2 November 1996
"You go!" Hermione snapped at Harry, blinking rapidly and hating the squeezing sensation in the back of her throat, tight and hot. "I'm sick of Ron at the moment. I'm sick of him being – I'm… I'll just see you later."
She felt eyes on the back of her head as she left Harry near the quidditch teams' locker-room. But as she weaved through the crowd of their boisterous peers, still bedecked in their various house-pride attire and periodically breaking into a chorus of Weasley is Our King, she couldn't quite bring herself to care.
It was stupid. The whole Felix Felicis ordeal was so bloody stupid and juvenile and unnecessarily risky that it made her want to scream. Were things simply going too smoothly for them? Did they just need to tempt fate for the thrill of it? Because while Dumbledore may give Harry the run of the school, using illegal potions in a sporting event was an offence that transcended even him, and the ministry en masse wasn't exactly their friend.
It was as though Harry and Ron had no sense at all about the actual dangers facing them. Like they hadn't seen Cedric's corpse, or watched Sirius fall through the veil, or stood by as Katie was nearly hexed to death mere weeks before. As if they needed to manufacture drama to stir things up.
And for as much as Ron was her friend, as much as she cared for him, lately she'd found that every time she looked at him, she ended up wishing that he was someone else. Someone with broader shoulders and bluer eyes and freckles in different places. And frankly, she hated that too.
It wasn't his fault; he was the same as he'd always been, and so was Harry. She was the one that had changed when nobody was looking. The one that had grown up in an irreversible way. And all at once she felt suddenly, deeply, ardently alone in that.
Hermione stepped through the entry hall of the castle, shaking snow off her robes and starting to trek upstairs. She didn't fully realise where she was going until she stopped in front of a door instead of a portrait.
As she made her way up the spiral staircase and opened the second door onto the balcony for the first time in the better part of a year, their balcony, she decided that for just a few stolen moments, she'd stop being strong. She'd stop being the brightest witch of their age, the rational one, the killjoy prefect. The one that needed to have the answers because nobody else cared to find them.
She'd stop being all of those things and be what she felt the most in that moment; a young woman that desperately missed the man that she loved. One that was scared and sad and lonely.
Perhaps it was a bit longer than a moment.
Though she cast warming charms on the balcony the way they always did, it still felt colder than it used to with Fred there. She sat with her back to the wall, watching over the railing as the sun slowly dipped and finally disappeared behind the mountains, periodically whisking tears off her cheeks and sniffling dolefully to herself.
When she drew her wand to renew the warming charm, she also conjured a few little yellow birds as well, a small smile tugging at her lips when they chirped and fluttered around her shoulders. She held out a finger and one landed on it, tilting its head and blinking tiny, dark eyes are her.
"So, this is what's up here."
Hermione's head whipped toward the door where, without making a sound, Harry had appeared. The bird on her finger immediately took flight again, joining its friends still flapping around her.
"Oh, Harry, I was just… practicing," Hermione finished lamely, quickly swiping at her face and thanking the powers-that-be for the dim lighting. She probably looked a fright.
"I can see that," he said blithely, gesturing at the birds with a crooked smirk. "They're really good."
He gave her a long, contemplative look before slowly shutting the door and making to sit beside her, lanky legs in too-short trousers sprawled across the gray stone.
"How did you find me up here?" Hermione asked, though she'd already guessed the answer. He confirmed it when he pulled a familiar yellowed piece of parchment from his pocket.
"It's on the map, but I didn't know it was a balcony. I always figured it was a storage cupboard or something. Couldn't be arsed to check, honestly."
Hermione, whose fingers had been idly tracing the length of her wand, froze.
"Always figured?"
"Yeah. I spend hours staring at this thing, you know. The room of requirement is just down the corridor." She relaxed as he continued, "Plus, you and Fred were always sneaking up here."
Hermione's lips opened with a pop, then rearranged themselves several times as if to speak, but no sound came out. Not a whisper or even a breath. Harry didn't say anything, just let her work through her aneurism for a moment with a calm, unreadable expression on his face.
"How long have you known?" She finally croaked, doing her best not to let the guilt currently swirling in her gut overtake her.
He nodded like she'd merely confirmed it and then huffed a breath, face scrunching in thought. "Before Christmas, maybe? Last year when we were at Grimmauld Place, for sure."
Suddenly her eyes were clouding for an entirely different reason.
"I'm so sorry Harry – I – we were going to keep it quiet just until summer, finish out the year, but then he left and everything at The Ministry happened…"
Harry nodded again as she tapered off, eyebrows pulled together while he examined the railing across from them pensively. Hermione didn't know what to do, what she could possibly say to make it better, so she elected not to say anything at all.
"I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you," Harry finally said quietly, breaking the silence. "After… after what happened with Dolohov. I knew you were struggling, I could see that much, but I was just trying to keep myself together. Everyone moved on so bloody fast, like it didn't even happen."
