Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to get up, but it's a good long one for your enjoyment! Also, if you enjoy Twilight, I'm doing beta work for beccalyse, author of Eyes Turned Skyward and Darkness and Light, both vamp, author's world, with canon pairings, they're just her take on Twilight, with a little less love-at-first-sight and a lot more character development. Both are fabulous, and you should check them both out, though I believe her current in-progress is Eyes Turned Skyward.

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In a dark room, lit only by a fireplace and a few low-burning candles, a dark figure knelt before a dais, if it could be called such. The room was clearly that of a well-off family, but the enormous platform was still out of place, so high that it was nearly level with the second-story chandelier hanging over the ornate ballroom. Upon the platform was a large slab, which appeared to be made of concrete, but which, upon closer inspection was shown to be made of thousands of tiny live snakes, each twisting through the object.

The figure kneeling on the polished floor wore a black cloak with the hood up, obscuring any identifying features. "My Lord," it whispered in a hushed male voice. "My Lord, please, I have brought you news of the Potter boy."

~%%~

"Harry," Hermione whispered again, shaking him. "Harry, wake up."

"Wasamatter?" he asked stupidly, fixing his glasses so he could see straight. It took a moment to orient himself in the Gryffindor common room, not on the polished floor of a grand estate. He shook the dream from his head and joined into the conversation.

"C'mon, Harry, we're almost done," Ron said, sounding just as sleepy as Harry felt. "Just a few more inches, and we'll be all finished. I think I'll end mine about how Dumbledore discovered it, and how great he was. I can fill it up with that for sure. And you can write about how the discovery of the twelve uses made dragon's blood so bloody expensive."

"Ron, I really think you should be focusing on the uses, rather than—"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione!" he interrupted. "Just because your essay was so good the first time doesn't mean we're all stretching for godly perfection. You've already made us do them days before they're due. We just need to get these done so we can go to bed."

"Well, the longer you have to edit them, the better," Hermione replied acidly. "It's not as though you crank out the highest-quality writing, you know. Maybe for your next essay, I'll just let you both fend for yourselves."

"Hold on, now," Harry interrupted, suddenly much more awake. "I wasn't arguing with you. Why do I get punished for Ron being a grumpy prat?"

"Guilty by association," she replied promptly, though he caught a gleam of teasing behind her stern words.

It took them another forty minutes of pigheadedly beating their way through the exhaustion for Ron and Harry to write the last six inches on their potions essay, but finally, as a faraway clock stuck half past one, they were finished with their dreaded potions work. Though, as Hermione reminded Ron, "You ought to read it again tomorrow night, to make sure it's all coherent. You know how you two get when you're tired. It comes out all nonsensical and blithery."

"We get nonsensical," Ron began, smirking at Harry, "but you can say things like 'blithery'?"

Hermione flushed pink and began to tediously place everything back into her book bag, though as she'd just been watching and instructing the two boys as they wrote their own essays, there was precious little for her to put back. Ron was quickly stuffing everything he had been using into his pack, with no care for the objects he was packing. He caught Hermione's pained look as he threw a dirty quill into his potions textbook to keep his place, and continued in a more precise fashion.

Harry, however, told the two that he was going to spend some time in front of the fire. When Ron expressed his inability to understand why Harry would stay up even later, when there was a perfectly good bed available upstairs, Harry just replied, "I suppose I enjoy the solitude."

Ron shook his head, muttering under his breath as he wound up the stairs to the fifth year boys' dormitory. After making sure Ron wasn't going to reappear before morning, Hermione settled on the couch next to Harry with a deep sigh of contentment.

"Well," she commented lightly, "that was dreadful."

"The essay, or Ron?" Harry replied, smiling.

"Both." They laughed quietly for a moment at their friend's never-ceasing temper.

Harry scooted closer to her on the couch, feeling unsure how to proceed, and wondering if this was going to be a shoulder-to-cry-on situation. "Do you still want to talk about Krum?" he asked gently. She paused for a moment, trying to formulate her answer, but he mistook her silence for hesitation, and added quickly, "If you've changed your mind, it's alright, you know. You don't have to tell me anything about it."

"It's not that," she replied quickly, "it's just so embarrassing, and I haven't told anyone about it yet. Not even my parents." She sounded ashamed at the last, but Harry didn't comment on it.

"What could possibly be embarrassing about dating one of the most famous Quidditch players in the world?" Harry teased.

"Oh, well, yes, that's part of it, of course," she replied seriously. "I mean, it's not like I can really expect him to, you know, to put down roots, or even be in Britain with me. Even after we're finished with school next year, he'll need to stay in Bulgaria to be with the team. I don't know if I want to be so far away from…from all this." She gestured to the common room around them, but Harry knew she meant Hogwarts and everything in her world she was used to. He hoped very much that that included him.

