Happy Endings are Hard to Find by kyc639

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 07/02/2005
Last Updated: 19/07/2005
Status: Completed

Even with Voldemort gone, Harry finds that his 'Happy Ending' still eludes him. FIC
ADMIN (gal-texter) NOTE Nov 2008: ending chapter may be found here:
http://community.livejournal.com/fanfict00bs/43760.html




1. Part I
---------



**Author's Note:** None of the characters belong to me, though I do own a really cool
cell phone.

I know, I owe you all another chapter to *Four's a Crowd*. Unfortunately, this plot
bunny grew some pretty mean-looking claws and fangs and started scratching me. I really had no
choice.

This story is loosely based on a challenge I saw on the forums; I won't say which challenge
just yet, since it'll give away a plot point. I say *loosely* based since, though I take
the main plot, I've decided to ignore all the other parts of the challenge.

It's also a story with a bit of angst. There might be some humor, simply because Harry's
a funny guy, but humor is not my intent.

**Chapter One**

To be perfectly honest, I can't remember the exact time when I fell in love with Hermione.
Maybe it was third year, when we spent all those hours together saving Sirius. Twice. Or maybe it
was in fourth year when she gave me a peck on the cheek at the train station. Or hell, maybe it was
way back in first year when she gave me the first hug I ever remember. I'll probably never
really know, because I had too much emotional baggage from the Dursleys and Voldemort to see what
was right in front of me.

I do remember, however, when I *realized* that I was in love with her. It was during the
summer after fifth year. I had needed some time to deal with Sirius' death and the prophecy of
doom - if people thought I was a wee bitter after fourth year, I was positively acidic after fifth
year. I probably would have dissolved into a puddle of angry, persecuted rage if not for
Hermione's letters. Even though I rarely responded, she kept sending me letters. Letters that
conveyed her concern without being pushy about it (a rather impressive feat for Hermione), they
spoke of regular things and not of the life-and-death events that seem to plague my life. Her
letters got me through that difficult time, and that's when I realized that I loved her.

Of course, I couldn't just simply tell her. Not right away, at least. Ignoring the whole
fear-of-rejection thing, it was just that I couldn't tell her with the prophecy hanging like a
guillotine over my head. If Voldemort ends up being the last one standing, I wanted Hermione to
mourn me as a friend, not as something more. At least that's what I told myself all through
sixth year and most of seventh whenever I was overcome with the urge to kiss her; to be honest, I
think I was just afraid of rejection.

Then Voldemort launched his `final attack' near the beginning of seventh year. Though I had
been training with as much enthusiasm and frequency as Snape taking away points from Gryffindors, I
was more than just a little scared facing down the man-snake-thingie that had killed my parents. As
it turned out, a year-and-a-half of training wasn't much against a lifetime immersed in the
Dark Arts, and despite my best efforts, I lay wounded and exhausted before the Dark Lord's
feet.

It was then, right as I was anticipating an Avada Kedavra in the skull, that a strange thought
entered my mind: I would never be able to kiss Hermione. And frankly, that *pissed* me off!
Here I was, about to die at the ripe old age of seventeen, and the only kiss I would ever receive
was to be that tears-and-mucus kiss with Cho?!

Hell no!

With a surge of adrenaline, I rolled to the side just in time as the beam of green light torched
the ground behind me. I leapt to my feet, and with every ounce of my being, I blasted Voldemort
into a smoldering pile of bones and robes. It took everything I had, but before I passed out, I
couldn't help wonder, if it was that easy to kill Voldemort, why hadn't I tried that years
ago?

********

I knew where I was even before I opened up my eyes. The hospital wing had become such a familiar
place by now, what with Quidditch accidents and attempts on my life, that I was on a first-name
basis with Madam Pomfrey. I opened my eyes to see the blurry faces of almost everyone I cared about
peering down at me. The news was good: no fatalities on our side, most of the Death Eaters
captured, and Voldemort was confirmed to be dead and gone forever. Life was good.

And then, sensing that we probably needed some alone time, the adults left Ron, Hermione, and me
alone. We all shared goofy grins before getting into a massive group hug that lasted for what
seemed like a full minute. We talked and laughed for a bit, and then Ron excused himself to check
up on his wounded brothers and sister, leaving Hermione and me alone for the moment.

Looking into her shining face, I knew this was it. Finally, my opportunity to tell her how I
feel about her had come. Voldemort was gone, and I flying so high on happiness and relief that the
fear of rejection was pushed off to the side.

“Hermione?” I asked once Ron had closed the curtain behind him. “There's something I want to
tell you.”

“What's that Harry?”

“I love you.”

Her eyes softened and she smiled. “Aww. I love you too Harry.”

I shook my head. “No. I mean, I *love* you. I'm *in love* with you.” Her
expression changed and her smile faltered, but I was still too happy to notice. “I've been in
love with you for years now, but I was too afraid, with Voldemort out there, to tell you before.
But now that he's gone, I thought maybe we could give *us* a chance.”

“Er…what about Ron?” she asked.

I waved my hand dismissively. “Ron knows. I told him last year; or rather he figured it out
somehow.” That was a conversation I had been dreading for sometime, but fortunately Luna Lovegood
saved me.

She looked troubled. “Er, right then…listen Harry-”

“No, it's okay,” I said, thinking she was still worried about Ron. “Ever since he started
dating Luna, he's been over his crush on you. In fact, he's been encouraging me to tell you
sooner. Getting downright pushy, he was.”

“Listen…Harry,” she repeated gently. “I think you're delirious.”

I paused, confused. “No, I think I feel fine,” I said slowly.

“No Harry,” she said, a little more firmly. “You've just gone through a stressful
experience, and you're emotions are all over the place; you'll feel differently in the
morning.”

I shook my head. “No, that's not it. I *love* you Her-”

“No, you don't,” she interrupted. “Trust me, once you've calmed down, you'll see
that I'm right.”

