Comfort

It was abnormally cool this summer, and even in the middle of the day, most people were noted to be using their fog lights. This particular day was especially dank as a light drizzle was falling, and no sun broke through the slowly rolling clouds. A fairly nice car could be seen turning the corner into a particularly ugly neighborhood within the depths of London, and it looked rather out of place with its clean exterior. It was not a new car by any stretch of the imagination, but it was kept in good condition—there was no sound of screeching as it abruptly halted in front of two houses labeled eleven and thirteen. After several moments, a young woman with bushy brown hair stepped out of the car, pulling out a trunk and a basket containing what looked to be a ginger-colored cat whose nose was slightly squashed.

Bidding good-bye to the two people in the front seat – a man and a woman – the girl clutched her things and watched with a resolved manner as the car turned around in the cul-de-sac and drove out the same way it entered. As the vehicle left, its fog lights passed briefly over a damp sign that looked as though a gust of wind it would knock it over: Grimmauld Place.

What happened next might have looked very strange to any passers-by—though of course, there were none. The girl set her things down and pulled out a thin scrap of paper, and as she pocketed it once more, a house just as ugly as its neighbors appeared out of thin air, shoving aside houses eleven and thirteen. A silver 12 labelled this new house's door, and the girl picked up her things once more, and when she reached the door, she set them down again and knocked with the serpent knocker. A few minutes later she was being escorted inside by a stout, red-headed woman who looked absolutely delighted to see her.

"Ron! Harry! It's time for breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley's shout rang through the house pleasantly, and as the sound of footsteps became audible, the woman turned towards her newly-arrived guest and added,

"They'll be thrilled to see you. It was difficult enough to keep them from being upset when you didn't arrive yesterday. I do hope you can talk some sense into Harry though, dear—he hasn't quite been himself since arriving. Perfectly understandable, but I do hate to see the boy so miserable. Oh—but here's Ginny."

Cutting off the conversation before the bushy-haired girl could answer, Mrs. Weasley turned towards Ginny and began to speak,

"Ginny, dear, would you mind setting these dishes on the table? Hermione can help too, I suppose…"

It was rather useless to say anything, as the redhead hugged Hermione, and greeted her cheerfully. After exchanging several happy words with each other, the pair took up setting the table much like two sisters, chatting happily all the while. Smiling contently at the picture, Mrs. Weasley banished the sounds of wedding bells from her ears and called out again,

"Harry! Ron! Hurry it up, please!"

No sooner had she finished calling, then two boys of about sixteen came stumbling into the room, both obviously still half-asleep. Ron was the first to notice the presence of his bushy-haired friend, and greeted her sleepily,

"'lo, Hermione."

Harry looked up from his brooding, green eyes frantically swiveling about behind his lenses in a way that was terrifyingly similar to "Mad-Eye" Moody's magical eye. When he finally spotted Hermione, something like a grin broke out on his face, though it was quickly obscured by bushy brown hair as Hermione nearly knocked the boy flat in a hug. Ron stood aside, looking slightly abashed at his friend's behavior, but grew a little more comfortable once Hermione released her death-grip on Harry.

"Harry! Ron! It's so good to see you!"

She hugged Ron briefly as well, and grinned at them both, though perhaps somewhat anxiously towards Harry, who seemed to have just now figured out Hermione was actually here. A moment of awkward silence passed through the room, until Mrs. Weasley thought to say,

"Well, let's not let breakfast get cold—you'll need to eat before your O.W.L. results arrive."

"O.W.L.'s?" Hermione's voice rose significantly higher as a hint of panic filtered into her voice. "They're coming today? Oh no, oh no, oh no! I'm just sure I failed them all!"

"Calm down, Hermione—we all know you're sure to have gotten all O's on them." Ron immediately interjected, and Ginny was quick to add,

"No, really—you the smartest person in your year. You're bound to have gotten perfect scores."

Strangely enough, Harry said nothing—the news of O.W.L.'s hadn't really done anything to change his mood. All of the people in the room noticed this, and sat down without another word, though half-hearted attempts at keeping conversation continued all through a breakfast which Harry hardly touched.

As if to add to the strange air that filtered through the kitchens that morning, Hermione gave a cry of panic as three owls swooped in through the window, and came to land on the kitchen counter rather than stand around in anyone's eggs. Harry and Ron got up to grab theirs—Ron looking slightly sick, and Harry acting as though this wasn't the O.W.L. letter at all, but simply one with their Hogwarts list. Hermione had to be dragged over by Ginny, her face white as a sheet, all the while muttering about how she was sure to have failed them all. Harry and Ron had already gotten their letters, and their owls out the window, by the time Hermione actually reached the counter, and her hands were shaking so badly that Harry had to untie it for her. Noting how nervous Ron and Hermione were – and assuming had Harry been himself he would be too – Ginny remarked in a bored manner,

"Just open them all at once," before she went to help her mother clear the table; no one really wanted to eat anymore.

