"I'd rather spend but a lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone."

Arwen Evenstar

One

My whole life, he has acknowledged me as Hermione, the know-it-all; Hermione, the Muggle-Born whom Malfoy makes fun of; Hermione, the bookworm. It was never anything more than that. I didn't want to love him as more than what I did. I didn't want to give him a reason to love me back. I guess everything took over and I lost myself in my quest.

When we first met, I was only eleven – a First-Year on the Hogwarts Express, waiting to begin my magical journey from Muggle to Witch. I had been annoyed by him, with his dirt on his nose. But as I began to "hang out" with him more, I got to know him better. The only problem was that the better I got to know him and the more I started to like him, the more he drifted away from me.

"No, stop, stop. You're going to take someone's eye out. Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's Levi-oh-sah, not Levi-oh-sar," I corrected him one day during Charms.

"Well, you do it, then, if you're so clever. Go on, go on!" he commanded.

I whipped out my wand and pointed it at the feather in front of me. With a swish and a flick of the wrist, I said, "Wingardium Leviosa," and the feather rose higher and higher off the table. As Professor Flitwick complimented my spell, I smirked at him triumphantly. He just sat there, folded his arms, and pouted. I had been so glad to defy him, but he had to take it and blow it up so it was a huge deal.

"'It's Levi-oh-sah, not Levi-oh-sar.' She's a nightmare, honesty! No wonder she hasn't got any friends!" he said that day, jeering at me. The boys around him, Harry, Seamus, Dean and Neville, all laughed. I ran into him as I walked by, tears streaming down my face.

"I think she heard you," was all anyone said before they were joking and laughing again. It was lie they didn't even care about my feelings or anything.

But that night, they saved me from the Troll. I could've been killed if they hadn't come to save me. Mind you, if he hadn't made fun of me, I wouldn't have been in the bathroom to begin with, but still, it was heroic nonetheless. And after that incident, he, Harry and I became friends.

In our second year, I began to notice that something more was going on. Sure, I was young, I was naïve, but I was able to recognize when I had a crush on a guy and when I didn't. But unfortunately, I wasn't really around long enough to make him notice. A little more than halfway through the year, I was petrified by the stupid Basilisk.

I can't tell you I saw him at all the rest of the year, because I didn't see anything. It was weird being petrified. I had my thoughts and I thought about everything. And sometimes, I could tell that someone was there. It was as though I was blind and deaf at the same time, and had no sensory nerves anywhere in my body, but I could tell when someone was there. I didn't know who it was or what they were doing, but they somehow sent off these vibrations that informed me of their presence.

So since I knew no one could disturb or read my thoughts, I decided to think through how I'd been feeling the last few months about him.

Over that summer when I had gone into my second year, I had thought a lot about him and the rest of my first year. I still couldn't believe that Harry had, once again, escaped Lord V – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. How did he do it? It was inconceivable in my mind. And what was more inconceivable was that Vol – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – hadn't gotten the Stone.

However, the most prominent thing in my mind was the way I had felt about him. Being only eleven, I hadn't ever felt like this towards anyone before. Being the insufferable know-it-all that I am, I had few friends in Muggle School. All of a sudden, I had two amazing friends, and one of them seemed a little more important than the other. Whenever we were alone, I felt all tingly, and I suddenly wished that my hair wasn't so puffy or that my front teeth were smaller. The worst part was that he didn't seem to feel the same way. Or did he?

After I was unpetrified at the end of my Second Year, he, Harry and I fulfilled the rest of the year in peace. They seemed to enjoy my presence a little more, especially since I had been gone for so long. Even though I was thoroughly disappointed at the cancellation of the End-of-the-Year exams, I was happier than I'd ever been.

When Harry left to go back to his home with the Dursleys that year, I ran to him and gave him a huge hug.

"There's no way we would have done anything we did this year without you, Hermione," he said.

"Oh, it's no problem, really. It's what I do. I research things, put them in the miscellaneous department in my brain until they are of use, and put them to work when I need them," I replied, smiling. I hugged him again and said, "Promise you'll write to me. It stunk this summer when I didn't know how you were."

"I will, Hermione, don't worry. I won't have anything better to do, now that the Dursleys hate me for escaping in the flying car. Good-bye."

I watched him walk away, pulling his trunk over to where three grave-looking Muggles stood – a fat man, his thin wife, and their abominable son – and then turned away to bid farewell to my other friend.

He grinned slightly and said, "I'm so glad you're alright. Seriously, Hermione, after you were petrified, Harry and I were devastated. We weren't sure if we'd ever see you alive again."

"Well, you know me. I'm a trooper," I joked.

He looked at the ground, then back up at me and said, "We'll really miss – I mean, I'll really miss you, Hermione."

I loved the way he said my name. It was soft and gentle, like he wanted to take good care of it.

"Come on, dear, we don't have all day!" his mother called.

"I have to go. I'll see you next year. Don't forget to write to me, Hermione," he commanded.

"Me? Forget to write? I'm the one who should be saying that to you," I laughed. For a second, we stood there, unsure of how to say good-bye. Should we wave? Should we shake hands? I didn't know. So I just went with what my instinct told me.

I flung my arms around him and hugged him. And it was good.

"Good-bye, Hermione," he called, pulling away his trunk and following behind his mother, sister, and three older brothers.

"Good-bye!" I called back, waving to him.

The last thing I saw was his flaming red hair fading into the distance. And I watched him there, from Platform 9 ¾, saying to myself, "I'll really miss you, too, Ron Weasley."