I opened my mouth to protest, when it suddenly occurred to me what was going on, what I was
seeing in her eyes. It wasn't happiness that I was in love with her. It wasn't even
doubt-mixed-with-hope that I was in love with her. No, the expression in her eyes, written all over
her face, was pity. Hermione *pitied* me. She wasn't in love with me at all, and this was
her way of giving me an out, a way to save my dignity. I lowered my head and closed my eyes for a
second, internalizing everything as I had done while living with the Dursleys. Then I looked back
up at her.

“You're right, of course,” I said, my voice flat and mechanical.

“Yes, you'll see. It'll all be all right at the end,” she replied, trying to give me a
reassuring smile while at the same time holding back tears. We then looked anywhere else but at
each other, each trying to figure out something to say to break the awkward silence that had fallen
over us. Fortunately, after only a minute or two of torture, Ron came back.

“Hey guys, miss me?” he asked happily as he opened the curtain. He smile immediately dropped
once he saw our half-hearted attempts to smile back and the tears forming in Hermione's eyes.
“What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly. “Nothing at all. I should go check up on Ginny.” And with
that, she left without waiting for a response. Ron watched her leave and then turned back to
me.

“What happened Harry?”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. I knew I could make something up, but Ron would
eventually find out anyways. “I told her how I feel about her.”

“Oh!” Ron said, his eyes lighting up. Then he remembered how we both looked when he walked in -
not exactly the scene of two people in love. “Oh,” he repeated. “Harry…”

“I think I need some time alone. Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah sure,” he said. “I'll…uh…I'll just come back when it's time for dinner,
okay?”

“Thanks,” I said.

Ron gave me a supportive punch in the arm before closing the curtains around me as he left. For
some odd reason, though I was still in a hospital bed at Hogwarts, I suddenly felt like I was back
in the cupboard beneath the stairs.

*****

**A/N**: Isn't that last line cool? Sounds all deep and meaningful.

-->



2. Part II
----------



**Author's Note:** Hello all. Too much work and too little time have made this chapter
late.

Oh, and my cool cell phone broke, the one I mentioned in the prior author's note. I dropped
it one to many times. It's still under warranty, so hopefully I can get it replaced.

I've rarely written with a beta, as the one I used before seems to have disappeared.
Although I think I do okay without one, and can usually blame errors on the informality of hearing
someone's thoughts, I think this chapter needs one. Not that there are grammar or spelling
mistakes (though there might be), but the flow needs work.

So, with that wonderful endorsement, enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

So, ever since that day in the hospital wing - or as I like to call it, the day life decided to
kick me in the ass again - things haven't been so good for Harry Potter. On the plus side, this
was supposed to be the best time of my life: for once, I didn't have the cloud of death looming
over my head raining droplets of guilt and despair all over me, nor was I carrying the hopes and
dreams of the wizarding world on my shoulders like some wizarding version of Atlas, albeit with
less muscles. But on the minus side, I had more attention then ever before, almost like an animal
in a zoo, and, of course, there was the little matter of Hermione ripping my heart from my chest
and smashing it on the heel of her indifference. Not to mention I seem to be making a lot more
analogies when I get depressed, which can be as annoying as hearing disembodied voices that you
can't place, or like-

Anyway. The point is, ever since my feelings for Hermione were rejected, life has been
less-than-stellar. Things have been rather awkward between Hermione and me, though truth be told,
I've seen less and less of her lately. I'm not sure if it's because she feels
uncomfortable around me, or if it's because with Voldemort gone, she can finally do all the
extra-curricular activities she's always dreamed - Hermione's joined the Arithmancy club,
started up SPEW again, tutors the younger kids, works after hours with Professor McGonagall, and,
of course, is Head Girl. All the while revising for NEWTs, which thankfully are still half-a-year
away. Just thinking about it makes me want to take a nap. I was, however doing my best to move on
with my life. I'm a hero, for God's sake, and it would not behoove me to act like some
love-struck puppy chasing after some girl who wants nothing to do with me. I had to be
strong…tough. I still had my dignity!

So it was with great dignity that I sat with Ron and Luna at the Three Broomsticks on the first
Hogsmeade weekend. We were in the back, sheltered somewhat from prying eyes so I could be dignified
while I drank myself silly on firewhiskey, but again, it was in a very dignified manner. I had just
learned earlier in the day that Hermione was going to Hogsmeade with that little bugger Terry
“Oooh, you're so smart Hermione, you should be in Ravenclaw” Boot.

I had succeeded fairly well in dealing with my feelings for Hermione up to that point. Again,
living with the Dursleys had taught me to hide my feelings very well; I'm sure I'd make a
terrific poker player. But after I heard that Hermione was going with Boot, I figured I could spend
the day weeping manly tears as I cuddled in my bed, but Ron and Luna would have none of that. So,
since they asked for it, after all, I decided to subject them to my opinions of Terry “Oh Hermione,
that's *such* an advanced spell” Boot and how'd I like to re-arrange his facial
features - literally, of course, since I knew a spell that could do that.

Ron and Luna were troopers though; I'm sure this wasn't at all how they'd imagined
the day would go. They did a good job in keeping me from blowing up the place, though they
weren't quite as clever as they thought they were. When Hermione and Boot entered the Three
Broomsticks, Ron and Luna tried to shield them from me. But I saw them anyways. Watched as they
laughed and smiled together. I briefly considered sending over a snake to give Terry a little love
bite, but I reconsidered when I realized that I just as likely infest the place with hundreds of
snakes. So, after Ron helped me back to the Tower (which, by the way, is a lot harder to get to
when you're slightly drunk), I fell asleep and dreamt happy dreams of lions eating eagles.

*******

The next morning, I somehow managed to wake-up and get to breakfast. Of course, Neville tripping
over his trunk and knocking down the curtains helped a bit. I pushed my way through the throngs of
fans that, though dwindling, still congregate around the entrance of the Great Hall and found my
seat next to Ron and opposite Hermione.

