A/N: OK, this is slightly shorter than the last chapter but it's been SO
LONG. SORRY!!! I'm so sorry, really. Well, this is extremely fluffy, and
yet angsty. You'll like it. It's not over. Trust me, it's not.
It's not over.
There is more, like how it leads up to the last chapter. This is sort of like the calm before the storm. Thanks to Black Eyeliner of White Glitter or Charybdis or whatever she's calling herself now! You keep me on my toes!
Disclaimer: Again, my poems are from me! Read my poetry collection, Bittersweet, and let me know if you think any of them are especially fitting to go into this story. I really enjoy input. Thanks lots! And if you have any poems that you think would work, put them in your review. Oh, other than that the characters are NOT mine. I repeat, the char—wait, no, I'm lazy. You got it the first time.
"Harry!" Hermione called, her melodious voice exaggerated over the thick puffs of clouds. "Harry……..!"
Harry knew he was in a dream. It was a strange feeling. He tried to call out, but was unable. *I've gone mute* thought Harry frantically, although the one that knew he was dreaming knew better. It was as if Harry was watching his dream like a movie.
"Harry!" she cried once more, but it felt edgier, with an undertone of angst. Suddenly the clouds became gray and it started to rain.
*Why is it raining blood?* thought the Harry that was watching himself, whereas the figment of him seemed to think nothing odd about this. In fact, that Harry was perched on a cloud, searching for the voice and entirely ignoring the drops of blood that were pelting his skin and trailing down his perfectly white clothes.
"POTTER!"
This time, the dream-Harry and the real Harry both jumped with a start. Harry opened his eyes, and as his vision came into focus he found himself staring into a set of crinkled gray eyes. "Malfoy," Harry grumbled, shrugging himself up. "What are you doing in my room?"
Draco snorted. "Your room? Look around, Potter. You're in Slytherin domain."
And he was right. Harry shifted to look beyond Draco; all of the décor was emerald, and all of the inhabitants of the common room wore green robes and homely smirks. "Did you kidnap me?" Harry asked, half-seriously.
Draco seemed to get a kick out of this. "Oh, sure. Trust me, Potter, if I kidnapped you then I wouldn't drop you off in the common room. Wake up. I'm sure your Mudblood girlfriend is looking for you."
"She's not my girlfriend!" Harry protested, giving Draco a furious, unwavering stare.
Still, Draco laughed. "You were quicker to say that she's not your girlfriend than to insist that she's not a Mudblood. Good one, Potter."
A small, sinister looking boy with a shrunken face and a weasel-like resemblance crept over like a skittering rat and whispered into Draco's right ear. Harry watched as Draco's amusement turned to a set frown.
"Potter," Draco said, clasping his hands together. "Potter, Fink here says that he heard that you broke my buddy Ron's nose last night." Rupert Fink nodded eagerly beside Draco, pleased that he had served even a menial purpose. "Well, Potter? Is Fink correct in saying so?"
Harry groaned, the events of the previous night returning to him. *Ah, now I remember why I'm here and not in the Gryffindor house. It was too dark.* He knew that he shouldn't have hurt Ron; it was brash, and Ron had been joking, but still… *You were just defending Hermione's honor, right? It wasn't like you needed anger management or anything.* Still, Harry wondered if Hermione had been his only motive.
He remembered yelling to Ron, "You don't have a good answer, do you Ron? No! You don't. Why? Because there is none! You just needed to blame someone and there I was Ron! There I was! Because I was there for you! Please forgive me for always being there for you." *Ouch. That was harsh… but I meant it all. I meant every word. Then why does it hurt so much?*
"Potter? Answer me!" Malfoy demanded, lightly kicking Harry in the leg.
"Wait—what?"
"Did you break Ron's nose?"
"Well…" Harry sighed, pressing his lips firmly together. "That depends on your definition of 'break.'"
"Cut the crap, Potter," said Malfoy, obviously losing his patience. "I'm going to take that as a 'yes.' Now leave, before I decide to break something of yours that is a whole lot more valuable than a nose."
"Erm, okay," replied Harry, eying Draco unsurely. He backed out of the portrait hole, tripping as he left and landing on his bottom in the outside corridor. "Very smooth," he muttered to no one in particular.
