genuine concern behind his eyes.

"No, I'm quite alright. What's that there?" She pointed to the two sacks at the end of the bed.

"Oh, well," Harry began,pulling out the contents of one bag, "I, err, assumed you weren't feeling well and I don't know much about magical healing methods, and I thought that you wouldn't mind doing it the muggle way, but, er, if you want me to run to the magical clinic it'll just be a few minutes..."

"Harry! It's okay! I'm not even ill!"

"Oh, er, right."

Hermione smiled deeply. She was sorry he wasted his time but she was also filled with glee at how much he cared that she might of been sick. Not only that, but there were at least ten different containers and bottles now laying on the bed, presumably all curing a different illness. "What's in the second sack, then?"

"Oh yeah, well, the muggle medicine labels said not to use them if you had an empty stomach so I stopped by a cafe and got you some breakfast/dinner." Harry then laid out two large bagel halves covered with a honey-hazelnut spread, followed by two containers, one filled with strawberries, the other with cream.

As if on cue, Hermione's stomach let out a gentle growl. "Oh, Harry. Thank you so much!"

She crawled out of bed and gave him a soft, but affectionate hug. She couldn't ignore the electricity that ran through her in that should-be-innocent act.

All this recent kindness from Harry had given her more confidence. She took her "breakfast/dinner" as Harry had so eloquently put it, and scooted back to the head of the bed, and patted the spot her food at previously inhabited, indicating Harry to sit.

Harry smiled and took her invitation. Facing each other, both sitting Indian-style on the bed, the room was enveloped with silence as Hermione ate. Hermione was well aware of his staring as she ate, and for the most part tried to focus on her food. However, there were moments where she couldn't resist and found herself staring back at him, for however long, she didn't know. His smile never left his face.

Eventually her thirst got the better of her and she broke the silence. "Drink?"

Harry, still smiling, raised his wand and in through the doorway a bottle with a straw came floating in and into her hands.

"Ooooh," Hermione moaned. "A mango-peach smoothie! You remembered?" she asked, taking the straw in her mouth and sucking vigorously, enjoying the cold refreshment. She had told him once, long ago, that it was her favorite.

Harry just nodded, pleased that she was so satisfied.

Hermione, having slurped the last of her chilled drink, looked up, perky.

"So I guess I ruined the evening by having a lie in, huh?" she commented.

"I wouldn't say so," Harry replied, his smirk ever present. "I've had a good time so far."

"Oh, come off it. I've been a right bore so far. All I've done is eaten! And rather barbarically, I might add. Who knew sleeping could build up such an appetite."

"I think you're rather cute when you eat."

Hermione flushed and looked down, hiding her face behind her hair. She stayed that way until she felt most of the color had left her cheeks.

"How about you? Have you eaten?" she asked, deflecting.

"I got something at the cafe."

"Oh, okay.."

"So, Hermione? I wanted to ask you something..." he began, slowly.

"Okay?" she replied, just as slow. Her eyes widened a bit. What made him be so serious all of a sudden? This was something bad, she could tell.

Harry's face scrunched up a bit, like he was making a decision, and then all of a sudden flattened out again. "What does butterfly scar mean?" he asked, chickening out and asking the first thing that came to his mind.

Hermione was confused for a moment, then realization set in. "Oh!" she gasped before blushing like she never had before. "Er, I don't know. Why?"

"You don't know?"

"No. Its nothing." she replied quickly, hoping to have the topic dropped.

"Well which is it? You don't know or its nothing?"

"Um..." she said, biting her lower lip, "its nothing. Don't worry about it."

Harry wanted to push it, but let it go for now. "Well, if you're done eating, would you like to show me what you've been working on lately?"

Hermione's eyes lit up a bit and she smiled. "Really? You want to?" she asked, as if she had been dying to show somebody but hadn't had the chance.

"Of course, I'd like to know what kept you so busy from talking to me." It was an honest answer, but he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.

Hermione's grin dwindled into a sad smile, but got up and showed Harry to her study.

The night was going as good as Harry could have expected. After Hermione presented what she had already achieved in the comparison of the Kenntnissehaus in Germany, the Cosmiquecole in France, and Hogwarts. She animatedly told him of how each school had its own unique characteristics that divided it from other schools, but even after thorough inspections she found Hogwarts to be the most profoundly fascinating. The conversation then turned to their old times at school.

"...and Binns was so upset that I skipped question four about goblin wand legislation on my O.W.L. after he apparently told me three times in class, I swear his face was red with anger, if that is possible for a ghost!"

Hermione, calming down from a fit of laughter, added, "Well, maybe if you actually stayed awake during some of his lectures, you wouldn't of had to skip it and face his fury!"

"Ha! But when else would I nap?" He replied, which earned him a swat on the arm from Hermione. Harry continued, "You know I would have failed all of my classes without your help."

"Not true! You would have failed everything but DADA. I'm afraid to say that I was never even close to being as good as you at it. You were brilliant."

"I'd rather fight a dementor than write an essay over the effects of Draught of Peace any day."

"See, I think you might need a priority change," she quipped, shaking her head, smiling.

"If only you could see things my way!" Harry said in mock defense.

"What is so scary about an essay?!" she challenged. "What's the worse that could happen? Spill your ink? Or maybe the scary part is you might fall asleep on the still drying ink and wake up with smudges all over your face!" Hermione howled, laughing at her own joke.

"It wouldn't be the first time it happened!" Harry pointed out, chuckling himself.

Their banter continued on, the majority of it about Harry's old, unhealthy studying habits. Feigning anger, Harry rose and declared, "Madam! Your affront's are unwarranted and shall not be met without contestation! I demand you make amends!"

Hermione giggled at his charade. "Or what? Are we to fight to the death?"

Coming suddenly out of character, he replied. "Nah, I was thinking wizards chess."

"Deal."

Hermione put up a good match, but Harry inevitably emerged the victor.

"Wow! I was so sure I was going to win! I thought I had you a few moves ago..."

"That's what I wanted you to think! I had you right where I wanted you."

"I must say, I'm very impressed, Mr. Potter. Ron must have taught you well."

"I guess he did, indeed," Harry agreed, putting up the game pieces.

A thought entered Hermione's head then, something she had thought about before but wanted Harry's opinion on it.

"Harry? Do you ever think about Ron?"

Harry was a bit surprised by the question. It was an unwritten rule of sorts between them to not bring Ron up too much. After a few moments of thinking, he spoke. "Huh. Not much, I suppose. I used to, quite a lot actually."

"Do you miss him?"

"Kind of. I mean, we were mates that first year, but...you know what happened."

Hermione nodded. Ron had always been a slight git to Hermione, but he was still so loyal and brave. She was dismayed to learn that he had been murdered by Quirrell at the end of term their first year. They found him in a corridor, dead. The story was that Quirrell had been on his way to the third floor, undoubtedly heading to find the philosophers stone, and Ron had the misfortune of bumping into him. Knowing Quirrell was up to something, Ron tried to stop him alone. The school mourned him, but none more so than Harry and Hermione, his two closest friends.

Harry continued. "I'll always remember him, but honestly we didn't know him too well. It was only that year. I guess time has made me numb to it all."

Hermione nodded again. "It's about the same for me. Does that make us bad people?"

Harry pondered that for a moment before responding. "I don't think so. I think that its only natural. I won't ever forget him or what he did, but its not healthy to be plagued by it. I really think its human nature, really. I guess time does heal all things." Harry finished, sounding resigned.

"...Not all things," she corrected.

A/N: I didn't expect to end this chapter here, but it seemed like a good spot.