A/N: Wha! I think I have to cry! I only got two reviews for chapter 2! Thanks to Andy and tamar-shaki! Now, I'm not the kind of writer who does the whole "I'll only post another chapter if I get ten more reviews." Personally, I think that's a bit stupid, BUT more reviews would be a nice incentive…just a suggestion.

Chapter 3

Harry lay awake that night thinking and pondering about the day's events. His two best friends, who had decided to date each other, were now broken up. Finally… Not that he was happy about the split, but he thought they never should have tried. In the beginning, it seemed like it would work, but that didn't mean it would. Harry had known this all along, but didn't dare say anything out of fear that Ron would get the wrong impression. Knowing Ron, he would have accused Harry of liking Hermione or being jealous. This was funny considering Ron had been the one to become jealous in their fourth year and was even silly enough to accuse Hermione of "fraternizing with the enemy."

Of course, if Ron had ever accused Harry of liking Hermione, it would have been much less silly; considering the fact that Harry did like Hermione. Thinking of this, Harry pondered if the scene he and Ron caused in the common would raise any ideas about this fact. Now he wished he hadn't lost his temper. But he couldn't help that Ron was being such a slimy git…

"You didn't have to tell her!" Ron bellowed.

"And what else was I supposed to do? Just sit back, while Hermione doesn't have a clue, and let you hurt her?!" Harry bellowed back. "She's my friend and I wouldn't let you do that to her, whether you happen to be my best friend or not!"

Since the moment Ron had entered the common room sporting a bruised cheek he and Harry had been carrying on a blazing row. Students who had been quietly studying had looked around flabbergasted at the onset of noise emitting from Harry and Ron. They all listened hoping to piece together exactly what happened.

"She would have figured it out sooner or later by herself! I'm sure she's smart enough!"

"Not when it comes to you!" Harry yelled. His face turning red with the frustration Ron was causing. How could he be so stupid? Did he think Hermione would have been ok with it if she had figured it out on her own? "She trusted you! I trusted you! We've been best friends for six years! I never thought you'd pull stunt like this and expect to get away with it!"

"And six years as best friends wasn't enough for you to cover me?!" Ron shouted.

Harry was disgusted. When had his friend become so delusional? Never had he imagined that Ron could become so smarmy as he was right now. Had he really expected Harry to make up excuses for him and deceive Hermione? Harry became almost sick at the thought. Somewhere in his stomach gave an almighty lurch…

"You've turned into such a shallow, delusional, pig-headed git that I'm only half surprised you'd think that," Harry replied, his voice low and dangerous.

Ron made a move as if to hit Harry, but stopped suddenly when he smelt something.

"What's burning?" Harry's eyes widened in hilarious disbelief as he noticed smoke issuing from Ron's head.

"It looks like your hair's on fire, mate," Seamus said, looking confused. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or fetch some water.

But before anybody could do anything, Ron reached his hands towards his head and screamed in fright and pain as the flames licked his fingers. They were slowly encompassing his entire scalp. Panicking, Ron ran to the portrait and stumbled out into the corridor. Everybody watched as he got up quickly and set at a dead run down the corridor, his flaming head finally disappearing around a corner.

Harry vaguely wondered if Ron would ever talk to him again, but decided he didn't care at the moment. He still stood by the words he had said to Hermione earlier. He deserved what he got. He thought back on the bemused expression that appeared on her face after he said all those words. Even now he wasn't quite sure where they came from or where he got the nerve to tell her.

It had only been awhile since he realized he might have feelings for Hermione. Actually, it had been just a few days after she and Ron had been going out. They were constantly holding hands and Hermione smiled and giggled more than ever. Harry had pondered if he could make her that happy.

Not after the hell you put her through last year, a cruel voice echoed in Harry's mind.

Harry sighed heavily. He didn't want to think about it, but he knew he would anyway as soon as he fell asleep. He could never keep himself from having the nightmares that plagued him every night. Try as he might, he could not erase the scenes that he had witnessed at the Ministry of Magic that night.