Harry stumbled down the corridor in search of the Gryffindor house. His legs were weak and his vision blurred, as if he was having a hangover without the vomiting. *I wouldn't rule out the vomiting just yet. Is that… That can't be right. What time is it?*
Harry stared disbelievingly at the Correcto Clock mounted upon the central tower since his 5th year. The time read 1:30 p.m. *Oh no! It's rest break already! I must have missed Transfiguration and… oh no. Potions.* Harry's remaining spirits sank to a new low.
Harry clutched the stairwell as he trudged into the next corridor and sauntered up to Sir Cadogan. "Dear lad!" Cadogan gasped, noticing Harry's weakened state. "What's the—"
"Provocative meniality," Harry mumbled before Sir Cadogan could delve into Harry's personal life. He received a resentful flare from knight as the portrait obediently swung to the side, allowing Harry to pass through.
The Gryffindors were there as if in a play; all in designated spots for the moment. Neville Longbottom was sandwiched on the couch between Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were having a heated gossip session right over his head. Dean Thomas was leaning on the top of the couch, right over Lavender, from behind. Seamus Finnigan and Nar Litkins were standing in the corner flipping through Quidditch magazines and Guy Wimsdon and Jennifer Lee Falda were snogging on an ottoman.
Ron was aloof from the others as always, sitting with his arms folded in a sofa chair and apparently brooding. He had a thick book closed on his lap, along with a crinkled piece of paper folded between its pages and a dull pencil sitting on top of its cover. His eyes were lazy, wandering aimlessly over the room, and his nose had a white bandage taped to it, although it didn't look horribly disfigured as it had the previous night.
And there was Hermione. She was sitting on the floor, sort of separated from the rest and yet part of the whole scene. The hem of her cotton periwinkle sundress spilled over onto the floor, the way she was sitting, and her feet disappeared beneath it. She was engrossed in writing in the notebook Harry had given her, with the lavender fabric cover. It was a sentimental moment, just observing her, she having no idea that every detail, every movement of her features was being watched and scrutinized.
Harry walked by, unnoticed by all, as he sauntered to stand beside Hermione. She was still ignorant to his presence, and he leaned over her shoulder. She was writing more of the poem.
You are the candle
And I, the flame
As I burn for you
Burn with you
In our fiery game
The slightest breeze threatens us
You the candle, I the flame
And it's more than you can handle
Handle in our fiery game
I flicker as the wind
It threatens to douse
You, the candle, my support
But where are you now?
You, the candle, my support
I'll stand strong for you somehow…
"Finished," Harry breathed, and he did not realize that it was aloud until Hermione sharply turned around, gazing fiercely into his eyes. Neither broke the gaze, and Harry's throat felt dry. What should he say? How could he explain?
"Can I help you?" Hermione asked coldly, closing the notebook protectively in her lap.
Harry bit his lip. "I like your poem," he said weakly.
"Oh. Is that what you came to say?"
"Well, no, I—"
"Really? Because I thought you might want to explain your at-my- throat behavior, or perhaps why you missed class today." She tucked the notebook under her shoulder and began gathering her dress as she briskly stood up.
"I do!" Harry insisted, grabbing her elbow. She turned, looked at her elbow, and then back at him. He blushed and released her. "Can we please talk… alone?"
Hermione frowned, as if considering for a moment. "Fine," she said. "The Astronomy Tower?"
"The Astronomy Tower," he agreed, although he probably didn't have a say in the matter. Her stride was short and quick, as if she was hurrying away from him, and Harry struggled to keep up.
She was practically running up the stone stairs, and Hermione remembered doing it before. Only then, she had been in pursuit of Harry. *This had better be good* she told herself, wondering if she was relieved that Harry had an explanation ready or not.
She stopped at the top of the tower, breathing heavily against one of the thick walls of the citadel-like structure. Harry was a few seconds behind her, and his eyes were wildly looking around, first at her, then the window, then the floor, and then her again. "Hermione… listen…" he managed to say between gasps for breath. She held up her hand to halt him, and they each took thirty seconds or so of breathing time.
"First… I want to apologize," Harry said shyly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. You're my…" Harry wanted to trail off, or to be interrupted, but Hermione's look only pressed him on. "Well, you're my best friend. And…"
"And, Harry?" she prompted. The silence was as thick as Vincent Crabbe's neck.
"And…" Harry felt his air pumps slow and die. *Tell her. Now's the time. You can do this.*
"And, you mean a lot to me. I kind of like you… like… like, that," he confessed, wondering if he got his point across.
"You like me… like that?" Hermione asked dryly, raising her eyebrows.
"You know what I mean," Harry snapped, and then realized that he was being irritable again. "I like you as more than a friend, okay?"
