WARNINGS: Vampire jokes.

two: past tense

They were laughing. Hermione felt it bubble out of her throat like carbonation, the fizz exploding on her lips. Harry grinned at her, and she was smiling back. They had been exchanging memories of Ginny for just over an hour, recalling funny moments from their past with her. It was a painful sort of good, an exercise of her emotional control; while she wanted to cry because her lover was gone, she was laughing because it had all been so wonderful.

"I'm really glad that you're the one who ended up with her," Harry told her, once their laughter had died down.

She looked at him curiously, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, even though I did care about her once, I don't think I could have given her what you did," he explained, gathering his thoughts from the ceiling. "The connection you had together… It was unbreakable. Even that time when you were broken up, neither of you dated anyone else. That kind of commitment is really special."

Hermione nodded, drifting away on the sea of melancholy. The past tense was hard on her brain. Ginny should be coming home any minute now… "I know," she replied quietly, eyes stinging. "I wish I hadn't lost that."

"You haven't lost it," Harry said, surprising her into looking up. His eyes were intense, boring into her with their seriousness, with their passionate belief. "It'll be there forever."

She smiled slightly, but she wasn't sure if she really believed.

…

"What're you writing?"

Ginny snuck up behind her, reaching around her waist in order to grab the parchment from her hands. Hermione, feeling her cheeks becoming hot, attempted to swat at her quick hands.

"It's nothing," she protested. She looked out towards the field behind the Burrow, seeing the boys playing Quidditch. The very last thing she needed was Ginny parading around her poetry to the Weasley boys and Harry; well, in all honesty, she would have preferred Ginny not looking at it in the first place.

"If it were nothing, you wouldn't be trying to hide it," Ginny retorted, grinning. Hermione frowned and reached for it; Ginny danced away, waving it teasingly, before racing off. "Catch me if you want it back!"

Hermione let out a frustrated cry before pushing herself off the ground and taking off after her, legs unused to running. Her lungs burned with the effort, and her stomach twisted uncomfortably in her abdomen. What if Ginny read it?

"Ginny, please!" Hermione called out breathlessly. The redhead was at least twenty yards away, looking back every so often to make sure Hermione was behind her. Then, without warning, she disappeared.

Hermione panicked. Ginny was a year too young for Apparation, though that wouldn't have stopped her brothers from teaching her how. But why would she risk expulsion at the cost of getting away from Hermione? Ginny wasn't as reckless as Fred and George.

"Gin-!" she started to yell, until her feet found no ground to stand on and she stumbled, landing on her elbow, the bone stinging. It wasn't magic; it was just a hollow.

Ginny was sitting with her legs curled beneath her, nestled in a corner of dirt and rock. Hermione watched helplessly as her blue eyes scanned over the page, face becoming more and more unreadable.

"Ginny," she whispered hoarsely. She felt tears forming behind her eyes at the thought of Ginny not just rejecting her romantically, as her poetry implied, but also platonically. "Let me explain…" But she trailed off. She couldn't think of any words of explanation.

Ginny didn't say anything. Hermione felt like her heart was going to burst with waiting. Then, out of nowhere, Ginny drew in a slow breath. "I don't really think there's much to explain," she said unsteadily.

Hermione swallowed around her dry mouth. "Why not?" she asked anxiously. Nothing moved; the only sounds were coming from the carrying yells of the makeshift Quidditch match and birds singing to each other.

Then Ginny began moving towards her, smiling mysteriously, coming closer than Hermione would have liked just then, with so many uncertainties floating in this little hollow. Ginny's lips were mere inches from hers; Hermione wanted to kiss her, and at the thought, her face turned numerous shades of red.

"Hermione," Ginny replied, her hot breath brushing against Hermione's cheek, "if you thought this was bad, you should see my sketch book."

…

She still had the poem. She fished it out of a drawer and gave it to Harry, watched his eyebrows rise as he read it.

"You were really after her," he commented, laughing a little. "I can't believe you wrote this just before seventh year. It's quite… descriptive, for being so inexperienced in that particular… area."

Hermione shrugged a little and nonchalantly took it back. It was still slightly enchanting to see the words written down; they had been in her head for ages. She had the whole thing memorized.