"You don't sound very upset about that," Harry noted, but immediately regretted it at the hurt look on her face.

"Don't I?" she muttered to herself. "It's difficult to get very…worked up about him, you see, because he's such a reserved person. I mean, it's not like you or Ron—well, more you, I suppose, than Ron—where I can just sit down and talk about anything. He's very self-centered, you know, I mean how could he not be, as famous as he is, but it does make it very difficult to hold a conversation about anything that I find interesting.

"We don't really have any connection at all, and yet he—" she stopped suddenly, flushing madly.

"He what? " When she refused to answer, Harry felt a familiar weight settle in his stomach.

"Oh, I can't say it!" Hermione finally burst out. "I have to go get the letters. I'll be right back." Without another word, she rushed up the staircase to the girls' dormitories, leaving Harry to all of the worst possible things he could think of to cause her such embarrassment. He wondered—hoped?—briefly that Krum had dumped her in a letter, leaving the way open for he, Harry to mend to her broken, tender heart.

He knew in his gut that someone as famous as Krum wouldn't be able to understand someone as selfless and intelligent as Hermione. He had to stop to remind himself that he was probably far more famous than Krum would ever be, and tried wildly to discern the difference between them. Any argument he tried, however, only made him seem more arrogant and prideful than the last. He finally had to admit that Krum's fame had nothing to do with how bad he was for Hermione. Perhaps it was at fault indirectly, he wondered, but only because it necessitated Krum's constant distance from her. Harry had to wonder if the situation with Viktor Krum would be different if he had been able to be close to Hermione, if they had been able to grow up together the way she had with he and Ron.

Harry didn't enjoy this train of thought at all, but to his relief, Hermione reappeared before his mind could wander too far down that unpleasant road. She held in her hands a thick stack of folded parchments, but Harry noticed how she held it away from her body, as though it contained something she feared might attack her.

Taking the parchment from her, Harry looked up at the letters in trepidation, wondering whether or not this was something he wanted to know. When Harry turned a questioning look to Hermione, she waved him off and said, "Just read it."

The beginning of the first letter was fairly typical, Harry thought, hello, he'd missed her, how were her parents, and say hello for me vhen you talk to them again, von't you? He could almost hear Krum's thick accent saying the sickly sweet words to Hermione. He continued on in a stream of truly awful poetic language, describing everything about Hermione, from the color of her hair and the feel of her hands in his own—which Harry could certainly understand—to the smell of her hair—Harry reminded himself to experience this for himself—and the curve of her body, right down to an appreciative description of her backside.

At this last phrase, Harry put down the letter and looked up at Hermione. "What exactly am I supposed to be taking out of this? If I want to know what your arse looks like, I'll wait for you to walk away." His annoyance at Krum's overly detailed description of Hermione made him swear, and the extremely embarrassed expression on her face made him instantly regret his crassness.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said quickly, floundering for a better excuse than flaming jealousy. "I just—I'm sorry, but—it made me mad that he talks about you that way. You know I just—I think of you as a sister, and I'm just not used to listening to…things like that…about you."

Hermione, of course, knew that Harry only cared for her in a strictly platonic manner, but it still stung to hear him deny any real feelings out loud. Inside, she wondered with a thrill if Harry really was going to wait until she walked away, but outwardly, she only said, "No, I understand. I should have warned you about that. I guess I forgot about it. Just—just skip down to the bottom half."

She watched carefully as his eyes wandered down to the second half of the parchment. She knew when he had reached the important part when his eyes bugged out in shock. He flipped through the letters, page after page of Krum wanting to know her answer. In some, he promised her a life of happiness, spouting poetry of the life he would give her. In others, he seemed angry, and accused her of leading him on, while still others had a melancholy tone, begging Hermione to end his suffering. All told, Harry held at least a dozen letters, all demanding to know in one form or another whether or not Hermione would give Krum her hand in marriage.

Every fiber of Harry's being felt as though it had been filled with lead, except his heart, which pounded away like a hummingbird's. Hermione with Krum. Married. Someone else's for the rest of their lives. He could not lose her. Not like this, not when he'd never even had a chance to begin with.

But he had had a chance, hadn't he? All those years, when she was right there and he never took notice, too busy pining away for silly, simpering Cho, when Hermione was there all the time. It was indeed his own fault, and now all he could do was man up and pretend for her sake.

"Er—well," he said, clearly his throat uncomfortably. It took him a moment to work up the enthusiasm that was appropriate to the situation. "Well, congratulations! I mean, that's—that's really, really…great for you both."

