Defence, sass, Potions and arguments... And making o̶u̶t̶ up.

And confessions, sort of.

"This isn't SJs' Story." Harry huffed, "He's not nearly creative enou—"

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, smacking his shoulder lightly," What he meant to say is, this book belongs to J.K. Rowling... SJ only owns what he creates himself, enjoy!"

It took Harry a while to share Ron's displeasure with lessons. He had genuinely been excited to start the new year, the classes acting as a distraction as he now attempted to pay attention more. He was determined to use every bit of information he could get his hands on to his advantage. Tonks had reminded him that though the training was necessary for helping him build strength and skills that he would need during a dire situation or a mission of some sort, excess knowledge would help him when it came to getting out or into that situation.

That morning's handful of classes hadn't been all that bad. He and Ron had had a free period just before afternoon break; Harry decided to devote it to reading 'Advanced Spell Casting', a book Remus had gotten him for his sixteenth birthday. Ron had furrowed his brows in confusion, accusing him of spending too much time with Hermione before challenging Dean to a chess match.

Hermione had met them in the common room not long after the bell rang for break time, moving to sit beside Harry and immediately pulling out her Arithmancy homework, which was due in two weeks. Harry shook his head at her antics but didn't move to stop her; he simply asked how her class was.

When the bell rang again to signal the end of morning break, the Trio, along with other 6th year Gryffindors, reluctantly dragged themselves to Defense.

The classroom door was unlocked when they arrived, silently inviting the group of students to enter. There were no desks; the room's layout looked similar to how it was when Professor Lupin had taught them about bogarts, except there was no cupboard. Somewhat awkwardly, the two houses stood on opposite sides of the room, gravitating towards their sets of friends.

"What do you think we're doing?" Ron asked curiously.

"Dueling, I'd presume. That would explain the need for space," Hermione answered, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I'm not fond of the idea of Professor Snape teaching us of all people, but at least we're finally doing magic in class again." She added earnestly; Harry nodded in agreement; that was the most crucial factor.

Suddenly the door burst open, drawing all eyes towards the disruption of their conversations; it became quiet as said Professor strode into the room, coming to a halt at the foot of the class.

"Today, you will be demonstrating your abilities of non-verbal spell casting in pairs; one shall be the attacker, one shall be the defender, who is trying to get out unharmed." He turned on his heel to face them, his voice like silk. "Now, I am aware that the only way we will achieve any sort of reliable results is if you are challenged." He drew the last few words out, his eyes coming to rest on Harry. "Potter, Malfoy, the middle of the room, please," The black-eyed man ordered before proceeding to pair people up; no one dared to argue.

Well, for now.

With a wary glance from Ron, Harry slowly made his way towards the silver-eyed pureblood. He looked different, his skin impossibly paler. He looked ill. "Uh, I–"

"Quit the small talk, Potter. Let's get this over with." The blond hastily interrupted, getting into position and revealing his wand.

"Why? Are you scared, Malfoy?"

He snorted at the reminder of their second year, "You wish,"

The pair bowed and raised their wands, waiting.

The second Snape passed them and muttered for them to begin, Malfoy quickly attacked. Harry swiftly blocked, rebounded and shielded every spell that came, giving twice as much as he was receiving. He was startled at Draco's increase in skill since their last duel, but it was clear the boy was starting to crack. Harry was looking for an opening to disarm him, pushing and pushing until he gave up; he was on the verge of breaking. Just as he was nearing the vital spell, Snape's harsh voice snapped him out of his mindset.

"I see your inability to succeed in my Potions class has carried over to Defence. You're hopeless." He was addressing Neville, the latter gripping his shoulder. Harry had to keep switching his gaze between them and his offender. His brows furrowed, ready to interfere. "You do not stand a chance in this world if you're so incredibly pathetic that you can not even-"

"Ah– Protego!" Harry cried suddenly; his concentration had slipped, allowing Draco to get the upper hand. The pair stopped at his slip up, as did all the others.

The greasy-haired Professor turned his head slowly in his direction, his lips tight.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practising non-verbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," The raven-haired boy replied stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor." The words had escaped him before he knew what he was saying.