Bitterly resigning himself to this fact, Harry fell into a fitful sleep. Flashbacks of the events from that night undulated in his mind. Once again he relived the battle. He saw Bellatrix Lestrange, the veil, Sirius falling. Ron was stumbling around, muttering nonsense things. A flash of purple flame hit Hermione in the chest. She crumpled to the ground, a look of surprise on her face. The image of Hermione's motionless body lying on the floor seemed more prevailing than ever. His mind seemed to enjoy replaying this particular moment in slow motion.

Harry watched over and over again the same streak of purple flame pass through Hermione's chest and her crumple to the ground, seemingly dead. He was now squirming in his bed, tangling himself in the sheets, fighting to wake up. A cold sweat had broken out all over his body. This was unfair, he didn't want this, but it was still his fault.

Don't let her be dead, don't let her be dead, it's my fault if she's dead… he kept muttering in his sleep. After watching her crumple to the ground one last time, Harry finally bolted awake and sat up.

"HERMIONE!"

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Hermione sat up in her bed, looking around her dormitory. A cold sweat on her face mingled with the tears she had shed while dreaming. She hadn't dreamt about the Ministry of Magic in a long time. This was probably due to the fact that being with Ron made her happy and distracted her from such things. But now that he was gone…

Had it been him who called her name so late in the night? In a rush of hope, she almost believed this, but then remembered that he was still down in the hospital wing. Then who had called her name? It's why she had woken up from that awful dream, wasn't it? She looked around the dormitory once again, looking at all the girls sleeping peacefully in their beds. Her eyes narrowed when it passed over Lavender's sleeping form. It couldn't have been one of them…it had been a male voice…

Then it hit her.

Hermione sprung out of bed, hastily put on her slippers and grabbed her night robe. She padded downstairs to the boy's dormitories. She stopped in front of the sixth year boy's dormitories and quietly opened the door. She was mildly surprised when she saw a figure sitting up in bed, his face gleaming in the moonlight from the cold sweat.

Harry's head turned to the dormitory door and was extraordinarily relieved to see Hermione peaking her head in. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on as he walked over to her. He had never seen her look so worried. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and she seemed confused. He opened the door wider to allow himself to slip outside and close the door behind him. They stood on the landing, staring at each other, searching each other's eyes, both unsure of what to say. Finally, Harry embraced her in a tight hug.

"You're alive," he breathed.

Hermione hugged him back, her eyes welling up with tears and threatening to spill again. She smoothed his hair and answered soothingly, "Yes, I'm alive. I'm here."

It felt like Harry was finally able to breathe freely since that awful night. Never had he felt more relieved than he was right now. Even more than that, he had never felt more alive. It was as simple as that. As long as she was alive, he was alive. As long as Hermione stayed alive, it didn't matter that he had to save the world for everybody else. It didn't matter that he would have to kill Voldemort in the end.

Harry froze. The prophecy…

Feeling Harry go suddenly rigid, Hermione pulled away. She noticed his eyes had a far away look about them. His face seemed slightly pale and his breath seemed ragged.

"Harry…" She placed a hand on his cheek, hoping to get his attention. Jarred from his thoughts, he grabbed her hand and spoke in a voice that seemed unlike his own.

"N-Nothing. It's nothing," he said quietly. He pulled her hand down from his cheek to his side and stared at it. He was holding her hand…

Hermione didn't believe him. "Harry, you can talk to me. It's alright."

Harry looked up and noticed Hermione's eyes mounting with concern. He gave a feeble smile and squeezed her hand.

"I know. You should get back to bed. Class tomorrow and such."

Hermione continued to look at him, narrowing her eyes, trying to discern what was on Harry's mind. She decided she wouldn't push it and take Harry's advice.

"Yes, I should. See you tomorrow." And with these final words, Hermione turned and headed back upstairs.

A very uneasy feeling settled deep within Harry's stomach as he watched her retreating form. He would have to tell her sooner or later; and Ron too, if they ever talked again. Suddenly, things seemed so trivial compared to what Harry would eventually have to do. He was not looking forward to when "sooner or later" would come around. How exactly do you tell your friends that you have to kill or be killed?