“Rough night Harry?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. Even though she didn't love
me, she still cared for me. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. At first, I still wanted to be
friends; Hermione means so much to me, I couldn't imagine life without her. But after last
night, I wasn't so sure. If being her friend means I have to sit by and watch her go out on
dates, and someday watch her get married to some other guy, well…I'm not sure if I have enough
money to get drunk that many times. I mumbled back a response and reached for the pitcher of juice.
For whatever reason, the eggs looked utterly unappetizing.

Hermione frowned, but before she could say anything her roommates surrounded her. “So, how'd
it go?” Lavender asked excitedly.

Hermione looked uncomfortable, and at that point I focused on my juice.

“How'd what go?” Hermione asked.

“You know, the date with Terry.” This was Pavarti speaking.

“It wasn't date,” Hermione said, and I felt a flicker of hope.

“Whatever,” Lavender said dismissively. “So? How'd it go?”

“Um, fine?” I could imagine Hermione giving me quick, uncomfortable looks.

“Hmmph,” Pavarti said. “I saw you two at the Broomsticks. You seemed like you were having more
than just a `fine' time.”

At this point, I very much disliked Pavarti.

“Yeah, and did I see you two holding hands at one point?”

Lavender I didn't like so much either.

Though Hermione denied the hand-holding incident. They continued to talk about yesterday. For
some reason, I just couldn't help but just sit there and listen. It was a little like watching
an accident happening - I couldn't turn away. Except in this case, it was my own accident that
was happening, and I just sat there watching the train getting closer and closer, wondering if it
would just knock me to the side or crush me underneath its wheels.

Eventually the bell rang, mercifully cutting the conversation short. “Are you guys coming?”
Hermione asked Ron and me when neither of us had made a move to leave.

I looked up at her and managed a smile. “Yeah, be just a second.”

Ron nodded. “You go on ahead.” After Hermione left, Ron put a hand on my shoulder. “It'll be
okay Harry. You'll see, it'll be okay in the end.”

I nodded morosely and gathered my books. “Yeah, I know.” As I followed him out, though, I
couldn't help but be heartened by the fact that throughout the conversation, Hermione never
referred to yesterday as a `date.'

******

As was the trend in my life, any time I felt good about something, it was bound to be ruined
within a month. In this case, it was even shorter. It was our second Quidditch match of season,
Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. We were the heavy favorites, since almost all of the Ravenclaw
starters from last year had graduated. A lot of first-timers were out on the field, like Anthony
and Mandy as chasers, and Boot as seeker.

I had a number of options in how I could treat this match. On the one hand, I could completely
and utterly humiliate Boot, showing him how *real* seekers play the game. On the other hand,
given that their team is weak overall, I could end the thing quickly and save them some
embarrassment.

I ended up going for something in-between. Although the Quidditch Cup generally goes to the team
with the best win-loss record, total points come into play when there are ties. So, it was smart to
rack up a few points before winning the match.

So, in reality, I was thinking about the *team* when I out-flew and out-maneuvered Boot in
the skies. In all honesty, humiliating him just was a small a fraction of the reason, say about
75%. When we had built up a 300 to 30 lead, I ended the misery and caught the Snitch.

The usual happy teammates and housemates surrounded me when I landed. But someone was missing -
Hermione. She'd always been one of the first to congratulate me after a win, or comfort me
after the rare loss, but she was nowhere to be found. Even after our win over Slytherin, when
things were *really* awkward, she was still there to give me a friendly pat on the shoulder. I
scanned the crowd for the familiar bushy hair until I finally spotted her.

She was with Boot. They were talking in low tones, Hermione clearly consoling him after the
loss. It was then that I knew I had no chance.

I knew I should take the high road and be happy for her. She found someone who shared her
interests and made her happy. Wasn't that the important thing? Of *course* I wanted her to
be happy - but why couldn't she find happiness as a 90-year spinster virgin who never goes out
on dates? Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently it was.

******

Fortunately I had something to keep me occupied soon after: Quidditch scouting had arrived.
Scouts from all the professional teams gathered at Hogwarts while the seventh years showed what we
could do. The scouts came in waves and took real, hard looks at everyone; even the sixth years were
invited so the scouts could get an idea for next year.

The one interesting thing about the `auditions' is that we all had to use the same broom.
Apparently, the scouts wanted to make sure that the talent was on display, not broom technology, so
we were all using Cleansweeps. For someone like Ron, who only used Cleansweeps, it was no problem.
But for me, it sometimes felt as if I were flying in slow motion. I still feel that I performed
well, flying better than any other student, but it was frustrating at times. For weeks before the
try-outs, I flew the Cleansweep in order to get used to the differences. And, of course, during
try-outs I never touched the Firebolt, which was safely locked away in my trunk. I missed the
ability zoom around in the skies, that feeling of freedom. The feeling was still there with the
Cleansweep, but it was muted somehow. And with everything that's been going on with Hermione, I
itched to get back on the Firebolt.

My tryouts ended about two weeks early. No one had requested a second look at me, and while
normally this would be a bad thing, I knew I was in good shape. First of all, I had caught the
Snitch each time, and second of all, I knew my fame would at the very least get me a seat on the
bench; For years my fame had been a bother, it's about time I used it to my advantage, right? I
waited for Ron until try-outs were over, and then we excitedly went up to our room.

“What're you so happy about?” Seamus asked when we got in. “Did you get picked by a team
already?”

I shook my head. “Teams can't make formal offers until the spring.”

“Then what's all the fuss about?” Dean asked.

“*My* try-outs are over, which means I can fly my Firebolt again!” I said happily, shooting
Ron a look of triumph.

Neville just shook his head, obviously not appreciating what it feels like to be shackled to the
ground when all I wanted to do was soar. I started to rummage though my trunk.

“Are you going to fly now?”

“No,” I said, “but I want to take her out and make sure she's ready.”

Ron went to get his broom servicing kit while I continued to go though my trunk. Strangely
enough, I couldn't find it. I looked again. And then again. And then I overturned my trunk, my
things spilling out everywhere.

“Harry!” Ron said, alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“My broom's gone! Someone took my broom!”