Several students gasped at his words, including Hermione. Looking over a livid Snape's shoulder, he saw Ron, Seamus, and Dean doing everything in their power not to burst out laughing. He even chanced a look at Malfoy, who surprisingly wasn't sporting his famous disgusted look; a small smile threatened his lips.

Ron was right; he couldn't even get through the first day without causing trouble.

"Harry, I can't believe you would say such a thing to a Professor, Snape or not!" Hermione scolded him as they descended the staircase on their way to Potions.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione." Ron brushed her off, a grin slipping onto his face as he began laughing again. "Merlin, did you see his face? That was your best yet, Harry; I never want to forget the moment the slimy git's jaw hit the floor." He clapped his shoulder lightly.

"Don't encourage him! Harry, I thought you were taking these lessons seriously now?"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, turning his head to look at her; she was clearly irritated, that was easy to tell. But there was a hint of amusement in her eye that Harry didn't fail to miss.

"Honestly, Hermione, it just came out. You know better than anyone that I can't help it; it's in my nature." He smirked as she shook her head, biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile. "You have to admit; it was a little funny." He bumped her shoulder.

"Oh, well, maybe a little." The brunette relented. "That wit of yours is going to get you into some serious trouble one day, Harry James." She bumped him back, smiling at his laughter.

The dungeons were cold and depressing, as per usual. Still, the new N.E.W.T. students were genuinely curious about how exactly potions would run with the latest Professor, not to mention excited to have someone with actual human emotions after five years with a seemingly soulless walking grease bucket.

"Ah, yes, come in, come in." Professor Slughorn greeted them as they walked through the door, his walrus moustache curling as he smiled. "Don't sit down just yet; just set up and gather around those cauldrons once you're done, please."

"Sorry, Professor?"

"Ah, Harry m'boy, how are you?"

"Fine." He replied, absently flicking his head slightly to move his hair from his eyes, exposing his scar slightly. "Ron and I, we haven't bought our books or any of our equipment; we weren't told we'd be taking Potions."

"Ah! Well, that's no problem at all. You and Weasley can use what's in the stock cupboard for now until you're able to get your hands on 'em." The elder man smiled, the older man gestured to his left. Harry merely nodded in response.

As the other students and themselves set up their cauldrons and scales, with the pair taking whatever little equipment was there, Harry and Ron came to a halt, pausing to stare at the only two remaining textbooks.

One looked brand-new; untouched, Ron eyed it hungrily. The other looked as though someone had sanded the cover, making the book's title almost unreadable on top of the tattered pages.

The two glanced at each other, silently challenging one another. In a second, they had dived forward simultaneously, pushing and pulling at one another. Ron roughly shoved him with his elbow; Harry responded by copying him, digging his elbows into the boy's ribs. They stumbled back, both gripping books. Harry's eyes narrowed at Ron's smirk; he didn't even have to look down; the young Gryffindor promptly whacked the smug ginger's arm with the ancient book and stalked off towards the group, sulking.

However, while walking past the lined cauldrons, Harry found himself slowing down as he passed the gold-coloured cauldron. The scent it was emitting was one of the most seductive scents he had ever inhaled: somehow, it's reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and the smell of some sort of special ink, not regular ink. He felt his cheeks threaten to heat as he briskly moved away, taking one more deep breath as he went.

"Alright, now settle down." The elder Slytherin ordered, bringing the classes' attention towards the three cauldrons lined at the front. He pushed out his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few Potions for you to have a look at, though we won't be making 'em for a good while, you ought to be able to make 'em after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?".

Harry tilted his head up slightly to get a better look at the cauldron indicated; he furrowed his brow; it was just boiling water.

He jumped slightly as Hermione's arm brushed his side as a well-practised hand hit the air. "It's Veritaserum, Professor." She answered proudly, "A colourless, odourless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," Her tone was straight, telling Harry that she was reciting a textbook answer from memory—probably known that for years, he thought with a chuckle.

"Very good! Five points to Gryffindor." Slughorn replied happily; Hermione beamed.

As the Potions master hobbled towards the next cauldron, gooseberry eyes slowly gained on him, a smile on the man's face. Harry's chuckles quickly died out, "Mr Potter, you seem to be in a good mood, must be confident, I assume. Please, can you tell me what this potion is?" He pointed a swollen finger to the cauldron in the middle.