Shame stabbed at her. "You know that you could have talked to me – "
"Hermione, I could hardly look at you." She drew back at that, stung, but Harry quickly explained, a grim, self-deprecating smile twisting his lips. "Any time I saw that hollow look in your eyes, or the scars on Ron's arms … I can't remotely explain how sorry I am. How responsible I feel for what happened that night. Sirius died, we nearly lost you and Ron and Ginny and Tonks, because I didn't think things through. Again. Because I reacted exactly the way Voldemort knew that I would. Again. You'd have thought I'd learn my lesson after Cedric, right?"
A hot tear slipped down her cheek. "You didn't know. You couldn't have known."
"But I should have," Harry said fiercely, turning to look at her, emerald eyes burning. "I'm the one that's supposed to know. Don't tell me that you haven't replayed that night over and over in your head, all of the things that we could have done differently. Done better."
"Of course I have," she half-whispered, raising a hand and tracing her fingertips over the ridged scar beneath her jumper. "Every time I closed my eyes for weeks after that, I thought about it. Hell, I very nearly gave in to it, but we can't change anything that happened Harry. We can't resurrect anyone, or go back to who we were before. All we can do is mourn for them, for ourselves, and learn from it. Do better next time."
"I know." Harry nodded solemnly and swallowed hard, turning his head to nonchalantly brush his cheek against his shoulder. He slumped back against the wall. "I know."
It occurred to Hermione then, as she studied his profile, that perhaps she wasn't alone in her sense of obligation after all, careless though Harry may act at times. Because as the dusky light highlighted the pain and loss etched across her childhood friend's face, he looked like he had the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.
The silence that followed that realisation was longer; heavier, but simultaneously eased of the things they'd spent months not saying to one another. More than anything, it was a relief.
"How did you know about Fred and I?" Hermione finally asked, in response to which he simply shrugged.
"When you grow up like I did, without an abundance of affection, you notice things. Especially something like that." Harry shot her a smug self-satisfied look. "You also weren't as sly as you thought. Neville parsed it out too, and I know Ginny knows. She prances around like she's protecting a sodding state secret."
Hermione snorted at that before a nervous feeling passed over her. "Ron?"
Harry's smile withered and he looked a little like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "No. At least, I don't think so. He bought the story about Fred checking out Zonko's old storefront when Katie was cursed, which really speaks to the power of willful ignorance if you ask me. You need to tell him, though."
"I know," Hermione sighed, rubbing her temple and feeling exhausted at the mere prospect.
Harry went from looking uncomfortable to mildly nauseous as he added, "You know that – about you, he —"
"I know," she said again, more quickly. Harry just nodded and looked thankful that he didn't need to spell it out.
"Well, you probably have a bit of time given that he's rather preoccupied violently snogging Lavender in the common room as we speak."
"Oh God, Lavender?" Hermione blurted, shocked laughter bubbling from her lips. She made a mental note to ask her roommate about it later.
"Uh-huh," Harry chuckled. "Trust me, they made quite the spectacle of it."
"I can imagine – though frankly, I'd really rather not."
Harry squirmed in place again, like he wasn't sure if he should say something.
"What?" Hermione asked, concerned there was something else with regards to Ron that might further complicate things.
"Fred… he takes care of you, yeah? He's good, I mean. As a, erm, boyfriend-type-thing. He's better at dueling than I am, but I could probably get a decent hex or two in before he transfigures me into a paper bag."
She smiled affectionately at his palpable awkwardness, as well as his unnecessary offer to defend her honor. Hermione didn't grow up with siblings, but she imagined it's what an especially thoughtful brother might say if she had one. "He does. You mentioned this summer… I tried to end things with him when it got really bad. I didn't think I was going to be okay again, that I was good for him anymore. Too broken, you know? But he didn't give up on me, not for a moment. And when I was ready to move on and heal, he was there for that too. Every step. I love him. Sort of a stupid amount, really."
"It makes sense," Harry said, bobbing his head as though it were the most normal thing for her to admit, despite this being the first they'd spoken about it. "The two of you, I mean. Our lives are so bloody crazy most of the time, I'm just glad that you have someone."
"I have more than one someone," she said firmly, reaching over to take his hand and giving it a firm squeeze. "And you do too."
Harry squeezed back and swallowed hard. "Love you, 'Mione," he said quickly. She suddenly felt like crying again.
"I love you too, Harry."
The warming charm was once more beginning to fade, and a strong gust of frigid wind blew across the balcony that made her shiver.
"Let's get back," Harry said, getting to his feet and pulling her up along with him. "No more wallowing alone out here, okay?"
"Okay," Hermione agreed. "I'll make sure to invite you along for all future wallowing."
"You'd better."
Harry grinned and gave her hand one last squeeze before dropping it and turning to open the door, leading the way down the staircase with his wand lit and held aloft in front of them.
"I'll do your charms homework for a month if you tell Ron about Fred and I," she offered half-heartedly as they neared the bottom.
"Ha! Not a chance," he threw over his shoulder with a grin.
"Hmmm," Hermione pondered aloud before another thought struck her and a wicked smile curved her lips. "Alright, then. What if I tell Ginny that you fancy her?"
Harry tripped down the last two steps.