“What?!” Ron came over and sifted through the pile. When he finished, I gave him a look. “Hey!”
he said, raising his hands in defense. “It wasn't me, I swear!”

“Well, it was someone who has access to this room.” I said, growing angry and turning my
attention to my three other roommates. Once they realized what I was implying, and seeing the
dangerous look on my face, they all paled considerably, even Dean, which was a rather impressive
feat.

“It wasn't me!”

“I didn't do it!”

“I don't even *like* flying!”

I gazed at them intently until I was satisfied that they were telling the truth - leglimency
does have its advantages. “All right,” I said, “I believe you.”

All four of them sighed in relief, but the fact remained: my beloved Firebolt, my first and only
present from Sirius, was missing.

*******

**A/N:** Nothing more to see here, move along. But don't forget to review before you
do.

Okay, I lied; maybe just a bit more. So, is it just me, or does it seems as if the enthusiasm
over HP fanfic seems to be dying down a bit? I know that I personally read less these days. I think
I'm just less interested in “standard” fluff, where H/Hr go through the standard “but it's
Harry or Hermione! I can't have these feelings for Harry or Hermione! She or he is my best
friend!” and then one of them trips on a rug, the other catches them, and they kiss. I'm also
less interested in angst, because I don't like watching them suffer too much, and I've read
one to many stories where Harry goes into some suicidal depression after Sirius died (which I
don't buy, by the way). And finally, I think I'm too lazy to read novel-length fics
anymore.

Or maybe I've just read too many fanfics that all the plots seem to run together, and now I
need a really different plot to get me interested?

Either way, I'm not too worried, since I'm guessing that by the summer, they'll be a
new reason to be excited about HP fanfic.

-->



3. Chapter 3
------------



**Author's Note**: Long time no write, how's everyone doing? Wow, has it really been
two months since my last update? Eek!

Well, I do have an excuse. Not only had work been crazy, but I also got myself a new job, so
I've been busy on interviews, thinking about interviews, worrying about interviews, etc. Then,
after I got the job, I've been busy transitioning all the crap off of my desk onto someone
else's. Now that I have a moment, here's the next chapter. It's more of a transition
chapter then anything else. And warning, there's some naughty language in this chapter.

**Chapter Three**

Once the shock of the situation had worn off, my mind turned to the next logical topic: which
spell or combination of spells was I going to use on the person who took my broom? Although
Unforgivables were out of the question, popping boils sure sounded good. Or maybe some sort of
disfiguring spell, something that would move the person's ears to the back of their head and
their nose to the top. Or maybe -

“Er, Harry?”

Somewhat annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of my diabolical planning, I answered gruffly,
“What?”

“Er, why don't you try summoning it?”

I cocked my head to the side. “Summoning it?”

Ron nodded. “Sure. After all, you summoned your broom from the dorm room all the way to
Quidditch pitch, and that was in fourth year. You're much better at it now.”

I nodded slowly, slightly impressed. Sometimes there's more to Ron than just Quidditch,
candy, and girls. Okay, not really - that's why he's so predictable. Raising my wand, I
focused on my Firebolt and said, “Accio Firebolt!” There was a tense, dramatic pause while all of
us waited for the broom to come flying in from any direction. But after a minute, it was clear that
the broom wasn't coming.

“Try again?” Neville suggested.

I waved my wand again. “Accio Firebolt!” But nothing happened. Since my spell should've been
strong enough to summon my broom from all but the most powerful of restraining spells, either
Dumbledore of Voldemort must've stolen my broom. But since Voldemort is dead, and Dumbledore
has a much cooler broom, that didn't seem likely. I could think of only one other reason why my
spell failed: my broom was destroyed. A split second after that thought entered my mind, something
nearby caught on fire, which Seamus quickly put out with his wand.

I rounded on them, causing them to take a collective step backwards. “Who the *hell* would
take my broom?” I roared while they all cringed. “What slimy, underhanded, sniveling, cowardly
little son of a -”

And then the answer came to me. Ron and I locked eyes for a split second before we both uttered
the same name. “Malfoy.”

We both nodded in a moment of masculine understanding. I quickly rummaged through the pile of my
things and pulled out the Marauders Map. A quick promise-to-do-no-good later, and I saw that Malfoy
was currently on rounds with Susan Bones. I shared a satisfied grin with Ron, and then we set off
to find the little bastard, the other guys right behind me. I was halfway across the Common Room
when I heard my name called.

“Harry! Harry! What happened? What's going on?”

I turned, surprised to see Hermione running down the stairs to us. “Huh? Wah? How did you know
anything was the matter?”

“Harry, you were throwing off so much magical energy that *everyone* could tell something
was the matter. Now, what's wrong?”

Only after she said that did I notice that everyone in the Common Room looked slightly nervous,
or even fearful. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “Someone took my broom. Someone, I might
add, who is going to know what it means to cross Harry Potter. Someone who is going to see,
firsthand, why I was able to defeat Voldemort. Someone who will truly understand the meaning of the
word `suffering.' Someone who is going to feel my wrath, like the heat from a thousand burning
suns, like a tidal wave of destruction that will -”

“Harry! Harry! Let's try and focus here, okay?” Hermione said, interrupting me mid-rant. So
much for calming down. “How do you know it's gone?” she asked, her voice a little shaky from my
flare-up of anger.

“It's gone, Hermione,” Ron said. “We looked everywhere, and Harry even tried summoning
it.”

Hermione's eyes went wide at that; she no doubt understood what my failed spell meant for
the broom. “Then…where were you planning on going?”

“We know who took it,” Ron said, a little smugly.

“What? Who?”

“Malfoy,” I spat.

Hermione gave a strange sort of laugh. I glared at her, which stifled that quickly. She composed
herself. “Malfoy?” she asked, incredulously. “What makes you think Malfoy took your broom?”

“Who else then?”

“Listen to yourselves. Malfoy? How on earth could *Malfoy* have gotten into Gryffindor
Tower? And if he could, why would he only take your broom?”