Hermione giggled at his false enthusiasm. "You don't need to pretend. I'm telling him no. I just don't know how to do it."

"Oh." Harry let out a whoosh of relief. "Erm, why?"

She sighed as well. "It's difficult to feel any great affection for someone who's so far away. I mean," she added, "it wouldn't be like with you or Ron, where I've known for years. I've already told him I'm not leaving Hogwarts, especially not for a place like Durmstrang."

Harry nearly choked on his satisfaction hearing her statement. "So," he began, hesitant to ask, "are you staying with him, or…?"

Hermione smiled softly, trying to remind herself that Harry was only asking as a concerned friend. "I don't know. I only wanted you to know because he's…well, he's jealous of you. And that might come across while they're here."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's just that he gets so possessive of me, especially since he's not actually here. I'm really worried for you. And Ron, I suppose," she added quickly, "but mostly you. After all of Rita Skeeter's articles, he's always thought you'd try to steal me from him. I've told him how silly that is, and that you would never be interested in me that way. And besides, you'd never do something so ignoble, but he just won't believe me."

"Why does he think I would steal you away from him? He loves you, and, well, you love him, don't you?" Harry asked, trying very hard to understand where she was going with this.

"I fancy him," she said. "But I don't love him. I mean, I don't think I do," she added doubtfully, killing a little of Harry's excitement. "I've never, really, ever really been in love, I don't think." But even as she said it, Hermione looked into her best friend's eyes and wondered if that was actually true. She buried her face in her hands, embarrassed at her own inability to feel what she was supposed to. "Maybe everything would be better if we got married," she mused, much to Harry's chagrin. "I'd move to Bulgaria and we could be together, so he wouldn't have to be as possessive, and really, that's the only thing about him I don't like. Until he asked me to—well, until he asked me, I very much enjoyed the letters he sent, and we had lovely correspondence. But now, I'm not so sure if that was really him. Perhaps his real nature is what's coming out now…" She trailed off thoughtfully, mindlessly resting her head lightly on Harry's shoulder.

"I—I feel as though," Harry began, suddenly very uncomfortable with both the topic and the unexpected contact. "I feel like maybe you should be talking to a girl about this?"

Hermione looked up at him. She laughed in embarrassment, sat up, and replied, "But I don't have any girlfriends. And all the girls in our year have been wondering for years why I've not gone for you, so they wouldn't be very much help. You've lived with the fame your whole life. I thought maybe you could push that part of Viktor aside and just talk about the person behind the broomstick." She grinned at her own bad Quidditch joke, but Harry's mind was caught on the idea that other girls their year thought they should be together. He could feel an electric charge zinging around the spot on his shoulder where her head still rested gently. In another situation, Harry might have said they were cuddling.

"Well," Harry said slowly, "I'm only comfortable with being famous because, well, because I've always been famous, like you said. I'm just used to people looking at me funny. I never had a choice. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs until I came here. It just all sort of sprung on me all at once. I just had to become comfortable with always being uncomfortable, so I really don't think it's the same thing at all. I've never really done anything for my fame, at least not the way Viktor has. He at least earned his big name, so maybe my perspective isn't actually that great."

"But," Hermione floundered. "Well, then maybe it's just him." She seemed lost to Harry, but he wasn't sure how to comfort her. Hermione nodded again, and started crying. "I think it might just be him. I keep trying to tell myself that it'd be easier if I could be with him more often, but I just don't believe that's true. I mean, if he's this bad when we're apart, it only stands to reason that he'd be that much more controlling if I were actually his. I don't want to be with him anymore, but I just don't know what to do! In his last letter he said he wouldn't ask again until we could see each other. I just didn't think that would be so soon."

"It's OK Hermione, come here," he took her in his arms, and held her tightly, while she cried into his robes. As upset as she was, Harry had trouble concentrating on that when she was distracting him with how well she seemed to fit into the circle of his arms.

After a few minutes, her tears began to subside. "I'm getting your front all wet," she said, looking up at him, and smiling weakly.

"It's okay," he assured. "Whatever it takes to make you feel better. You have to know how much I hate seeing you like this."

"Thank you Harry," she said, a fresh wave of sobs beginning. "Why are you so wonderful to me? I don't deserve a friend like you."

Harry rocked her back and forth as she continued to cry. He couldn't help but feel a little awkward as he pulled her into his lap, but she sobbed into his front with reckless abandon, so he assumed she wasn't too upset with the new position. He rubbed her shoulders gently, trying to calm her down, but for the moment, she was inconsolable. He had never seen Hermione this upset, not even in their first year, when Ron's words had chased her to the girls' bathroom on Halloween. The pain she was in made him want to punch Viktor, and he suddenly found himself wondering what it would take to get to Bulgaria to do it.