Harry panicked slightly but stepped forward, feeling all eyes on him. "I… uh," Hermione had her hand up, just in case he was wrong. Ron looked thoroughly confused, along with a few other Gryffindors, while the Slytherins looked highly amused; minus Draco, who wasn't paying attention, his nerves seemed somewhat frayed. Looking over the side of the cauldron, his eyes widened in realisation. Harry recognised the slow-bubbling, mud-like substance in the silver cauldron and quickly searched his brain; second year! "Oh! That's- that's Polyjuice Potion!" He exclaimed, grinning.

"Correct! Five points to Gryffindor. Now, Can you tell me what it does?"

"Oh, it sort of… like, changes you into… I don't really know how to explain–"

"It enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person," Hermione quickly came to his rescue, "As long as they have first procured part of that individual's body to add to the brew along with the other ingredients, you can do so. You can change age, sex, and race by taking the Polyjuice Potion, but not s-species." Her voice stuttered at the last word; he heard Ron cough on his other side, hiding his smile behind his hand.

"Um, yeah, that." Harry finished lamely.

"Another five points to Gryffindor!" He pointed to the final potion. "Now, this one here ... yes, my dear?" Slughorn chuckled, now looking slightly bemused as Hermione's hand punched the air again.

"It's Amortentia, sir, the most powerful love potion in the world. I recognised it by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and the steam rising in characteristic spirals. It's supposed to smell differently to each person, according to what attracts them." Her almond eyes sparkled as she answered enthusiastically, now stepping forward slightly, "For example, I smell… New parchment… freshly mown grass, and…" Her eyes went wide, and a blush crept up her neck, "...Treacle tart." She mumbled under her breath before briskly moving back to her spot next to Harry, unable to meet his eye.

"Correct again! Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation and or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room… When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love or this potions ability…." His expression turned grim for a moment before he pointed towards the brunette witch once more, the brunette witch who was still blushing furiously. "May ask your name, my dear?" Slughorn enquired, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Pioneers?"

"No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."

"Oho!" The aged prof smiled toothily and looked from Hermione to Harry, "One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!" I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said with a smile, standing up straighter.

"Well, well, take another well-earned Five points, Miss. Granger!" Slughorn rewarded genially. "Now, off to your seats; it's time we start work."

As the students swerved in between one another to make their way to their designated seats, Hermione turned to Harry and gripped his arm with a radiant expression, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"

"Well, it's true, isn't it." Harry pulled out her chair for her, kissing her cheek as she sat, ignoring the lingering eyes.

Ron fell heavily into his seat, groaning. "Ugh, guys, do you have to get all sappy here?" He rubbed his freckled face with equally freckled hands, "Can you please try and hold it in during lessons? It's my only break." He teased good-naturedly.

"Ron Weasley thinking lessons are a break? Calm down, Ron, we might start to think you have…." She faked a shudder, "Matured".

"Hey, Professor?" Ernie Macmillan's voice hollered from the right-hand side of the class, "What's that gold one there?" He pointed towards a small vile on the ring stand.

"Ah! That m'boy is a curious little potion called Felix Felicis, otherwise known as–"

"Liquid luck!" Hermione gasped.

"That's right, Miss Granger, liquid luck. Desperately tricky to make, disastrous should you get it wrong. As soon as ingested, you shall see that all of your endeavours will succeed." He raised a bushy eyebrow, "At least until the effects wear off. So, this is what I offer to each of you today; one tiny vial of liquid luck to the student who, in the hour that remains, successfully brews an exceptional draft of living death. Of course, I don't expect a perfect potion as this is most likely more advanced than anything you've done before; nevertheless, recipes of which can be found on page ten of your books." There was a hurried sound of fumbling hands as the students eagerly sought out the page. "Good luck to you all. Off you go!"

The room went silent, save the sound of cutting knives hitting the table and ingredients plopping into the water. Harry carefully opened the fragile book, afraid it would break at the slightest movement. He groaned in displeasure when he saw the first page was scribbled on; this book had belonged to someone.

This book is the property of the half-blood prince.

How curious.

Harry Potter was fuming, his gaze hot enough to cook the food he was staring at two times over.