I shook my head slightly, unable to believe I was having this conversation. “Are you kidding me?
I'm sure there are tons of ways to sneak into the dorms!”

“Oh? Name one.”

Argh! Stupid Hermione and her logic. “What? Are you suggesting that someone in Gryffindor stole
my broom?” I challenged.

“No, of course not,” she said in an overly calm voice. “Maybe you simply misplaced it.”

“Misplaced it?” I repeated. “Never!”

“Look, all I'm saying is maybe you should sleep on it. You might find it in the morning, or
maybe it'll turn up.”

I suppressed a growl and stole a glance at the Map. Malfoy was nearby - I could practically
smell the nasty cologne he wears. “Forget it Hermione. Malfoy took it.” I turned and started
walking towards the exit, with Hermione close behind.

“And if he didn't? What then?” she asked.

“If he didn't,” I replied as I put one foot through the portrait hole, “then he'll get a
beating for old times' sake.”

“Harry, you can't do this!”

“No? Watch me.”

“Harry, you can't just go out and beat him up! He's prefect, and it's after
hours.”

Without turning back, I waved my hand dismissively.

“Harry, if you go out there, I'll…I'll…I'll take points from Gryffindor!”

*That* stopped me in my tracks. I turned around slowly and walked back towards the portrait
hole, where Hermione stood defiantly. I noticed all the other Gryffindors were crowded around the
portrait holes, watching with rapt attention. Ron was standing behind Hermione, looking shocked.
“What did you say?” I asked.

She stuck her chin up. “I said I'll take points if you leave after hours.”

“You wouldn't…I've been out after hours loads of times. You've never taken points
off before.”

“That was then. Things were different back then. This now.”

I stared at her, and then suddenly laughed. “You wouldn't,” I repeated. “Not from your own
house,” though what I really meant was `not from me.'

“Try me,” she dared.

I looked over Hermione's shoulder at Ron, and he only shrugged. I regarded Hermione
carefully, then repeated, “You wouldn't.” I turned around and started walking again.

I hadn't gotten further than three paces when I heard her say, “Ten points from
Gryffindor!”

An audible gasp went up from the direction of the Common Room. I turned around and looked at
Hermione, my emotions all over the place. Had she really taken points from *me*? There were
literally no words to describe what I was feeling, so I didn't even try. One crisis at a time,
and this one would have to wait in queue behind the broom. “Fine!” I spat. “But you're not
stopping me.” And with, I turned and started walking down the hall.

I half expected more points to be taken, but instead I heard Hermione say, “Oh no you don't,
Ronald Weasley! One crazed *boy* roaming the halls is enough. You get back into the Common
Room this instant or I'll take more points from Gryffindor.”

I turned the corner, so I didn't hear his response. A few seconds later, I heard footfalls
behind me and assumed he had either convinced Hermione to let him go or had taken the hit to our
point total. So it was with great surprise that I turned and found Hermione walking beside me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“If you're going to be too thick-headed to listen to reason, then it's my responsibility
to limit the amount of trouble you can cause,” she replied, not looking at me.

I didn't know how to interpret that statement, whether she meant it as a friend or not, so
instead I referred to the Map and found my bearings. I changed course, and within minutes I heard
Malfoy's snotty voice echoing off the halls. A second later he spotted us.

“Well, if it isn't the great hero and the great Head Girl,” he said in his usual
contemptuous voice. “Out for a little stroll, I -”

But then he found it hard to talk, what with my fist crashing into his jaw. He fell to the
ground and then scampered backwards, drawing his wand as he went. Before anyone could react, he
cried out, “Stupify!”

I blocked the red beam of light with my hand using a fancy little shielding charm that
Dumbledore taught me. Essentially, it was a far more powerful version of the standard shielding
charm, but with the drawback that it covered a much smaller area - a circle with a diameter of
about a foot. Not very useful to most wizards and witches, but, hell, I wasn't the youngest
Seeker in a century because of my good looks. I learned to cast the spell so that it stayed on the
palm of my hand, and I had little trouble blocking spells coming from a single opponent. If I could
use it successfully against Voldemort, then Malfoy shouldn't be a problem.

Speaking of the pointy-headed bastard, he scrambled to his feet and started throwing more curses
and hexes at me. I walked towards him, blocking his spells until I was right in front of him. Then
I swatted away his wand and gave him another punch to the jaw, knocking him to the ground. I was
about to pounce on him and give him a real beating, Muggle-style, when Hermione latched herself
onto my arm.

“Harry! Stop it!”

I tried to shake her off, but she was holding on tight. “Let go Hermione!”

“No! You're acting crazy!”

“Yeah, no shit,” came an angry reply. Malfoy wiped the blood off of his chin and looked up at
us. “What's come over you Potter? What the hell was that for?”

“You little -” I tried to lunge at him again, but by this time Hermione was standing in front of
me. I tried kicking him, but he was out of range. “You stole my broom, you little fucker!”

“You're outta your mind, Potter! I didn't touch your precious little broom!”

“Liar!”

“Fuck you!”

“No, f-”

“Harry!” Hermione interrupted, before I could get my clever retort in. “You have *ways* of
knowing if he's lying, remember? Is he?”

I glared at Hermione - always using that damn logic. I took a deep breath and looked at Malfoy.
“Did you steal my broom?” I asked in a low voice.

Malfoy crossed his arms in front of him. “No I didn't.”

And then I knew he wasn't lying. Sure, I still hated the bastard, but I guess that meant I
couldn't hit him again. “Fine,” I said, and then turned to walk away.

“ `Fine?' `Fine?!' That's all I get? You come over here and hit me for something I
didn't do, and all you say is `Fine?!' ”

“Consider it payback for six years of having to deal with your shit,” I called back as I
continued walking. Hermione and I walked wordlessly back to Gryffindor Tower; she being smart
enough not to say `I told you so.' Only when we got back to the Common Room did the
anger-fueled adrenaline wear off, and I noticed that my hand hurt. A lot. I looked at it and hissed
at the sight of blood on my knuckles.

