A/N: Well, I certainly received more reviews than I expected, but I am happy nonetheless. Thank you all very much and hopefully you'll do me the favour of reviewing again.

I am bored and my friend Adriana is a nerd

Disclaimer:

Pronunciation: -'klA-m&r
Function: noun
1 a: a denial or disavowal of legal claim relinquishment of or formal refusal to accept an interest or estate b: a writing that embodies a legal disclaimer

Get the picture?

She took the Muggle way (i.e. walk to bus stop, take bus, walk to destination). It was prudent to take the Muggle way of transport if she were going to visit a church. Hermione had often wondered about what the Church would say if it found out about the Wizarding World. She figured it would order some Crusade against all who possessed a wand. This was partly the reason, she had learned, that the Wizarding World kept to itself as much as possible; when the two worlds crossed, it was no wonder why many memories had to be amended.

Walking to the bus stop she realized she was still wearing the mud-stained jeans and wrinkled sweater of the night before. She felt her hair; the ribbon was tangled in there somewhere, too. Ron hadn't completely captured it yesterday. She shook her head. She mustn't think of that now—she had to resolve something else before she faced him and his 'love' that night. As she stepped into the bus, she caught a glance at her reflection in a large mirror. She looked nothing like herself. Not only did her hair resemble a rat's nest, but there were dark circles under her eyes and dirt on her cheeks and hands.

She was a mess. Hermione was never so untidy. She could remember a time when she took pride in her neatness—when she would tut disapprovingly at Harry and Ron when she peeked into their dorm. But that was ages ago—centuries, it seemed.

She looked away from herself and paid the driver (or rather, the little box next to the driver) the due amount for a ride and made her way through the vehicle searching for a seat. All around passengers stared at her in a very rude, judgmental way. One woman in particular glanced up from her newspaper, sneered at Hermione's appearance and went back to reading. Hermione groaned. Again she was reminded of a time when she would have said something—stood up for herself—and when she herself would be holding a copy of the same newspaper and sit down far away from the woman and be content in reading it.

She had cancelled her subscription of The Daily Prophet.

Sitting in an empty seat, Hermione collected her thoughts, her heart. She could feel it breaking more and more with each passing moment. Not willing to let tears fall again, she turned to look out the window and vaguely wondered when her eyes would finally run out of the boxed-up emotions. Outside, she watched as people on the streets, people in cars and people in shops blurred into one mesh of colour. On the Knight Bus she wouldn't even be able to tell the difference between the sky and the floor. She hadn't gone on that bus in over a year. Had she still read The Daily Prophet, she would have known it had gone out of business quickly when Voldemort decided to hijack the entire station and use the busses as his own means of transport. But that was a year ago. Now, the Knight Bus was to Hermione simply what it was to any other witch or wizard that had ever ridden it: a distant memory.

When the driver announced her stop, Hermione trudged down the aisle again, head down, unwilling to face the derogatory faces of so many.

'Look at her hair!' she heard a little girl say, giggling.

'Now, now, Audrey. It isn't polite to laugh at someone, no matter how—how shabby that person is,' said a voice, which Hermione deduced to be Audrey's mother.

She glanced back at the two of them and spotted them easily. The woman with the newspaper apparently kept her daughter hidden behind large sheets of print. She narrowed her eyes at the duo and stalked out of the bus in rage.

'The audacity!' she muttered to herself. 'Oh, honestly! If only I'd brushed my hair this morning—that woman is so shallow! And her daughter—poor thing, learning such a superficial life!'

She quietly entered the church and crossed herself upon finding the gentle eyes of the Virgin Mary. She had no idea how witch and Jesus would ever get along but it seemed so. Carefully, she dipped her hands in a bowl of Holy Water and again crossed herself, bowing her head and saying a quick 'Hail Mary.' She then proceeded to kneel at a pew, hands together as she recited what she was taught in Primary School.

She prayed for the woman with the newspaper and her mean little daughter and asked for forgiveness for being so rude as well (even though they deserved it). Hermione tentatively finished her prayers and moved on to walk to the back door. She very cautiously slipped through the black door and stepped outside to a graveyard. She kept her head bowed—she knew the way well. She often came to this church to visit. Seldom did she find any mourning company, but as she walked she noticed a familiar figure in the distance which faintly rang a bell in her distant memory.

It seemed this person was there to carry out the same purpose with which Hermione had also endowed upon herself that morning.

'Harry?' she said quietly. She was certain she wasn't dreaming him up like she thought when she saw Ron.

