Author's Note: This is really looking nothing like Ron and Hermione's friendship, but I figured we saw enough of them bickering in the books. Thanks for continuing!

Hermione was a worried wreck.

Logically, she knew that nothing major could've happened to Harry and Ron. But how could she know for sure? How could she be assured that they wouldn't meet a fate similar to Harlow?

There couldn't be another accident. Hermione wouldn't be able to handle it.

It would turn out that Harry and Ron weren't missing. They couldn't make it onto Platform 9 , so they took Mr. Weasley's flying car to school.

That just made Hermione angry.

She tried to keep the majority of her anger hidden from Harry, but as soon as she and Ron were alone after Lockhart had whisked Harry away, she stormed away from him.

"Hey, Mione," Ron groaned and caught up with her. "I thought we were friends again. The Howler punished me enough."

Hermione whipped to face him and hissed, "That isn't what I'm upset about, and you should know it."

Ron looked confused and continued to follow Hermione as she stomped her way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Or somewhere. She wasn't actually sure where she was going.

"You know I don't like it when you don't tell me things," Ron pleaded. "Please tell me what I did."

Hermione turned around again with crossed arms. "You want to know how Harlow died? It was an accident." She felt her eyes sting and looked away. "No one saw it coming. How was I supposed to know another accident didn't happen to you?"

Ron didn't say anything, and Hermione still didn't look at him. She felt more than heard Ron move closer.

"I'm sorry." There was real sorrow in his voice. "I won't do anything like that again. Not without making sure you know that I'm safe, okay, Mione?"

Hermione broke and looked at him. And the breath was knocked out of her.

He's gorgeous.

His hair looked like a warm fire in the light of the sun. His eyes felt more electric than ever— lighting a spark in her she didn't know she was capable of.

And then she realized why she liked the nickname Mione.

Mine-nee.

It sounded like Ron was calling her his.

And then he hugged her. And Hermione was almost certain she would burst into flames.

It was too much. Ron's touch and the way he looked and his earnestness and the way he smelled— like chocolate and clean laundry. A mix that would be strange, but he somehow made the most intoxicating scent in the world.

"Do you forgive me?" He murmured in her ear.

Hermione didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Ron pulled back and smiled before leading the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Which was in the other direction of where Hermione had been going.

When Hermione went to sleep that night, she lay awake thinking.

She couldn't be developing what she thought she was on Ron. There was no way. Ron didn't align with anything that she'd associated with her dream boy— but, then again, the only boys she'd ever dreamed about were either imaginary and slightly blurry blonde knights in shining armor, or random and completely irrelevant to the plot of her dream.

He didn't even look anything like her celebrity crush. A.K.A. her current professor. Which sounded strange out loud, but she'd found the man attractive before he became her professor, which, in her mind, meant it wasn't as weird.

Ron wasn't blonde. He didn't have random armor lying around. He didn't travel on a horse. But he still made her feel things she'd never felt before.

What Hermione couldn't get over was why. Why was she feeling these things? There was no clear reason for the way her heart deemed it necessary to draft an escape plan whenever she touched Ron's bare skin, or why she couldn't look him in the eye without thinking of every single thing she's ever seen that was also electric blue.

It wasn't logical. It wasn't reasonable. It wasn't—

Perfect. It wasn't perfect.

It was more than that.

"When do you think they'll get out of the lockers?" Ron said before taking a bite of toast.

He somehow got marmalade on his cheek, and didn't seem to notice. Hermione took one of the napkins she'd brought and wiped it off for him. Of course, not without overthinking the gesture.

Ron ducked away, but not before Hermione managed to get the marmalade off.

"What are you, my mother?" Ron grumbled.

"No," Hermione said, flicking the napkin at him. "I'm your friend that's used to messy people."

"Come on, you've only had to deal with me for a year."

"Not you," Hermione said before she could stop herself. "Harlow."

The two quieted. Before Ron broke the silence.

Hesitantly, Ron asked, "What do you mean?"

"Harlow was messy," Hermione said, staring at the Quidditch field and picturing Harlow's face in her mind. Even after almost two years, the pain was still there. "Very messy. Her room always looked like a tornado had swept through it. And she loved to drag me into her messes. She liked to make attempts at baking every once in a while, and it always took at least an hour to clean up afterwards. And we never got good results, anyway. Neither of us could bake or cook."

"Me and my siblings can't bake or cook, either. I want to learn one day, though." Ron looked at Hermione. "I liked that."