Hermione came over and gingerly took my hand, examining it. “Sit down and wait here,” she said
gently, but firmly. She took off towards the girls' dorm and returned shortly with a familiar
sight - a bowl of murtlap. She placed the bowl in front of me, and I sighed as I dipped my aching
hand into the bowl.

“Thanks,” I said.

She nodded, and then said hesitantly, “You know…I was only trying to-”

“It's okay,” I interrupted. “I understand.” We smiled at each other, and, at least for the
moment, things seemed normal between us. And while I was happy about that, the question still
hadn't been answered: where the hell was my broom?

**A/N**: Ah, the mystery deepens. Or maybe not, if you already know who stole the broom. Or
maybe, if you know who stole the broom but don't know why.

Anyway, I start my new job on Monday, so I'm not sure when the next update will be.
Hopefully quicker than two months though; I have some fun angst in store!

-->



4. Chapter 4
------------



**Author's Note:** So, an update after two weeks isn't so bad, right?

So, the new job's going great, thanks for asking. I managed to cobble this together during
downtimes. Just as an FYI, my chapters generally average 1,700 words in length. I don't know
why it works out like that, but in invariably does. This one, however, is almost twice that, so
rejoice!

**Chapter Four**

After that night, things between Hermione and I improved a little. I still wasn't sure how
to deal with the fact that she took points from me (and what that might mean about our changing
relationship), so I took the easy way out and pretended that it never happened. Somewhat to my
surprise, Hermione, Ms. “Let's talk about our feelings until you want to poke your eyes out,”
never mentioned it either. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, so in the end
I decided to ignore that too.

This is not to say that all was peachy in my life. After all, my Firebolt was still missing.
After about a week of terrorizing the general student populace with threats and suspicions,
apparently the staff had had enough, and Professor McGonagall took me aside for a little chat,
“asking” me (in the same way that a lioness “asks” a zebra to be her next meal) to act like an
adult. So I did…eventually. But looking on the bright side, I *was* able to smack Malfoy
around and not get in trouble for it. Well, not counting the points Hermione took from me, but
I'd trade 10 points for the chance to hit Malfoy any day.

It was about a month later when I received another shock. I was finishing up a Transfiguration
essay after dinner in a secluded little corner of the Common Room, having procrastinated beyond my
usual standards. Ron had abandoned his essay long ago, and, of course, Hermione had finished hers
even long*er* ago. I was trying my best to work on the essay, but it was difficult with the
sounds of the other Gryffindors (Ron included, that lazy bastard) having fun on the other side of
the room. I was seriously contemplating giving up when I heard a small fizzle sound.

“Mr. Harry Potter sir?” came a quiet, tentative voice.

I turned in surprise. “Dobby?” It was very rare to see a House Elf where there were a lot of
people, unless it was in a service role. In fact, House Elves generally avoided such things, as it
was not considered “appropriate” to be seen in the wizard culture. That explained Dobby's quiet
demeanor, but it didn't explain the large bandages that were wrapped around his head. “What
happened to you?” I whispered.

“Dobby has been very, very bad and deserved to be punished,” he whispered.

I considered probing further, and possibly trying to convince him that smacking oneself in the
head wasn't proper, but it seemed like to much effort at the time, what with my essay glaring
up at me. “Alright, fine,” I said. “What can I do for you?” I asked, wondering why he was here.

But of course, I should have been more aware of my phrasing. Dobby started weeping quietly. “Haw
pter s knd n gnrs t off tdo smthn fDobby!” he said between sobs and sniffles. After five years of
being around Dobby, I was able to translate that to, “Harry Potter is so kind and generous that he
offers to do something for Dobby!”

I patted him gently on the left shoulder, the only spot I could see that wasn't covered in
bandages. “Shh, it's okay Dobby. What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Dobby has been a very bad elf because he has violated…” and he went on and on a bit about how
bad he was. I learned early on to let him get through it, otherwise he'd never get to the
point. Eventually he said, “…and Dobby deserved punishment because he took this to give to Mr.
Harry Potter,” placing something on the table.

At first glance, I thought it was wand, or at least a slightly broken wand. I picked it up and
turned around in my hand. “Dobby?” I asked, confusion evident in my voice. “What is this…”

And then I knew what I was holding. “Dobby,” I said, still looking at the shard of wood that
could only have come from my Firebolt, “Where did you find this?”

I turned to face the little House Elf and was surprised to see him cowering in the corner,
afraid of me. I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Dobby,” I said again, but it still sounded a
bit menacing. I tried again, putting on my best smile. “Dobby? Hi, how are you? So, where did you
find this?”

But Dobby shook his head. “Dobby cannot say, Mr. Harry Potter sir. It is against school rules
for House Elves to take-”

“Cannot say?” I parroted. “Cannot say!?” I realized my voice had gotten a little loud and tried
to take another deep breath. By this time, though, I had attracted the attention of the rest of the
Common Room.

“Hey Harry, you okay?” Ron asked, slowly approaching my table.

I took another deep breath and handed Ron the piece of wood from my Firebolt. “Sure, fine. Look
what Dobby found.”

Ron took the piece of wood and examined it. After a moment, he said slowly, “Harry, is
this…”

“Yes it is.”

“Um…where did Dobby find it?”

“He won't say,” I said in tightly controlled voice.

“He won't say?”

“He won't say. He'd have to beat himself if he did.”

“Oh.”

Since I didn't want Dobby to punish himself (at least not yet), I tried to think of another
way to get him to tell me. Suddenly I had an idea. “Ron, can you go get the map from upstairs?”

“Sure,” he said, and then ran off for our dorm room. I sat there silently with Dobby when
Hermione appeared.

“Harry? What's going on?”

Without looking at her, focusing all my energies on controlling myself, I said, “Dobby found a
piece of my Firebolt, but he won't tell me where because he'd be violating a House Elf
rule.”