Harry felt himself falling into unconsciousness as she calmed, so comfortable he was with Hermione's warmth pressed against his chest. She seemed to have stopped crying, and even drifted off herself, but he couldn't bring himself to move her. The situation with Krum seemed to have taken a lot out of her, and he wanted to let her sleep for a while longer. She shifted delicately to rest her head on his other shoulder, turning her face up toward his. The motion brought him abruptly to his senses, and he woke with a start, realizing that she sat curled in his lap, fast asleep.

The urge to kiss Hermione was nearly overwhelming, and the way her lips fell open as she breathed in her sleep was not helping Harry's self-control.

"Hermione?" he whispered softly. "Hermione, are you awake?"

She made a soft noise in response, but Harry was quite sure it wasn't a conscious reply. Holding his breath, praying her eyes wouldn't open, Harry placed a small kiss on her cheek, near the corner of her mouth. He stayed very still after pulling away, then torturously slow, placed another kiss fully on her lips. He gasped slightly as a wonderful, strange warmth filled him head to toe. His fingertips were tingling, and he relished the soft feel of her lips. Harry had to control himself and pull away before she woke up to his inappropriate behavior.

He stared down at her for several minutes, amazed at himself for what he'd done. She smiled a little half-smile in her sleep, and the contented look on her peacefully sleeping filled Harry with that warm tingling feeling all over. He wondered how she could be sleeping comfortably tucked in under his chin the way she was. It looked to him like a painfully cramped position. No matter how much he wanted to keep her there in his arms, Harry knew that they both needed to get to their own beds to get a decent night's sleep.

"Hermione," he said again, but she slept on without hearing him. "Hermione, you need to wake up," he said a little louder.

She finally showed signs of consciousness, shifting quietly and blinking several times into Harry's face. He lifted her into a sitting position while she adjusted her eyes to the weak light from the dying fireplace. Hermione seemed confused to find herself in the common room, rather than in her own bed. "Oh," she said, looking up at Harry. "Oh, goodness, I'm sorry Harry, I didn't mean to fall asleep! Oh, what time is it?"

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, "after two, maybe. We should go to bed. Only if you're feeling better, though, of course?" He made the last a question, looking down at her in genuine concern.

"Oh," she said in surprise. She seemed to have forgotten about her previous outburst. "Oh, yes, of course, I—I'm fine, Harry. Thank you."

"Are you sure? I don't mind staying up longer if you need me to." By which of course, he meant that he would rather stay up with his beautiful Hermione than go to bed and wake up to find this night had been a dream.

"No," she said sleepily. "No, it's alright Harry. You need to get to sleep, too."

After making sure she was awake enough to make it up to her own bed, Harry watched Hermione go up the stairs with a wistful look on his face. She turned around just before she was out of sight, and gave him a small smile, whispering, "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Hermione."

~%%~

Hermione crept into her dormitory, smiling softly to herself. Lavender and Parvati were deeply asleep, but she tiptoed to her wardrobe for her pajamas, careful not to disturb them.

Hermione lay in her bed later that night, thinking about Harry. Specifically, she thought of the fact that he had kissed her. She had only been kissed once by Krum, and it had been a wet, sloppy adventure, nothing she'd been keen to repeat. But Hermione had to admit to herself that Harry's soft, relatively dry lips had felt delightful upon her own. Had she not been so frightened that he would stop, she had been tempted to kiss him back. She felt somewhat guilty for having pretended to be asleep, but she doubted he'd have kissed her awake.

She was equally frightened that, having kissed her once, Harry wouldn't have the slightest inclination to do so again. Perhaps it had just been an experiment of his, to see if she would react, or to see if he could get away with it. Hermione knew, or at least wanted to believe that Harry wouldn't have taken advantage of her like that unless it was truly something he wanted to do.

She fell asleep that night thinking about her best friend. She knew that she couldn't bring up the kiss, or he'd know that she'd been awake for the whole thing. But she also knew that, unless he thought she was asleep, or alright with him kissing her, he would never try that again. The problem then became how to let him know that it was alright for him to kiss her again, without letting him know she'd been awake for the first one.

By the first light of dawn, Hermione was finally able to fall asleep from pure exhaustion, but was none the wiser as to how to show Harry how she felt without embarrassing them both.

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A/N: The link on my profile is for a picture of the ring, which is actually a French antique, but still is about three hundred years old, though I can't offer proof of goblin origins!

To dbzgtfan2004 and Ayrtha21keybladewielder, thank you so much for being my first two reviewers on this story! To the 166 other visitors who stopped in but didn't sign the guest book, rock on, keep reading, and, as always, review!