The curious book he'd come to possess had been covered in notes; it had irritated him extremely at first when he had attempted to decipher the scribbles and read the actual printed instructions. However, he had given up and simply did as it said, his interest in the prize fading. It had proved to be an advantage when said scribbles had resulted in a beneficial outcome; a perfect potion. But for whatever reason, the flattery Hermione had perceived earlier that lesson had vanished, and she seemed rather miffed at the boy when his brew was dubbed better than hers, never mind at the fact that he hadn't used the provided recipe. She had continuously scolded him for doing things differently throughout the lesson whilst attempting to keep her own potion steady. She continued to kill the happiness that had been simmering between them since the class began when she later hissed that he ought to give that book in as it was "cheating".

It was the iciness in her voice that had stung the most; he barely paid attention when Slughorn had congratulated him until;

"A clear winner, Mr Potter! Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions; Lily was!"

Harry was floored; Slughorn had taught his mother? She had been good at potions. He was half-aware that he had been handed the vile and was being rewarded house points, Hermione too, as hers was second best.

And now, here he sat on the oversized red couch in front of the fire, decked in his new training attire, ready for his session with Tonks later that night.

Harry was completely torn. With the new information that his mother had been a talented potion maker, he wanted nothing more than to do the same; to have something in common with her; to make her proud. But if Hermione kept glancing at him across the table with that disappointed gleam in her eye, he wasn't sure how long he would be able to–

"Could you please stop looking at me like that?" He asked through gritted teeth. Not many people were in the common room as dinner was currently taking place; Hermione had insisted that she cast a revealing charm in the book back in Gryffindor Tower after his final two lessons (which had come out clean). Dobby had later provided them with food when Ron started to whine about being hungry; the elf was happy to help the three and was seemingly unaware of the simmering tension.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The Prefect replied stiffly, Harry's blood boiled.

"Don't be soft, Hermione. Forgive me if I noticed you glaring at me as though I've spat in your soup,"

"Well, then forgive me if I seem a little aggravated," She replied hotly, throwing his own words in his face.

"If this is about that bloody book. You checked it; it's safe–"

Hermione scoffed and shook her head, "Safe or not, that wasn't your work; you were following someone else's instructions; it's cheating!"

"How the hell is it cheating?! The usual instructions are someone else work, too, aren't they? You didn't make them up yourself, did you?

Hermione Granger doesn't ignore proof of something only because it doesn't fit well with her personal preference; this isn't you." He sibilated each word, feeling slightly victorious when her cheeks flushed.

Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound came out; she took a moment to straighten herself and went to argue again, only to be interrupted.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. He did better than you once; get over it." Ron, who had been listening to the entire quarrel with both annoyance and interest (as it was usually him and Hermione who were at each other's throats), grumbled from his place next to Harry.

"I'll have you know that this has nothing to do with whether Harry performed better than me or not; I couldn't care–"

"So that's why you're still mad." Harry furrowed his brow, dropping his fork and folding his arms.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione shrilled, drawing the attention of some of the lingering students.

"It's not fair, you know," He stood up, his long legs forcing the girl to crane her head up. "You've been asking me to improve in my school work for years, but the moment I find something that can help me with that, you turn your nose up, merely because it lead me to surpass you. Not to mention the fact that I promised to achieve more in class so I can be prepared; it could have helped with that, too." He reached under the table and pulled up his bag, placing it next to his plate and rummaging through it. "And, for your information, the main reason I wanted to keep it is that I wanted to have at least one actual thing in common with her other than my bloody eyes, not because I get a kick out of being a rotten cheater." He found what he was looking for and swallowed hard, emotion filling him suddenly for an unknown reason. "But if it stops you from acting as though you hate my existence, then, by all means, take it." The book hit the wood with a slam, "Why don't you take it to McGonagall like you did with my broom in the third year; at least this time, it won't be behind my back." He bit harshly, knowing it was a low blow– but he couldn't stop, "I'd do it myself, but I have to meet Tonks." And with one final–albeit shaky–exhale, he slung his bag over his shoulder and stormed out of the common room.

He missed the look of shock from Ron, and the mixed look of guilt and horror from Hermione as her eyes began to water. Nor did he see that the cause of her tears was the sight of a ring on the table.

