Hermione sat on the recently discovered turret in the Burrow, which had only been uncovered after the ghoul had moved away. Her eyes shone white, reflecting the moonlight – or starlight; the existence of such a thing as starlight became an afterthought once you started living in the city, Harry thought to himself as he settled down wordlessly next to her. She didn't turn, which he took to mean she didn't mind – much, at least. He turned his face upwards as well, half-smiling at the familiar sight that he had been missing. After a moment, though, he closed his eyes.

The images were there in his head, waiting for him.

Narcissa in the woods, eyes shining with a light that he had seen not twenty minutes ago. The white, scared face of his rival next to her, helping her stay standing. What is this? Draco's voice had been layered with fear, that he had heard so many time but never comprehended the reason for.

I killed him. I killed him. The voice in his head, ragged, close to insane, unable to stop.

A face, strikingly like his godfather's, though not as handsome. The powerful wave of feeling it was accompanied by. Endless, endless memories of him, his smile, his voice, his hesitation, his unusually sharp perception. Through it all, the wracking, overwhelming feeling. The delirious happiness just the memories gave. The grief. The regret.

The regret.

So painful it nearly killed him. A line formed on his face, remembering it, how it seemed to physically attack his body, with him having to stop himself from blocking any of it, while he had that power. The terror of losing that power, so deep that he had to then switch to holding on, just as desperately, to his sanity.

The memories shifted, from Narcissa's to his own. Hermione, this evening. The scorn on her face, almost willfully held there to mask the pain underneath. Yes, because of course, you'll be having your new friends, won't you? You won't need to miss me. You didn't see fit to tell us why you're suddenly all chummy, either, did you? I suppose a letter telling us that your personal enemy of seven years is moving in is enough. Tell me, Harry, what is it? Going to go off on a campaign next year? Is that what you're preparing for? You need the money – or is it the connections? And next year, when the case is won and the money is back safe in criminal hands, and the name is cleared and everyone is associating with them again, Ron could marry a Malfoy cousin, and wouldn't everything be just lovely! Don't worry; I'll come to the wedding without making a scene. Harry is my friend, after all. It wouldn't do to embarass him when it's just so important-"

He glanced to the right, noting half-guiltily the red streaks across her cheeks. But it had been necessary – to calm them both down. So had the words, spoken coldly enough to shock them both out of the fight. You should know how it is I would support them now. You were the one reading about it for almost all of last year. He had watched, selfishly pleased, as her eyes had grown abruptly wide, staring at him in immediate remorse, as she realized exactly what Narcissa Malfoy had gone through in the last month of using that name.

He had gone on, quieter. I had to help her. I was in her mind for most of the time. She would've gone insane otherwise. He had laughed, cutting off her angry remark. I can hear a lot more now. Entire minds. Even the dead. She spoke to him.. the person she killed. She had interrupted. They all do. He had told her that he had been the medium for Narcissa…I was the way she spoke to him. And she spoke to him a lot.

He had left the room after the long silence that had followed – a nowhere silence, more awkward than anything else.

Hermione turned to him now.

"So she let you tell people."

"In a sense. She let me, but I refused. She said the right was mine anyway."

"That means that she let you."

"But –"

"You didn't let yourself. But she let you."

Harry gave in. "Yes."

Hermione turned back. "That's good. I've never known you to break trust."

He had to laugh at her logic. Though he supposed the twisted logic was his own, really.

Then he laughed some more, because it felt good, now that Hermione was talking to him, despite a fight.

"So…everything's all right, then?" They both turned at the sound of Ron's voice.

"Yes, everything's all right, Ron." Hermione smiled at him. "Come sit here."

Gingerly, he made his way out and sat on her right. She leaned on him, not saying anything, and he stroked her hair.

He spoke after a moment. "You know, having to write to you to talk is going to be a pain in the neck."

She punched him. He bore it unflinchingly.

"No, really. You write like a textbook, I swear. It's no fun not talking face to face."

She laughed weakly. "You'll have to bear with it. I'm not losing my boyfriend because he has to repeat a year."

"Don't worry." Ron's voice was dry, but his ears were red, and his eyes glowed brilliantly in the moonlight. "I'll hold on to my girlfriend – even if she skipped a year, being the bloody idiot she is."

And then: "Mum's getting hot chocolate downstairs."

"You should have brought me some." Hermione pouted up at Ron.

"I'm getting my own. It's too sappy up here by far." Harry got up to draw away attention from his large, foolish grin.

Hermione laughed. He knew she had noticed it anyway.