Chapter Eighteen

Only One Thing Left

Harry sat at the table in the common room, watching for Hermione's return. Part of him felt horrible about this; Ron certainly wouldn't be happy, and Harry felt like he'd just single-handedly killed Ron's chances with Hermione and broken Ron's heart. Still, Hermione had to do what was going to make Hermione happy, not what would make Ron happy, and she couldn't spend the rest of her life waiting for Ron, especially not while she had feelings for someone else. Also, Ron would probably hurt a lot less if she started dating Fred now than if she dated Fred after Ron had asked her out, or—worse—if she'd gone out and broken up with Ron to be with Fred or dated Ron without really feeling very romantically about him. Besides, it would be a lot easier for Ron to get over right now, and if Hermione didn't resolve the matter with Fred, Ron's friendship with her would be on dangerous ground and so would his relationship with Fred. Harry could just see the scenarios that would arise if Hermione and Fred never finished this war and said what needed to be said—Ron would always be upset whenever the two were in the room together, and there would be all sorts of mixed signals and unexpressed feelings and, in short, Hermione and Fred would always be one big mess around each other.

Harry was jolted out of his thoughts by the return of Hermione, who was practically running down the stairs. She hurried across the common room and up the girls' dormitory staircase, not looking at anyone. Something about her manner made Harry certain that she was crying, or close to it.

Well, Harry thought angrily, that went well. Now what? Do I comfort Hermione, or go kill Fred?

It took quite a while to decide, as both options sounded very good and Harry was taking time out to berate himself for making the suggestion to Hermione. He finally decided that Hermione should come first, and he could kill Fred later; besides, it was probably a good idea to get the full story out of her before he killed Fred.

Harry threw his homework back in his bag and rushed up the stairs to Hermione's room. No one else was there; he wouldn't have known Hermione was, but he could hear her sobbing behind the hangings around her bed. She stopped the moment she heard the door open, however, probably thinking it was Parvati or Lavender, and only someone who knew her well would have been able to tell she was crying when she yelled, "Go away! I want to be alone, please!"

Harry shut the door behind him and Hermione broke out into sobs again, thinking he'd left. Harry put a spell on the door—one he'd learned a while back when he was desperate for something to get people to leave him alone, which would make everyone remember important appointments elsewhere and wander away when they got close.

Harry set down his bag, approached the bed and pulled back the hangings. Hermione gasped and looked up at him, then let out a relieved sigh when she saw who it was.

"Harry," she choked out.

Harry sat down next to her and Hermione promptly threw herself at him, crying uncontrollably against his chest; Harry put his arms around her and held her, muttering things like "shh" and "it'll be okay" and "I'm here" as she cried. When her tears had finally slowed, she pulled back to look up at him. Harry brushed some of the tears from her face and gave her a weak smile.

"What happened?" he asked, then immediately wished he hadn't, as this made Hermione burst into loud sobs all over again. This time, however, she tried to explain, but she was so upset that nothing really made any sense.

"Fred was… George and Lee… misunderstood… Charlie's gonna get me… lies, all lies! He… Fred… bathroom… lies… kill him… rude…"

"It'll be okay, Hermione," Harry told her. "I know it will."

Hermione smiled through her tears and leaned against him. "I'm gonna get Fred for this," she whispered. "He messed with the wrong person… and now there's only one thing left to do."

"What's that?" Harry said, stroking her hair.

"Win," she said, swallowing.

Harry wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't think now was the time to ask her to elaborate. "You just need some sleep, Hermione. Get a good night's rest, and we'll kick his ass in the morning, okay?"

Hermione smiled. "Sounds like a plan." She sniffled, not wanting to let go of Harry. She felt like he was her lifeline sometimes, like he was her strength. "Can you stay?" she asked quietly. Over the past summer, she and Harry had often spent a lot of time sleeping in each other's beds; they fell asleep while trying to comfort each other about Cedric and Voldemort, and found each other's presence reassuring. A lot of people—especially Ron—thought it was strange, but to them it was an odd sort of extended hugging, nothing more. They were too close to be anything more that friends.