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" Harry asked after a few minutes of silence, searching for some sign of emotion from her.

Hermione sighed, barely able to tear her eyes from the parchment in her hands. "Yeah," she replied, more wearily than she had intended. To lighten the mood, she smiled. "But you're sticking to the couch."

Harry grinned. "No problem," he replied. "I'll just suck your blood while you're sleeping."

She laughed. It felt good to do this again, to be around someone who wasn't always shooting her worried looks. She wondered if she would be able to maintain this level of okay on her own, or if it was even worth trying to without Ginny.

This diminished her slightly. Harry could see it in the way her shoulders sagged and her smiling lips went slack. Her guilt permeated his senses like thick fog. He sliced it with a hand on her shoulder, then a tight hug.

"Ginny would want you to just be happy," he whispered soothingly. "She's not really gone."

Hermione couldn't think of anything to say.

…

Harry tucked her into bed like a child, telling her a silly story about a boy and a dragon and the princess who saved them both. She laughed and gasped in the appropriate places, knowing he was trying to make her out to be the heroine. When he was finished, he bent down and kissed her forehead softly. She smiled up at him sleepily.

"Sleep well, princess," he told her, before turning. When he reached the door, Hermione called out to him gently. He turned, waiting expectantly for her to speak.

"Thank you," she said. He smiled, nodded, and pulled the door mostly closed behind him.

Hermione snuggled between the sheets, able to enjoy the smell of Ginny still present now that her mood had improved slightly. Maybe she needed to start living again, start appreciating the fact that Ginny had been there in the first place. Harry was right; she would've just wanted Hermione to be happy.

"Damn right I want you to be happy," Ginny said.

Hermione sat up quickly in the bed. Ginny's voice had been very clear in her ears but the redhead was nowhere in sight. Past her own fast-beating heart, she could hear Harry making a bed out of her sofa. He would have come and told her if Ginny were there; as a ghost, as… whatever. Maybe she really wasn't dead. Maybe it had been a mistake.

But no, that wasn't true. Hermione shakily let herself lay down again, eyes darting every so often to make sure that she was alone in the room. She didn't want to be alone. She really wanted to believe that Ginny was still with her. After all, how else could she have heard her so clearly? Her memories never sounded so alive.

It was fatigue; she hadn't been sleeping well. She wasn't thinking straight. Logic gripped her and pulled her, as she halfheartedly fought, into the realm of dreams.

…

Owl claws tapped gently at the glass door of her balcony. Fork paused halfway to her mouth; Hermione terminated the action and placed it on her plate before standing. With a gentle click, the door unlocked and slid open. The bird presented its rolled up parchment to her with the air of one who knows its duty and would do it well; she smiled gently and stroked its feathers.

"Thank you," she told the owl, and with a humanlike bob of its head, it flew away.

"Who's it from?" Harry asked from the table as she came to sit back down, unrolling the parchment as she went. She scanned over the letter, trying to decipher the calligraphy-like scrawl.

Hermione,

I do hope you are feeling better than you were at our lunch date yesterday. I would hope to try again, if you let me. I understand that it was quite out of my place to mention something so precious to you, knowing so little about it. I apologize sincerely; please forgive me, Hermione Granger. I would love to make it up to you.

Fleur Delacour

"Fleur," she replied with a surprised tone. "She's apologizing to me for me running off on her yesterday." She frowned a little. "She's been flirting with me ever since…" She trailed off, unable to finish.

Harry nodded. "I can imagine," he replied. "I think she's had a little crush on you ever since she started working at the Ministry. At least, that's what I always gathered from those little parties you and Gin would drag me to."

Hermione sighed, setting the parchment on the table. "I know. And Gin would hold me a little closer and give her the piercing look of death, then she'd laugh a little nervously, wish us a good evening, and not bother us for the rest of the night."

Harry read over the note, chewing thoughtfully on a forkful of French toast as he did so. After swallowing, he handed it back to her and half-smiled. "Looks like you've got worse problems than vampires."

"You're right," she said, frowning back at him. "I have a horny Veela set on winning my heart."

"Are you going to let her?" Harry asked pointedly.

Hermione shook her head, but wasn't sure if that was the right answer. She settled on ambivalence, washed it down with orange juice. "I don't know."