After a second, Hermione said, “Oh.” After another second, she said, “Harry, you're not
thinking of *making* him talk, are you? Because-”

“No, I'm not,” I said, finally looking at her. She seemed relieved to hear that. “I do,
however, have a plan.”

Hermione no longer looked relieved. “Harry…” she said slowly.

Before I could reassure her that my plan was Elf-friendly, Ron appeared with the map in his
hand. He handed it to me, and I saw that he had already promised the map that he would misbehave. I
spread the map on the table and beckoned to Dobby. “Here Dobby, come take a look at this.”

Dobby looked at the map. “Oooooo…Harry Potter Sir! This is a-”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “We're going to play a little game, Dobby. DO you like
games?”

Dobby squealed and clapped his hands. “Oh yes! Dobby loves games!”

“Okay, great. The game is called…um…hot/cold.” Ron looked curious, but I could practically hear
the wheels churning in Hermione's head as she was trying to figure out where I was going with
this. “It works like this: whenever my finger gets close to the place on the map where you found my
Firebolt, you say `Hot.' Whenever my finger gets further away, you say `Cold.'
Understand?”

Dobby nodded slowly. “Dobby thinks so.”

I smiled encouragingly. “Okay, let's begin.” I placed my finger on part of the map labeled
`the Great Hall.'

“Hot!” Dobby shrieked, startling all of us.

“You were in the Great Hall when you found my Firebolt?” I asked skeptically, once my breathing
had returned to normal.

Dobby shook his head. “No sir. But Dobby wasn't outside.”

“Oh, no Dobby. You see, you should start with `warm' or `cool' first. The closer I get
to the place where you found the Firebolt, you say `warmer' or `really warm,' and then you
say `hot' then `hotter' then `really hot.' DO you understand now?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. He looked at my finger, still on the Great Hall, and said,
“Cool,” looking awfully proud.

“All right,” I said, taking a deep breath, hoping that this would work. I next placed my finger
on Gryffindor Tower.

“Cool,” Dobby said, creating a sudden sigh of relief around me. I look up, surprised to see
practically all of Gryffindor Tower standing around the table. I returned to the map and started
moving my finger around the castle. There was a disappointed moan from the crowd when Dobby said
that the Slytherin dungeons were cool. I found the trail when Dobby said, “warm,” and then “really
warm” and then “really really warm” and so on. By the time he got to “really really really really
really really really warm,” Ron interrupted him and requested that he use the word `hot'
instead. The trail led me to the west side of Hogwarts, and my finger circled around and around
until I got to a single room. There were a couple of names in the room, but I wasn't sure
exactly what the room was used for. I did, however, know what part of the castle the room was in,
as it was clearly labeled: Ravenclaw Tower.

As I sat there, my finger firmly planted somewhere in Ravenclaw Tower, I couldn't help but
hear Hermione's voice in my head: “Harry, now don't go off without thinking. We need think
sensibly. We need to take this to the professors; they'll take care of it. Besides, you
can't just go barging into another House and start destroying things just because Dobby found a
piece of your broom in there. For all you know, some poor Ravenclaw might have picked it up
accidentally from somewhere else and brought it into their Tower. Are you listening to me Harry?
Harry?”

I looked up at Hermione, slightly startled, as she waited patiently for me to answer; I guess
her voice wasn't just in my head after all. I started to nod. After all, she was right, I had
to have a clear head and not just rush out of here all half-cocked…

Ah screw it! Since when did I ever think things through? It's pretty much worked for me in
the past, so why change now? I stood up and surveyed the Common Room, every face turned toward me.
I looked over to Dobby. “Dobby, was the rest of my broom in the same room?”

Dobby nodded.

“Right then.” I looked directly at Hermione. “This isn't a matter for the professors. This
is personal.” A path cleared for me as I walked towards the portrait hole.

“Harry! You can't-”

“It's not after hours, Hermione,” I shot back. “I can take a walk if I want to.” I started
trekking through the corridors, only slightly aware that there were a quite a few Gryffindors
behind me. Or perhaps not so slightly aware, as Ron and Hermione were having quite an argument
behind me. I came to a sudden stop just before the portrait that protected the entrance, creating a
small pile-up behind me. I glared over my shoulder at the assembled Gryffindors and received a few
sheepish looks in return.

Because, no matter what I tried, I couldn't get Hermione's voice *completely* out
my head (and the fact that the real thing was only a few paces away didn't help any), I wanted
to be sure that my Firebolt was in there. Placing the wood shard on the palm of my hand, I cast a
spell. It was a simple searching spell that almost all mothers knew - if you had something that was
part of another (like the lid to a jar, or a piece of a broomstick), the piece that you had would
orient itself in the direction of the rest. I had a grim little smile as the broomstick shard
pointed directly towards the portrait hole.

I walked up to the portrait, the inhabitant looking rather nervous. “What…what is the meaning of
this?” she asked. “Why are all you Gryffindors here?” I took one last look at the Marauders Map to
make sure I had the right password before muttering it silently to the portrait - no point in
letting *all* of Gryffindor know the Ravenclaw password.

The woman in the portrait looked uncertain. “This is highly irregular. I don't know how you
came to know the password, but you just can't-”

I was too irritated to argue with a painting. I knocked hard on the frame to get her attention.
“I gave you the password. Now open up, or I'll open you myself.” The painting, choosing
discretion over valor (and plus I *did* have the password) opened slowly. I walked through,
followed by a dozen curious Gryffindors.

The Ravenclaw Common Room pretty much looked like I expected it would: lots of dark cherry wood
and teak, bookcases all over the places, and most of the inhabitants were studying. Or, at least
they were studying seconds ago. Now, every Ravenclaw was staring at me and the Gryffindors behind
me.

After a moment of silence, Anthony Goldstein, the Head Boy, broke away from the crowd and
approached me. “Er, Harry…Hermione…um, what's going on?”