The raven-haired man turned around suddenly at her voice and his bottle-green eyes sparkled. 'Hermione!' he exclaimed, and before Hermione could even register his existence he had her wrapped in a very tight, very warm, and very long hug. 'Oh, I've missed you so much,' Harry said. He pulled her from him at arm's length and declared, eyes shining, 'I'm sorry.'

Hermione smiled at him. It was the very first smile that had fully blossomed from her lips in a year. 'It's alright, Harry,' she said and then frowned. She looked up at him and studied his figure. He was very fit and he had finally grown into his face. It was much sharper, but still full of that joyous charm she was sure came directly from his father, James. He still wore the same, round glasses and there, just beneath the untamed mop of hair of his was that lightning-shaped scar. She grinned. 'I've missed you,' she said. She hugged him. 'I'm sorry.'

Her words hung in the air, frozen. Harry looked as if he hadn't comprehended a bit of her short apology. He glanced at the grave they had come to see and looked at her again. 'Hermione—why—?' he said.

But she swiftly cut him off, 'Harry, he left me and asked me to stay at home, to wait for him that last battle. I told him not to go. I should have kept him home—or I should have gone and fought—or maybe I just should have done something and then—no one would have—have to go through this.' Hermione was hiccupping rather unattractively.

Harry pulled her into another hug and whispered to her to calm down, that it wasn't her fault. And then he let her go.

He walked towards the grave and Hermione followed suit. Harry sat on the ground and fingered the rose he had laid carefully on the side of the tombstone. 'I can't believe you,' he whispered unexpectedly. 'I don't understand why you'd think you were at fault. I thought you were angry with me. And all this time—ALL THIS TIME!—you thought—you thought I was mad at you? Unbelievable, Hermione,' he said sadly.

'Harry?' said she, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off. 'You don't understand do you?' He didn't wait for her reply. 'You don't why it was that I've been avoiding you?' He snapped his head around to face hers. Hermione saw the tears threatening to spill. It seemed Harry noticed them, too, for he dropped his head and turned around again. 'I asked him to go. I didn't look after him! I let you turn into this—this heartbroken sob-story. I didn't mean it, Hermione. I didn't mean it. I was just too preoccupied with Lord Voldemort! I didn't want him to go, 'Mione. I didn't want Ron to be taken away—I saw it happen, and that idiot Voldemort wouldn't let me get past him. I could have saved him, Herm, I could've saved you, too.' Harry's shoulders were shaking as he sobbed a pain he hadn't yet realized.

Hermione stepped towards him and tried again. 'No one blames you, Harry,' she said hesitantly.

'Of course everyone blames me!' he shrieked, and he fell to the damp ground. 'I WAS THE ONE WHO LET HIM GO, DAMNIT!' Harry was shaking all over again.

Hermione's own tears couldn't handle themselves anymore. She kneeled and sat herself next to Harry. She offered a friendly hug and Harry, quite reluctantly, accepted. The two cried quietly for some time, and Hermione felt her heart ache; it was almost like last night, when she cried onto Ron's shoulder. But now it was Harry who needed to be held and loved and understood. It was he, Harry, who needed a friend. Even if they hadn't said a word to each other in over a year, it was almost as if they had restarted a conversation left in the air the day before. Only it was a year ago, Hermione found herself thinking.

'Harry?' she whispered once he had quieted down again.

Harry looked down at her, glasses askew on his nose and emerald eyes shining. 'Yeah?' he asked.

'Don't . . . don't curse in a churchyard, Harry. It isn't wise.'

Harry smiled a little and he clobbered her over the head playfully. 'Yes, Mum,' he said.

They were sitting on the very moist grass of the graveyard. Hermione almost cringed as she looked at the words carved unto the tombstone: RONALD WEASLEY, 1980-1998; Son, Friend, and Loving Brother.

'He was more than just a loving brother,' Harry said quietly, looking at his best friend.

Her cheeks pinked, but her eyes were sad. 'Yes, he was,' she said, putting careful emphasis on the past tense verb that caused her to wonder, What if?

'You still love him.'

He said it as a statement, not as a question. She answered as such anyway. 'Yes, I do. Very much.'

'And now he's got a—a "dream girl." I was surprised he didn't propose the first time he saw you.'

He and Hermione were very quiet for a quite a long time.

'I can't go tonight, Harry,' Hermione said in an urgent whisper.

'Yes, you can and you must! If Ron—your best friend, mind you—has found the One, you can't just not go meet her.'

Hermione looked at him quizzically. Since when was Harry reasonable?

He looked back at her, just as bewildered. 'What?' he asked, grinning a bit.

'Er—just, what did you do with yourself in a year? I mean, you're all . . . logical now. Definitely not Harry.'