"I don't know, you say it like you're embarrassed," Hermione mumbled, looking at the wall, but she turned to Harry and smiled. "I kind of like you like that too." Harry looked up sharply as she put her hand over where his lay, on the windowsill. "Smile, Harry. You never smile anymore."
She reached to embrace him, and they stood hugging, rocking slightly back and forth for a minute. "Harry? You're crying. Why are you crying?" Hermione pulled away, surprised. Harry's eyes were watering.
"We need to talk," Harry said, wiping at his eyes, first the right and then the left. "Here, sit down." He motioned towards a random point by the wall and they both sat. The hem of Hermione's dress spilled onto the floor as before. She looked confused, but even more so worried.
"Do you remember how I came to your house, that day that…" Harry trailed off, firmly closing his eyes. Hermione was unable to tell if he was blocking out the memory or reliving it. She squeezed his hand. "I came to your house first. Yours first, Hermione. And not Ron's."
"Thank you," she whispered, although she was sure that that was not what Harry had wanted for her to say.
He waved her off, still staring glumly at the floor. His voice cracked, as if he was holding back more tears. "I guess it was then that I realized how much you meant to me. You and Ron, my best friends, but I went to your house first. Love before friendship. And I didn't even know it.
"I guess… I guess that's why I snap at you sometimes. And that's why Ron resents you. And why I feel so damn guilty all of the time. And… and why I wasn't sure if I could tell you how I feel. Because it only hurt. It hurt Ron and his family. He'll never forgive me, you know."
"Don't say that," Hermione whispered earnestly, tilting his chin so that he'd finally meet her eyes. "Ron is wrong. You are wonderful. You came to the aid of your friends, you tried. You almost died for Ron. And I don't see how love will get in the way anymore."
"I hope not," Harry said softly, blinking softly. "I really do, though."
"You do what?"
"Love you." He timidly met her eyes once more; she was crying too.
"I don't understand why it has to be so complicated, Harry," she murmured, wiping at her eyes. "Maybe it's not meant to be. You don't deserve so much pain. So much guilt."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me. And I think I'm finally starting to believe it."
"I wrote you a poem." Hermione flipped to the third page of her notebook and thrust it into his hands. He smiled at Hermione before leaning down and reading the six lines.
It's days like these that I remember
You can be cruel but I understand
With the weight of the world on your shoulders
I try but I can't
I guess it's not as easy as it seems
When everyone's looking at you, Superman.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," Harry said, touching the print gently with his right index finger. "For understanding. Or trying to, at least."
"I do my best," she teased, taking the notebook back. "Thanks for always being there, Superman."
"Superman," Harry laughed scoffingly. "Yeah. That's me. Superman."
A/N: Thanks~sorry for the long time it took to update. I only got 15 reviews, which is okay, but you guys can top that! I know you can… you've done it before!
Emili Potter—Thanks! I'm glad you liked that one.
Spazzy—Hey, that's how I spell kewl. Lol. Sorry it's been a while.
ADJ—Oh, I'm glad you understand now. Good. I'm glad you like, and thanks!
Shining Star—Thanks, and love the creative spelling. :o)
Ssjguyver—lol, thanks, and I'm glad you found it again. I love all the reviews I can get.
Elisabeth—Hey, that's a good idea. If I decide for Harry to live, I might use that. But he might die… I don't know. Sometimes stories need a sad ending, just look at Damien by Sarah Black. God, that was sad. *sniffsniff* Yeah, Ron'll snap out of it. I kinda have to kill Hermione. Sorry. But I can be persuaded… lol. I don't know.
Melly08—Thanks! Always appreciated.
Miss Spinn—Great, glad you did read the rest. Very nice of you.
Wondergirl—Thank you infinitely! Love writing compliments even more than story compliments!
Ssj Kinara—Yes, in real life guys are dumb, immature, and gross. Well, most are. Some are sweet, they're just locked up in some hidden chamber that I've yet to stumble upon.
Ori—The suspense, yes. I'm cruel like that. Thanks for reading :o)
Charybdis—Thanks for bugging me until I wrote this chapter. Lol. Thanks. Yes, I enjoyed his reaction very much. His "battlecry." And thank you for congratulating me!
Meg—Thanks, it also saves time so I don't have to actually *think* of chapter titles by myself. Kidding!
DaZLindZ—I love that song too! Glad you like how it's used. Did you read the rest of the story, though? You reviewed for only chapter one.