"Sure," Harry said. He kicked off his shoes and took off his glasses, and the two of them slid under her blankets, pulling the hangings closed around them.

Hermione lay awake long after Harry did, who fell asleep fairly soon. She had been so certain Fred liked her as much as she liked him… but no, it was all just a game to him, everything always was. Well, she was through playing games. If he wanted to play with her emotions, with her heart, she'd declare war on his.

"Then McGonagall told me to leave. I didn't bother to listen to their conversation," Fred said, finishing up the story of what had happened in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"That's great! You really got her good."

"Yeah, things are looking up," Lee said. "Completely mortifying rumor and we've not been back for twenty-four hours. We're winning this one—and we've got all those new ideas from Charlie we can use…"

"Yeah," Fred said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as George and Lee. He really didn't give a damn about the stupid fight. All he wanted was to go up to Hermione's room, barricade the door, and shag her until well after it was time for her to graduate.

"Well, I'm going to turn in," Fred said, deciding he needed some time alone to think. "It's been a long day, and we've got Quidditch practice tomorrow."

George raised an eyebrow. "You're going to bed early? Fred, you haven't done that since you were five, and even then it was because you had the flu."

"Yeah, well," Fred said, turning away to pull out his pajamas so that George couldn't see his expression.

George and Lee let it go, though Fred was fairly certain George was doing some serious thinking about why Fred wanted to get to bed earlier than he had in twelve years, and Lee was probably curious himself. Still, going to bed early wasn't half as incriminating as staying up and half-heartedly discussing plans would be. George, and most likely Lee as well, would see right through him if Fred tried to talk about ways to take down Hermione. Getting the better of her no longer meant anything to Fred. Getting her did.

He didn't know how to break the news to George and Lee, or Angelina, Alicia and Katie—or, for that matter, Ron—but he knew he couldn't just ignore his feelings for Hermione. He didn't care what it took, he wanted to be with her, and he had to find a way to make her forget the damned fight and return his feelings. He was fairly certain she already liked him, at least partly. Still, it wouldn't be easy to convince her that he wasn't joking, and that he wasn't a prick.

He lay awake, thinking, long after George and Lee had returned to the dormitory from the common room and gone to bed. Suddenly, he threw back his blankets. He had to talk to her, and now. He had to just do it.

He threw on his shoes and a sweater over his pajamas, marching purposefully out the door and up the stairs to the girls' dormitory… then he stopped near the top and turned around, remembering that he was supposed to do his essay for Flitwick, he had to go do that now, or he'd be—no. No, Hermione was more important; he had to stay focused. He headed back up… and promptly remembered that he had to practice a spell for Transfiguration… so down he marched again… no, wait, he had to talk to Hermione! No… no, he had to come up with a plan for that detention tomorrow with… Hermione! Must talk to Hermione! No… he couldn't, it was his week to go get food from the kitchens. Yeah. Food from the kitchens.

This time, Fred made it all the way back down to the common room before he remembered Hermione… but he had to pause anyway, as he was rather out of breath from running up and down seven flights of stairs. As he leaned against a wall, he spied Parvati and Lavender, sitting at a table not far away.

"I can't believe we forgot all this stuff!" Lavender grumbled. "How could we?"

"I don't know," Parvati said wearily.

Fred frowned, something clinking into place in his brain. He kept feeling a strong urge to do something else every time he got near the top of the tower… ah, someone had put a spell on Hermione's dorm. What was she talking about that she didn't want anyone to overhear… wait. She didn't use those sorts of charms, finding it somewhat rude to make people invent chores for themselves whenever they got too close. She preferred Imperturbable Charms or Silencing Charms for privacy… so who was in her room, and why did they have a charm up to keep everyone away?