'Thanks, Hermione,' Harry said sarcastically. 'I really appreciate being called irrational.'

Hermione blushed. 'What I mean is—why have you changed so much in one year?'

'Well, I suppose it's because my logical friend wasn't there when I needed her most so I had learn to live . . . independently. It's kind of hard when I've been attached at the hip with you and Ron for so long.' He meant it as a joke, but Hermione didn't laugh.

Instead, she sighed. 'Ron,' she stated. 'I can't see him, tonight, Harry. I just—I can't face him if he's going to introduce me to his supposed new love. It'd be humiliating and heartbreaking.'

Harry gave her a sideways glance and grinned devilishly. 'I was planning on bringing a date, and if you want, I could "escort" you—accompany you, or whatever.'

He was being generous, Hermione realized, and she liked it a lot. But she didn't want to bring a date, even if it was just Harry. 'I couldn't,' she said to him. 'It wouldn't be fair to either of us. You go ahead and bring a date, only don't completely ignore me.'

'I would never! . . . I mean, apart from this last year and all . . .' he said.

Hermione smiled sadly.

'It's been a long year without you. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for you, though. You lost me—so obviously, that had to hurt,' he said cockily, which made Hermione grin. 'But also, Ron. The man you love. And now—now the oblivious dolt wants to get you to meet his—his "true love?" He's very much mistaken. Don't you remember when you went to the Yule Ball with Krum?'

'Yeah,' Hermione said, smiling at the memory.

'He was maddeningly jealous! And then fifth year, when you kissed him on the cheek before the Quidditch match? I swear he wasn't concentrating on the game because of you! Oh man, I was so angry with him afterwards. I was screaming at him! Telling him he should just go snog you instead of screwing up our Quidditch points. And you know what he said?'

Hermione was blushing furiously, but still she asked, intrigued, 'What?'

'He said to me, "It's not that easy! I mean, what if she doesn't like me back? What if she hates me as much as it seems she does when we argue? What if—what if she likes someone else? What if he isn't good enough for her? What would I do then? I couldn't just get over her, I lo—I really, really like her. Ugh! Being in love is very distracting!" Imagine that, he admitted he loved you in fifth year!' Harry said this very excitedly.

Hermione began playing with her hair. She was digesting this information very slowly. What kind of woman could make a very in-love man fall in love suddenly with that other woman? She must be gorgeous, she thought.

'No, I never thought Ron was that shallow,' Harry said thoughtfully.

Or had she just thought that?

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'C'mon! Don't you remember Fleur?' she asked with disbelief.

Harry's eyebrows rose. 'Don't you? She was Veela.'

Hermione looked away. She had been very jealous of that girl that just came by and turned Ron into a flopping, gaping fish. But then again, she had never wanted to see Ron act that way again. It was much too awful.

All of a sudden, a beeping, rather annoying sound disturbed their conversation. Harry jumped up and pulled his left sleeve up. He looked at his watch and then back at Hermione. 'That's my alarm. Sorry, 'Mione. I have to go meet Claudette.'

'Claudette?' Hermione asked.

Harry sighed. 'Yeah, she's been after me for ages. She told me if I gave her a shot and I still wasn't interested, she would never bother me again.' He looked up at the sky and quite exasperated said, 'Don't believe her, though.'

Hermione laughed. 'Well, aren't you the Wizarding World's most wanted bachelor?'

Harry blushed and he looked very uncomfortable. 'By Witch Weekly's standards, anyway.' He ran a hand through his hair. 'Er, anyway—I'll see you tonight, Hermione. I can't possibly imagine how it'd feel to go through with what's coming, but you'd have to do it eventually. You couldn't just shut off your best friend after he practically resurrected himself.'

Once again, his reason astounded Hermione. She was really fascinated with how compassionate he was and just how selfish she had become.

'Will you meet me outside The Three Broomsticks just so I don't faint on the way to seeing Ron again?' Hermione asked timidly.

'Of course,' Harry said, and he pulled her up from the ground and hugged her. 'I'd better be off, then,' he said. And he walked slowly towards the back door of the cathedral. It seemed Harry too was respectful of the church's beliefs and also followed the Muggle way out.

Hermione paid her last respects to the false grave and slid her wand through her sleeve. She magicked the tombstone so that it now read: RONALD WEASLEY: Alive and Well, Please Reuse Grave Site.

She turned. That's all she needed for closure.

Now, it was the future that lay ahead of her instead of the past and what could have been. It was the future and what was going to happen.

It was a future without Ron.

A/N: Review!

—blufiresprite