He didn't even notice it was gone.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks greeted him with a grin, waving him over as he walked onto the Quidditch pitch. Harry merely gave a small smile.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing, I'm fine." He eyed the equipment at her feet curiously. "What are we doing?"

"We're not touching any of that just yet. We're running, first. Come on," And with that, the blur of her pink hair raced away from Harry, indicating that he was to follow.

After several laps of the Quidditch pitch, the metamorphmagus ran him through a series of stretches; she voiced that though he won't exactly have the time to warm up in the middle of a battle, she didn't really want him pulling anything on the first session. After that, she had him doing sit-ups and push-ups until his body screamed for him to stop; Harry voiced that if this was the warm-up, he wasn't going to survive whatever else she had planned.

"Now these," She picked up the pads on the floor, "Are boxing pads. Like I said earlier, self-defence without a wand is important so that you can give that to me." Her hand shot out expectantly; he rolled his eyes before doing as she asked and removing his wand from its holster, handing it to her end first. She pocketed it with a grin and lifted her hands, guiding him through several motions before instructing him to take any frustration out on the pads and not to hold back; to channel any anger he felt and give it his all, he picked it up quickly.

After thirty minutes, Tonks signalled the end, praising him for his work and allowing Harry a moments rest as he leaned heavily on his knees; his clothes were soaked through; his hair plastered to his forehead; his limbs were burning numb. "Are you sure you're okay?" Tonks questioned softly, her hair colour fading, illustrating her worry.

Harry looked up at her sceptically through his damp fringe, "You've practically killed me, and we're not even done. Trust me, I'm ecstatic that we're doing this but Merlin, I'm not used to this kind of exercise."

"That's not what I was talking about," The auror narrowed her eyes, "But on that note, your body just needs to get used to it; it'll be easier in a few weeks."

"Probably would have helped if I actually ate my dinner, too."

"Harry!" Her tone was foreign and entirely unlike her character; it made him uneasy. "You need your strength for this, Harry; you need to break these bad habits if you ever want to get better." He nodded; she was entirely correct. "Now, I was asking about before, you walked in, pulling a right miserable face; what's happened to get you in such a tizz?"

The emerald-eyed wizard sighed, standing up straight to face her fully.

"Hermione and I had a row." He grumbled in annoyance, fumbling with his hands. "I've been trying harder in lessons like you said, but I did better than her in potions, and I think she's jealous… She called me a cheater, and I kind of blew up, then she blew up, and I– wait," His eyes widened as he noticed the absence of something as he fiddled with his fingers. "My ring, shit, my ring!" He looked around wildly, panic filling him.

"Ring?" Tonks came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to keep him still; he shook it off.

"A silver ring with a charmed hippogriff on it. Hermione got it me for my birthday; she gave it to me the night we–" Pausing, he was assaulted with memories of that night, feelings. He suddenly felt a wave of guilt at the reminder that they weren't exactly on the best terms; he hated that he had disappointed her. "The night we had our first kiss." He cleared his throat and tried to think back to when he last remembered having it. "I never take it off; it's like my good luck charm."

"Hey, calm down; we'll find it. We could try and Accio it," Tonks suggested, her tone now soft, but her idea was quickly shot down.

"It would probably take someone's eye out if it's not near us, and come to think of it, and I don't think I've had it on while I've been here, I'll just have to retrace my steps."

"Come on then; we'll do one more lap around the pitch and see if it fell off, then I'll walk you back to the castle." She began jogging ahead of him, looking back over her shoulder, a mischievous glint in her eye. "That's if you can even walk, never mind run."

"Who, me? Of course, my legs don't feel like lead at all, nor is my body on fire. I feel fresh; I could go for another ten rounds." Harry replied with mock enthusiasm, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Ha, don't tempt me."

Unfortunately, Harry had no luck with finding the ring, he was already at the Fat Lady portrait, and he still hadn't caught sight of it. Small objects in such a vast school are not the best mix.

"Password?"

"Dilligrout," Harry grumbled.

"Are you alright, dear?" The Fat Lady turned away from her glass to address him. Harry simply grunted in answer. "Goodness! You look as though you've been swimming in the black lake; get in and clean yourself up!"