"One," Ron breathed softly, beginning to open his envelope.

"Two," Hermione continued as she pulled out the parchment, hands shaking horribly.

Three never came, as Harry simply opened his parchment and began to look as his results. Exchanging a worried look, Ron and Hermione then opened their own—relief immediately etched over the faces of both.

About thirty minutes later, the three friends traipsed up the stairs, Harry clutching a badge embossed with the words "Quidditch Captain" on it. O.W.L. results had been about as good as expected—the only surprise was that Hermione didn't achieve an "Outstanding" being Defense Against the Dark Arts. She had, of course, passed, with an "Exceeds Expectations." Harry, she was sure, was probably disappointed over the fact he could now no longer be an Auror, as he hadn't gotten an "Outstanding" on his Potions grade, but he showed no sign of even remembering what his scores were. Concerned, Hermione followed the boys into their room, and she sat down on the bed next to Harry, a concerned look crossing her face. Ron shut the door, and he plopped down on his own bed across from them.

"Harry? Talk to us. What's bothering you? It can't be just – you know – can it? We're your best friends; you can tell us anything." Well, might as well get it out in the open. Why waste time? Evidentally Ron thought it wasn't the best approach (how could Hermione know he'd already tried this idea?) as he was frowning at her, but he didn't say anything. Harry didn't say anything either, for several moments, and in hopes of reminding him he had to speak, Hermione added,

"Harry?"

Shaking his head as if ridding himself of thoughts, Harry finally spoke in a voice that sounded unused to speech, "Maybe I can't—can't tell you everything, because it would endanger you and Ron. I couldn't bear that, you know—if you died because you knew something you didn't need to."

Strangely enough, it almost sounded as though Harry had forgotten Ron was in the room, though Hermione overlooked this and replied in a soothing tone,

"Harry, being your friend has always been a dangerous choice of ours. But it's still a choice we made—and we're not going to leave you now."

"Yeah, mate. We're here for you."

Ron's encouragement seemed to hearten Harry a little more, and so with resignation he began to speak again. This time, he told them about the prophecy and how he was destined to either kill Voldemort or be killed by him. He told them about the horrible fear that he couldn't possibly kill Voldemort, and about how much he wanted Sirius to be around so that he could talk to his godfather (of course, the name Sirius was never used in this conversation, it was simply too painful). And all the while, his friends remained silent, listening with rapt attention. It was then that it finally dawned on Harry that they hadn't been unaware of the choice they had made—they really would always, to the best of their ability, be there for him. What really was the most surprising of all was the way that his eyes stung, and something hot welled up in them that he refused to let identify itself, even with Ron's assurance that he wouldn't walk out on his best mate, and Hermione's arms wrapped around his shoulder in a comforting way. This was what friendship and love were—Dumbledore had been right in assuring Harry that his friends really did care.

Years from then, when Harry James Potter was no longer known as The-Boy-Who-Lived, but rather the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort, a war that had taken its toll upon so many, as well as those Death Eaters who were now either dead or resided within the walls of a newly controlled Azkaban, peace had begun once more. In picking up the pieces from a war-torn world, the power that Voldemort had never understood – love – had indeed been found in the love of friends and of his wife. Ron had found a companion in Luna that never made him feel inferior, with her quirky admiration of everything he did and said, and Ginny too had found someone that admired her and would never let her down for anything—Neville Longbottom. Lupin had finally agreed that life was too short to continue breaking Tonks' heart because of his 'little furry problem' and the two were expecting their second child. Happiest of all, Harry had found he was still able to smile and laugh, thanks to the survival of the two people he treasured most in his world: his best mate, Ron Weasley, and his wife of four months, Hermione Granger-Potter.

Author's Note: A few plot points were taken from Half-Blood Prince (like the O.W.L. results and Lupin and Tonks' relationship.). This is the last chapter of the story. But if you enjoyed it, I would like to get some feedback on a story I'm tinkering with right now, called 'Potential.' That story is post-Deathly Hallows, with the exclusion of the epilogue, and a little feedback would be nice.

Thanks so much to the kind reviewers for their comments! It's a very old story, and I'm glad my rewrite was received so warmly!

-Tacel