Ok, please more than 15 this time? Thanks, and sorry that it took so long. Like this! LIKE IT!
And I'm out…
It's not over.
There is more, like how it leads up to the last chapter. This is sort of like the calm before the storm. Thanks to Black Eyeliner of White Glitter or Charybdis or whatever she's calling herself now! You keep me on my toes!
Disclaimer: Again, my poems are from me! Read my poetry collection, Bittersweet, and let me know if you think any of them are especially fitting to go into this story. I really enjoy input. Thanks lots! And if you have any poems that you think would work, put them in your review. Oh, other than that the characters are NOT mine. I repeat, the char—wait, no, I'm lazy. You got it the first time.
"Harry!" Hermione called, her melodious voice exaggerated over the thick puffs of clouds. "Harry……..!"
Harry knew he was in a dream. It was a strange feeling. He tried to call out, but was unable. *I've gone mute* thought Harry frantically, although the one that knew he was dreaming knew better. It was as if Harry was watching his dream like a movie.
"Harry!" she cried once more, but it felt edgier, with an undertone of angst. Suddenly the clouds became gray and it started to rain.
*Why is it raining blood?* thought the Harry that was watching himself, whereas the figment of him seemed to think nothing odd about this. In fact, that Harry was perched on a cloud, searching for the voice and entirely ignoring the drops of blood that were pelting his skin and trailing down his perfectly white clothes.
"POTTER!"
This time, the dream-Harry and the real Harry both jumped with a start. Harry opened his eyes, and as his vision came into focus he found himself staring into a set of crinkled gray eyes. "Malfoy," Harry grumbled, shrugging himself up. "What are you doing in my room?"
Draco snorted. "Your room? Look around, Potter. You're in Slytherin domain."
And he was right. Harry shifted to look beyond Draco; all of the décor was emerald, and all of the inhabitants of the common room wore green robes and homely smirks. "Did you kidnap me?" Harry asked, half-seriously.
Draco seemed to get a kick out of this. "Oh, sure. Trust me, Potter, if I kidnapped you then I wouldn't drop you off in the common room. Wake up. I'm sure your Mudblood girlfriend is looking for you."
"She's not my girlfriend!" Harry protested, giving Draco a furious, unwavering stare.
Still, Draco laughed. "You were quicker to say that she's not your girlfriend than to insist that she's not a Mudblood. Good one, Potter."
A small, sinister looking boy with a shrunken face and a weasel-like resemblance crept over like a skittering rat and whispered into Draco's right ear. Harry watched as Draco's amusement turned to a set frown.
"Potter," Draco said, clasping his hands together. "Potter, Fink here says that he heard that you broke my buddy Ron's nose last night." Rupert Fink nodded eagerly beside Draco, pleased that he had served even a menial purpose. "Well, Potter? Is Fink correct in saying so?"
Harry groaned, the events of the previous night returning to him. *Ah, now I remember why I'm here and not in the Gryffindor house. It was too dark.* He knew that he shouldn't have hurt Ron; it was brash, and Ron had been joking, but still… *You were just defending Hermione's honor, right? It wasn't like you needed anger management or anything.* Still, Harry wondered if Hermione had been his only motive.
He remembered yelling to Ron, "You don't have a good answer, do you Ron? No! You don't. Why? Because there is none! You just needed to blame someone and there I was Ron! There I was! Because I was there for you! Please forgive me for always being there for you." *Ouch. That was harsh… but I meant it all. I meant every word. Then why does it hurt so much?*
"Potter? Answer me!" Malfoy demanded, lightly kicking Harry in the leg.
"Wait—what?"
"Did you break Ron's nose?"
"Well…" Harry sighed, pressing his lips firmly together. "That depends on your definition of 'break.'"
"Cut the crap, Potter," said Malfoy, obviously losing his patience. "I'm going to take that as a 'yes.' Now leave, before I decide to break something of yours that is a whole lot more valuable than a nose."
"Erm, okay," replied Harry, eying Draco unsurely. He backed out of the portrait hole, tripping as he left and landing on his bottom in the outside corridor. "Very smooth," he muttered to no one in particular.
Harry stumbled down the corridor in search of the Gryffindor house. His legs were weak and his vision blurred, as if he was having a hangover without the vomiting. *I wouldn't rule out the vomiting just yet. Is that… That can't be right. What time is it?*
Harry stared disbelievingly at the Correcto Clock mounted upon the central tower since his 5th year. The time read 1:30 p.m. *Oh no! It's rest break already! I must have missed Transfiguration and… oh no. Potions.* Harry's remaining spirits sank to a new low.