"Liked what?" Hermione had forgotten over the summer how blunt Ron could be sometimes.

"You're telling me about Harlow, but not in a sad way. You look calm." And how endearing that bluntness could be.

Hermione liked talking about Harlow without getting sad, too. It felt like the real way to honor her memory. And she liked talking to Ron about her.

"I liked it, too," Hermione said. "I liked talking about her with you."

Hermione thought, panicked, for a moment that maybe she'd let too much slip. Would Ron know how she felt? Would he start suspecting the conflicting and utterly confusing emotions Hermione felt towards him?

But he didn't. Instead, he said, "You can talk to me about her anytime you want. I'll always listen."

Hermione would quickly learn that Ginerva Weasley was nothing like Harlow either.

Really, she needed to stop expecting it. Not every person that was younger than Hermione would be like Harlow.

Ginny was shy and awkward and had a massive crush on Harry. The few times Hermione had tried to talk to Ginny, she'd barely said a word and then scampered off as soon as she got the chance. Hermione thought that she and the girl she'd first sat with on the Hogwarts Express in her first year, who she now knew was Hannah Abott, would be good friends.

In another world, maybe it would be Ron grieving the loss of Ginny and Hermione would still have Harlow at her side. In an ideal world, neither of them would have lost anybody.

But in this world, it is Hermione that is curled up in her dormitory bed, crying as quietly as possible as she ran through the single interaction she'd had with Ginny that day that had unexpectedly made her long for Harlow more than ever.

Sometimes, it would hit Hermione with intensity that she really would never see Harlow again. Normally it was in the dead of night, when she couldn't fall asleep, where there was no one there but her and her thoughts.

Adults said that Hermione's mind was magnificent, a gift. After all, what else would you call something that could store the abundance of information Hermione constantly carried around?

But Hermione knew that her mind was her worst enemy. Because, no matter how hard she tried, it would never allow her to let go of the grief and sorrow that she was trying so desperately to shake off.

The first face Hermione saw after being petrified was that of Madam Pomfrey.

She had smiled delicately at Hermione and handed her a glass of water, which Hermione gulped down greedily. Slowly, her memories came back to her. Running away from Harry and Ron, asking for a mirror, a huge snake…

"I expect Mister Potter and the youngest Mister Weasley will be here soon," Madam Pomfrey said as she took Hermione's empty glass.

Not fifteen minutes later, Ron barged into the infirmary, trailed by a mildly confused Professor Lockhart. Immediately, Ron's face stretched into a massive grin and he rushed forward. His arms stretched outwards and he threw them around Hermione. Hermione reciprocated the hug, hoping he didn't notice her breathing in his familiar chocolate-and-clean-laundry scent.

He leaned backward. And then he pressed his lips to Hermione's forehead.

Hermione froze.

"Don't ever do that to me again," Ron said. "Next time you go to the library when there's a giant snake on the loose, I'm coming with you."

Ron didn't pause to blush or look flustered at the forehead kiss. Which is how Hermione knew he really only saw her as a sister.

It didn't particularly upset her. Sure, it was disappointing. But it's fine. This was reversible. This, she could change. Or rather, it could be changed. Other things couldn't. And Hermione learned that she should put all of her effort into changing the things that she wants to that can be changed, rather than dwelling on the things she can't. Even if she wasn't good at doing so quite yet.

Hermione sat up straighter. "Tell me everything."

Ron and Hermione watched as Harry slumped to where his uncle was waiting for him. His uncle wore an ugly scowl that made his already unpleasant features even more unbearable.

"I really hate that guy," Ron said, glaring at Vernon.

"I'm sure there are a lot of people out there that agree with you," Hermione said. "Including me."

They turned to face each other. This time, Hermione welcomed the quickening of her heartbeat when they made eye contact. She wasn't going to deny herself these emotions.

He hugged her. Hermione hugged him back.

"Can't wait for next year," Ron said. "We get to visit the wizard village nearby. You've heard of Hogsmeade?"

"No," Hermione said as they broke apart. "I'm Muggleborn, remember? But I'll make sure to find out about it over the summer."

"You'll love it," he assured her.

Not as much as I love you.

Hermione was startled at the thought. She knew that she felt something toward Ron, but of that intensity?

Of course, she loved him. She loved all of the Weasleys and Harry. But to be in love with Ron was something she hadn't considered.

But as Hermione looked at Ron's electric blue eyes one last time before she had to go back home for the summer, she found that she didn't mind.

Not at all.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Have a good day!