A/N: I think for so many of us Harry Potter is something that we can grasp onto in a reality that's not quite what we'd want to be; in it's own way, it becomes a reality for us, just the sort that lives on pages and printed in ink. Because of that the emotions those pages hold attack us no matter how hard we try to suppress them, perhaps with distant mutters of, "Would you stop crying, it's just a book, you oaf." And then we have to wonder, if it's just a book, why are we crying and talking to ourselves?

That might be just me. But that is what Harry Potter means to me. I reread HBP tonight, sat and cried my little heart out as I do every time I think I'm strong enough to crack the covers open, only to find I'm not. I've always seen how much Harry, Ron, and Hermione mean to each other, how close they are. It was at the end of HBP, on this reading, that the depth of their friendship truly hit me. Not just the thoughts of, "They'd die for each other," or "They are so close," no, it truly hit me. True friendship. True love. The one thing that will defeat Voldemort is what holds them together, keeps them strong. Theirs is a friendship we have all been able to echo in our own lives, and yet again, Harry Potter's world of ink and pages is reflected in our, much more boring one.

This fic is for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. For all the friends out there…most importantly, it's for Katie, who has been my best friend for nearly twenty years and going strong. Amazing what a series of books can bring out in us it, isn't it?

Disclaimer: I, quite sadly, do not own Harry Potter, nor could I ever hope to. Unless JKR is willing to pass her greatness on to me, I am stuck with my own feeble writing skills and over emotional self. So don't sue, kids, I'm just playing in JKR's sandbox; I promise not it pee in it, though.

"We'll be there, Harry," said Ron.

"What?"

"At your aunt and uncle's house," said Ron, "And then we'll go with you, wherever you're going."

"No-" Harry said quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them to understand he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone.

"You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "That there was time for us to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

There had never been a decision for them to make, no other path for them to follow but the same one that Harry walked; not behind him, not in front of him, simply at his side, their footsteps in time with his as they walked into the dangerous, uncertain future together. It seemed that the path had been marked and cleared out for them since the beginning of time, cemented there when Harry stuck up his wand up a trolls nose and Ron bashed it in the head with it's own club, all to save Hermione. Nothing could change their course, nothing would deter them from it – perhaps it was because they both knew that if it had been one of them with the lightning bolt scar on their forehead, marked as the Chosen One with no real public thought to if they lived or died, so long as they stopped the evil from consuming the world, that he would never think about leaving them.

That was just how Harry was. Brave, brash, stupid, thick headed, and loyal to a fault.

They were thinking about that, rather abstractly, but the thought was there, after the white tomb had shot up around Dumbledore's mortal husk and entombed him forever on the grounds of his beloved Hogwarts. The grief was heavy in them that day, as before they saw his shroud covered body being carried to his final resting place by a broken hearted Hagrid, they could pretend. It was easy to pretend in the sweet warmth of summer inside the Common Room, easy to find themselves assuming that Dumbledore was in his office, perhaps offering someone a lemon drop with that twinkle in his eyes that had so often been imparted on the three of them.

But they couldn't pretend then, not when they were faced with his once proud, strong body devoid of life and now gone from sight. It hurt, oh yes, it hurt like nothing before had…but it also made them strong.

Dumbledore would not die in vain, they swore silently, reverently. He would die for a cause, to see the end of Voldemort (Ron gave a short tremble at even thinking his name), to the rise and life of Harry.

It was only natural they would walk Harry's path with him. Who else would if his two best friends, who had always been at his side (even when they weren't at the other's) if they didn't?

Any other choice never once crossed their minds.

"What'll we do now, Ron?" Hermione asked, arms around his waist as he held her and kept stroking her hair, even though her tears had dried. She sighed, trembled, closed her eyes and thought of the seemingly never ending battles that would be coming to them in such a short time. Once it had not been so scary to face, knowing that if anything happen Dumbledore would be there, like a great, shining hero to save them, patch them up, and offer them sweets. "Now that…"

"What do you mean?" asked Ron a bit roughly, and when Hermione lifted her head she could see he was still composing himself, voice rough from the tears he'd shed. He cleared his throat in a manner that might have made Hermione give an exclimation of disgust and muttering about boys and their habits (though she was rather used to them, spending six years with Ron and Harry), but now it just made her want to hug him. Kiss the freckles on his face and then his lips, because Ron was stupid, and dense, and strong, and safe.

"We'll do what he'd want," Ron continued after a moment, shooting a burning look at Hermione with his vaguely red-rimmed eyes. "We'll fight. Just like we did when he was here. We'll fight with Harry." So easy, so natural were the words he spoke.

And they were – they were easy, natural, and utterly right.

"'Course," Hermione answered, nodding her head and giving a faint, wan smile. "He'd be lost without us."

"Damn right he would," Ron said quickly, red hair ruffling in the breeze. "What'd he do without his Wheezy, anyways?"

"What his would Wheezy do without a Hermione to let him copy her notes?" Hermione teased, because even though they'd lost Dumbledore, he would have appreciated it. Life continuing to stretch out and the world to keep on turning, no matter how they thought it might not. Ron flushed under Hermione's look, rubbed the back of his neck and coughed, obviously trying to avoid the question.

"Look," he said suddenly, pointing, "Scrimgeour's talking to Harry. Recon we ought to go save him?" Ginny was mysteriously gone when they stood, and neither noticed her leaving. But as they moved to Harry, passed the Minister who never gave them a spare glance (though Ron did give his brother one, and muttered darkly how he'd like to knock the git's head in), it seemed that it was fate just leading their feet one more time. Just like it always had, in that groove of loving friendship (and a bit more, for a certain bookworm and redhead) that they had settled into so easily it seemed they were extensions of the other, all of three of them.

"Wait here a minute," Ron said quickly, trying to turn, arm swinging out as Hermione caught him by the back of the robes.

"You're not hitting your brother, Ron." Hermione said firmly. The look she got was one of childish pleading, but he turned and walked on to Harry, who was under the shade of the beech tree by the lake.

"What did Scrimgeour want?" Hermione whispered, and even though they were older, maybe a bit wiser, and most certainly on a darker path…it fit just as it had always fit before.