Harry clutched the stairwell as he trudged into the next corridor and sauntered up to Sir Cadogan. "Dear lad!" Cadogan gasped, noticing Harry's weakened state. "What's the—"
"Provocative meniality," Harry mumbled before Sir Cadogan could delve into Harry's personal life. He received a resentful flare from knight as the portrait obediently swung to the side, allowing Harry to pass through.
The Gryffindors were there as if in a play; all in designated spots for the moment. Neville Longbottom was sandwiched on the couch between Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were having a heated gossip session right over his head. Dean Thomas was leaning on the top of the couch, right over Lavender, from behind. Seamus Finnigan and Nar Litkins were standing in the corner flipping through Quidditch magazines and Guy Wimsdon and Jennifer Lee Falda were snogging on an ottoman.
Ron was aloof from the others as always, sitting with his arms folded in a sofa chair and apparently brooding. He had a thick book closed on his lap, along with a crinkled piece of paper folded between its pages and a dull pencil sitting on top of its cover. His eyes were lazy, wandering aimlessly over the room, and his nose had a white bandage taped to it, although it didn't look horribly disfigured as it had the previous night.
And there was Hermione. She was sitting on the floor, sort of separated from the rest and yet part of the whole scene. The hem of her cotton periwinkle sundress spilled over onto the floor, the way she was sitting, and her feet disappeared beneath it. She was engrossed in writing in the notebook Harry had given her, with the lavender fabric cover. It was a sentimental moment, just observing her, she having no idea that every detail, every movement of her features was being watched and scrutinized.
Harry walked by, unnoticed by all, as he sauntered to stand beside Hermione. She was still ignorant to his presence, and he leaned over her shoulder. She was writing more of the poem.
You are the candle
And I, the flame
As I burn for you
Burn with you
In our fiery game
The slightest breeze threatens us
You the candle, I the flame
And it's more than you can handle
Handle in our fiery game
I flicker as the wind
It threatens to douse
You, the candle, my support
But where are you now?
You, the candle, my support
I'll stand strong for you somehow…
"Finished," Harry breathed, and he did not realize that it was aloud until Hermione sharply turned around, gazing fiercely into his eyes. Neither broke the gaze, and Harry's throat felt dry. What should he say? How could he explain?
"Can I help you?" Hermione asked coldly, closing the notebook protectively in her lap.
Harry bit his lip. "I like your poem," he said weakly.
"Oh. Is that what you came to say?"
"Well, no, I—"
"Really? Because I thought you might want to explain your at-my- throat behavior, or perhaps why you missed class today." She tucked the notebook under her shoulder and began gathering her dress as she briskly stood up.
"I do!" Harry insisted, grabbing her elbow. She turned, looked at her elbow, and then back at him. He blushed and released her. "Can we please talk… alone?"
Hermione frowned, as if considering for a moment. "Fine," she said. "The Astronomy Tower?"
"The Astronomy Tower," he agreed, although he probably didn't have a say in the matter. Her stride was short and quick, as if she was hurrying away from him, and Harry struggled to keep up.
She was practically running up the stone stairs, and Hermione remembered doing it before. Only then, she had been in pursuit of Harry. *This had better be good* she told herself, wondering if she was relieved that Harry had an explanation ready or not.
She stopped at the top of the tower, breathing heavily against one of the thick walls of the citadel-like structure. Harry was a few seconds behind her, and his eyes were wildly looking around, first at her, then the window, then the floor, and then her again. "Hermione… listen…" he managed to say between gasps for breath. She held up her hand to halt him, and they each took thirty seconds or so of breathing time.
"First… I want to apologize," Harry said shyly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. You're my…" Harry wanted to trail off, or to be interrupted, but Hermione's look only pressed him on. "Well, you're my best friend. And…"
"And, Harry?" she prompted. The silence was as thick as Vincent Crabbe's neck.
"And…" Harry felt his air pumps slow and die. *Tell her. Now's the time. You can do this.*
"And, you mean a lot to me. I kind of like you… like… like, that," he confessed, wondering if he got his point across.
"You like me… like that?" Hermione asked dryly, raising her eyebrows.
"You know what I mean," Harry snapped, and then realized that he was being irritable again. "I like you as more than a friend, okay?"