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, Harry rolled his eyes. Checking his watch as the portrait hole swung forward, allowing him through, he read that it was actually relatively late; he didn't think anyone would be awa–

"Harry!" A familiar voice practically shrieked from their place on the couch; Harry almost jumped a foot in the air.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry about my behaviour earlier; it really was unjustified, I– oh," Her golden eyes roamed over his body and took in his sweaty appearance. "Oh, goodness, you must be exhausted! I didn't even think, I'm sorr–" Her ramble was cut short when Harry took her face into his hands and crashed his lips to hers. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as she responded eagerly, small hands burying themselves in his hair without a single care that it was drenched with sweat.

After several long moments, they broke apart, Harry placing a kiss on her forehead before resting his own there, both of their eyes still firmly shut.

"I'm sorry, too, about what I said." The younger boy whispered against her lips, catching tears he hadn't noticed until now with the pads of his thumbs.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong, I made you feel awful, and all you did was do better than me, and I couldn't accept that, so I called you a cheater. I didn't even think about why… and when you left your ring, I thought–"

"Hey, we both said things we didn't mean, it's okay… wait, you have my ring? I thought I'd lost it!"

Hermione seemed to deflate in relief at the information that he didn't purposely leave it; she pulled it from her pocket and handed it to him, he slipped it on wordlessly.

"I feel like I've ruined everything."

"Every what?"

"Every us."

Harry simply laughed, his crooked grin slipping into place. "I don't think either of us could ever; you're stuck with me."

"What a shame," Hermione whispered, her head dropping to his chest before recoiling. "Harry! You're all sweaty!"

"You weren't complaining before,"

"Not funny!" She wiped her hands on her jeans, cringing. "Go have a shower." Her hands moved to her hips, her bossy tone ever-present; Harry smirked.

"Aw, do I have to?" He mock whined; Hermione simply glared at him. "Can't I at least have one more kiss? Please? I'll be your best friend."

His comment cracked any self-control she had been attempting to uphold, causing her to laugh-out-loud; the laugh quickly turned into a gasp and then a groan as he grasped her hand and tugged her forward, covering her mouth with his in a searing kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, leaving no space between them. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she raised on her toes, urging him closer.

"Harry…" Hermione's voice was hoarse as they pulled away, her eyes darkening considerably; Harry smiled.

"Not complaining now, either." He noted smugly.

"You're gross."

"You love it."

"You." She corrected, and time stopped.

There was a moment of silence; Hermione had clearly realised what she had said and had proceeded to blush bright red.

"What?..." His voice was weak.

"I–" It looked as though she was debating whether she should dash up the stairs and escape or forever remain rooted to the spot; Harry tightened his grip. "I–" She tried again, taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, when they opened again, he saw nothing but determination. "I love you."

Harry simply stood there dumbly, eyes wide in shock, even when she repeated her words more firmly. It was the first time either of them had uttered the sentence, and he knew this was the part where he was supposed to say it back, but he couldn't seem to make them come out.

"Hermione, I… No one's ever said– I don't remember anyone..."

Hermione looked like she was about to cry again, her hands cupping his face, her thumbs caressing his cheeks. "It's okay; you don't have to feel obligated to say it,"

"No, trust me, I wish... I don't really know what it feels…."

"I understand."

"I need you," He decided he would say the next best thing. "I care about you, and I need you more than you know. I hate it when we fight, and no matter what happens, I can't imagine a world without you in it, without you by my side, after everything; after everyone, I can't lose you. I need you more than anyone."

"I feel the same, Harry." Hermione's hand began trailing down his arm and interlocked their hands together, watching in fascination as they fit perfectly. "And I promise I'll tell you every day, you are so loved, Harry, not just by me." Her eyes were filled with anger and sadness; she hated what his upbringing had done to him; she silently vowed never to let those monsters hurt him again, not that Harry knew this.

"Would you be my best friend if I kissed you again," Harry murmured, their foreheads touching once more?

"Do you promise to have a shower after?" She lowered her voice to match his whisper, he nodded. "Then I would… I love you." She couldn't help it.

Harry nodded again and allowed their lips to connect, speaking the unspoken.

I love you, too

Hi, new chapter! Thank you for your patience. I hope you continue to wait for my slow updates (sorry!) patiently.