Harry, Fred thought with certainty, Harry or Ginny… probably Harry. Harry had used that spell a lot to get people to leave him alone the first few days of term; he'd been sick of people asking him about the graveyard and Cedric. Fred knew Ginny preferred more complex charms that warned the castor when someone was approaching, and he doubted Ron would think to use a spell at all.

Sure enough, as he neared the top of the stairs again, he was reminded of dozens of seemingly urgent tasks. Still, he pushed forward; he didn't care if Harry was in there with Hermione, plotting more ways to get back at Fred, George, and Lee—he'd force Harry to leave at wand-point if he had to and force Hermione to listen to him.

Strange, he thought, just as he opened the door, they're up awfully late… it's got to be after one o'clock, why would they still be planning… why's it dark in here? What, are they sitting on her bed, chatting in the dark? Why can't I hear them? Did they put up a Silencing Charm around the bed or something…?

Fred shrugged and pulled back the hangings, determined to make Harry go away and get Hermione to talk to him—and then froze, staring in disbelief. He'd expected to see Harry and Hermione sitting cross-legged on her bed, chatting away… but instead he found them curled up together tightly, their arms and legs clearly tangled beneath the blanket and their faces inches apart.

Fred couldn't think; his mind was complete fog. He had seen them sleeping together several times over the summer, but he had never seen them cuddling each other in their sleep. It was one thing to sleep in the same bed or maybe put your arm around someone; it was quite another to be snuggled up like that. Besides, the way he understood it, it was something they did primarily when they were really upset—when Harry was really upset, mostly. When Harry had first gotten out of the Dursleys, he and Hermione had slept in Harry's bed for the first two weeks… and then they'd slowly tapered off, eventually staying in their own rooms most of the time. As far as Fred knew, Hermione had only slept in Harry's bed once since the return to Hogwarts, right after Harry had had a particularly bad day, involving a Daily Prophet article about Voldemort and Death Eaters and how Harry was full of it. Ron had grumbled about Harry and Hermione for ages and Neville, the only one who'd seen Hermione in their dorm (Harry had kept his hangings closed, and Dean and Seamus had left the room before Harry and Hermione woke up) had been rather startled. Why were they sleeping in the same bed now? Harry had been fine all day. There hadn't been any Death Eater activity, or even annoying crap. Had Fred upset Hermione somehow, and she'd asked Harry to stay with her? No, of course not, why would she be upset about what he said in the bathroom? Confused, maybe, but not upset. So what was going on? Was there another reason entirely for them to be in the same bed? If so, what?

The color drained from Fred's face as he realized just why, exactly, Harry and Hermione might be in her bed together. Had their sleeping habits over the summer been something more than comforting each other? Had that just been an excuse so no one would freak out? Did they like each other? Was that what it was about? Fred suddenly recalled Harry acting weird at the Burrow, when he'd come to call that truce for the holidays… Harry had seemed ready to give Fred advice about Hermione, and then he'd sort of remembered something and stopped himself… He'd been suggesting that Fred and Hermione wouldn't get back together if they kept carrying on, and Harry had seemed like he was about to advise Fred to stop it if he wanted Hermione back, but he'd said to forget it before he reached that point…

Oh, god, Fred thought, feeling sick. She likes Harry. Harry likes her. She's been messing with me this whole time, trying to confuse me, trying to make me think—

He yanked the curtains around her bed closed and fairly stomped out of the room, forgetting to shut the door as he marched back to his dormitory. Of course she didn't like him. Why had he thought she had? It didn't matter. She'd pissed him off now. Sure, she'd done quite a few things that had bothered him, but now… now it was worse. Now it hurt. Now he was truly ready to take her down.

He was so angry that he kicked the door to his dormitory open then slammed it shut. "Quiet," Lee mumbled, rolling over in his bed.

"Wake up!" Fred yelled. "Come on, guys, get up! We've got a war to plan!"