"I don't know, you say it like you're embarrassed," Hermione mumbled, looking at the wall, but she turned to Harry and smiled. "I kind of like you like that too." Harry looked up sharply as she put her hand over where his lay, on the windowsill. "Smile, Harry. You never smile anymore."
She reached to embrace him, and they stood hugging, rocking slightly back and forth for a minute. "Harry? You're crying. Why are you crying?" Hermione pulled away, surprised. Harry's eyes were watering.
"We need to talk," Harry said, wiping at his eyes, first the right and then the left. "Here, sit down." He motioned towards a random point by the wall and they both sat. The hem of Hermione's dress spilled onto the floor as before. She looked confused, but even more so worried.
"Do you remember how I came to your house, that day that…" Harry trailed off, firmly closing his eyes. Hermione was unable to tell if he was blocking out the memory or reliving it. She squeezed his hand. "I came to your house first. Yours first, Hermione. And not Ron's."
"Thank you," she whispered, although she was sure that that was not what Harry had wanted for her to say.
He waved her off, still staring glumly at the floor. His voice cracked, as if he was holding back more tears. "I guess it was then that I realized how much you meant to me. You and Ron, my best friends, but I went to your house first. Love before friendship. And I didn't even know it.
"I guess… I guess that's why I snap at you sometimes. And that's why Ron resents you. And why I feel so damn guilty all of the time. And… and why I wasn't sure if I could tell you how I feel. Because it only hurt. It hurt Ron and his family. He'll never forgive me, you know."
"Don't say that," Hermione whispered earnestly, tilting his chin so that he'd finally meet her eyes. "Ron is wrong. You are wonderful. You came to the aid of your friends, you tried. You almost died for Ron. And I don't see how love will get in the way anymore."
"I hope not," Harry said softly, blinking softly. "I really do, though."
"You do what?"
"Love you." He timidly met her eyes once more; she was crying too.
"I don't understand why it has to be so complicated, Harry," she murmured, wiping at her eyes. "Maybe it's not meant to be. You don't deserve so much pain. So much guilt."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me. And I think I'm finally starting to believe it."
"I wrote you a poem." Hermione flipped to the third page of her notebook and thrust it into his hands. He smiled at Hermione before leaning down and reading the six lines.
It's days like these that I remember
You can be cruel but I understand
With the weight of the world on your shoulders
I try but I can't
I guess it's not as easy as it seems
When everyone's looking at you, Superman.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," Harry said, touching the print gently with his right index finger. "For understanding. Or trying to, at least."
"I do my best," she teased, taking the notebook back. "Thanks for always being there, Superman."
"Superman," Harry laughed scoffingly. "Yeah. That's me. Superman."
A/N: Thanks~sorry for the long time it took to update. I only got 15 reviews, which is okay, but you guys can top that! I know you can… you've done it before!
Emili Potter—Thanks! I'm glad you liked that one.
Spazzy—Hey, that's how I spell kewl. Lol. Sorry it's been a while.
ADJ—Oh, I'm glad you understand now. Good. I'm glad you like, and thanks!
Shining Star—Thanks, and love the creative spelling. :o)
Ssjguyver—lol, thanks, and I'm glad you found it again. I love all the reviews I can get.
Elisabeth—Hey, that's a good idea. If I decide for Harry to live, I might use that. But he might die… I don't know. Sometimes stories need a sad ending, just look at Damien by Sarah Black. God, that was sad. *sniffsniff* Yeah, Ron'll snap out of it. I kinda have to kill Hermione. Sorry. But I can be persuaded… lol. I don't know.
Melly08—Thanks! Always appreciated.
Miss Spinn—Great, glad you did read the rest. Very nice of you.
Wondergirl—Thank you infinitely! Love writing compliments even more than story compliments!
Ssj Kinara—Yes, in real life guys are dumb, immature, and gross. Well, most are. Some are sweet, they're just locked up in some hidden chamber that I've yet to stumble upon.
Ori—The suspense, yes. I'm cruel like that. Thanks for reading :o)
Charybdis—Thanks for bugging me until I wrote this chapter. Lol. Thanks. Yes, I enjoyed his reaction very much. His "battlecry." And thank you for congratulating me!
Meg—Thanks, it also saves time so I don't have to actually *think* of chapter titles by myself. Kidding!
DaZLindZ—I love that song too! Glad you like how it's used. Did you read the rest of the story, though? You reviewed for only chapter one.
Ok, please more than 15 this time? Thanks, and sorry that it took so long. Like this! LIKE IT!
And I'm out…