I ignored him while I cast another search spell on the broom shard. The shard moved slowly until
it pointed towards a set of stairs leading upwards, which I hoped led to the boys' dormitory
and not the girls'. By this time, Luna had joined us and was talking quietly with Ron, while
Hermione and Anthony were in a discussion. I didn't much care about what they were saying, as
my only concern was my broom. While I hoped that the only thing wrong with the broom was the shard,
I feared the worst. After all, having the broom in little pieces would definitely interfere with my
summoning charms. I started walking when I felt a restraining hand on my shoulder.

“Wait, hold on Harry,” Anthony said. “Hermione told me what's going on, and I think we
should call Professor Flitwick.”

I looked at the hand that was still on my shoulder and then looked at Anthony. He dropped his
hand almost immediately. I resumed my march towards the stairs, the way clearing before me. I had
just reached the first step when some part of me, the part that was still paying attention to my
environment, registered that someone had said `stupefy.' I then became *very* aware of
that when I felt the spell strike me in the back.

Normally being stunned isn't so bad. I mean, one moment you're awake and lucid, and the
next you're opening your eyes, confused and wondering what happened. Sometimes you might get a
headache, but that's rare.

Now, getting stunned and resisting it is a *completely* different story. It actually feels
like getting stung by a bee - everywhere. It starts where the spell struck you, and then spreads
all over your body. It isn't pleasant at all, and getting stunned in the back at that moment
didn't help my mood. I spun around, only to face another shock.

Facing me, wands out and their faces clearly showing their surprise that I wasn't
unconscious, stood Anthony and Hermione. This was the *second* time that Hermione betrayed me
over this damn broom! Okay, so maybe `betrayed' is a strong word, but I was seething. I walked
quickly towards the two of them, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors shuffling backwards as I
approached. I stood before them, the Head Girl and Head Boy, and then savagely whipped my hand out,
knocking their wands out of their hands and clattering across the room.

“Har-” Hermione began.

“Don't!” I said angrily, my finger pointed in her face. I couldn't deal with this, at
least not yet. If I tried to process the fact that Hermione attacked me, I would get overwhelmed. I
had to focus on the broom first, and then on Hermione's actions. I glared at them both, daring
them to speak, before I walked up the stairs. I heard footsteps behind me but was past caring as I
cast another search spell. I followed the broom shard until it pointed me towards a single
door.

Without knocking, I opened the door to find two very surprised Ravenclaws, Mike Corner and Terry
Boot, sitting at their desks. I stepped into the middle of the room, a few people following in
behind me.

“Harry?”

The shard was pointing towards a trunk, though I didn't know whose. I extending my hand
outwards, I said, “Accio Firebolt,” knowing my summoning spell would work this time as I was so
close. The trunk shook for a second before the top flew open, spreading clothes, book, and other
small bits of parchment and quills in the air. To my horror, though, the `small bits of parchment
and quills' started flying towards me, and I realized that I was looking at the remains of my
broom.

Various splinters, shards, and twigs, along with three larger pieces (two from the handle and
one from the tail), flew towards me and landed in a messy pile at my feet. I just stared at the
pile, unable to believe that this heap of wood was the Firebolt that Sirius gave me. I noticed a
few scraps of parchment intermingled within the wood, no doubt dragged when the pieces of wood were
summoned. I fished one out and looked it over. It was an old homework assignment, and my eyes
narrowed as I read the name at the top.

Terry Boot.

I looked over at Terry, and he froze. Then he made a dash for the door. I whipped out my hand,
pushing back the people in the doorway and slamming the door in their faces. I crumpled the
parchment in my hand before throwing it aside and approached Boot.

“Hold on, hold Harry! Listen to me for a second,” he said quickly, raising his hands in front of
him.

I continued to approach him as he walked backwards and sidled along the wall. Suddenly Anthony
appeared in front of me. “Now wait a second Harry. I know you're upset, but-”

Over his shoulder I saw Boot make another run for the doorway, so I flung out my fingers,
banishing him across the room and into the opposite wall. I heard a shriek but ignored it.

Boot picked himself up from the wall and drew his wand, shakily pointing it at me. “Wait Harry,
I don't want to hurt you.”

I couldn't help it - I barked a short laugh moments before banishing him again. He dropped
his wand when he hit the floor. I kicked it towards him and gave him time to point it at me again
before banishing him again into another wall. I was starting to enjoy myself when Hermione suddenly
jumped in front of me.

“Harry! Please don't do this!” she pleaded, tears evident on her face.

I pushed her aside as I approached Boot again. I was a little bored with banishing him, and was
considering which spell to use when Hermione jumped in front of me again.

“Hermione! Get out of the way!”

“No!” she said. “This isn't right! You can't do this Harry!”

I looked at her incredulously. “Are you *kidding* me?! That bastard steals my broom and
busts it into pieces, and you say *this* isn't right?”

“No, it's not,” she said, now openly crying. “It's not Terry's fault, Harry.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Oh really? Whose fault is it then? My broom's for
falling apart?”

“No Harry,” Hermione said, her voice unsteady. “It's my fault. I'm the one who took your
broom.”

**A/N**: Right…so, um, I guess you might consider that a cliffhanger, but if so, it's a
really small cliff. More like a hill.

I'm sure that it comes as no surprise that Hermione took the broom; well, some might have
thought Terry stole the broom. And the why isn't that big of a deal either. The rest of the
story will focus on Harry's reactions and whether or not they can repair their friendship.

I know a lot of people are probably not that favorably disposed towards Hermione right now. In
an author's note later I'll probably explain her behavior, since I doubt it'll come up
from Harry's POV. Just keep in mind that desperate people do desperate things, and Hermione was
desperate that Harry *not* find out who stole his broom.

Oh, and my analogy of being stunned is like being stung by a bee is from another fic I read long
ago, one of my favorites. At least, I think it is (the quote, I mean); it's been so long since
I read that part that I might be mistaken.

-->



5. Chapter 5
------------



**Author's Note:** I feel as if I'd written myself into a corner, or something like
that. All of you are expecting a good reason for Hermione's actions, and I fear that the reason
I provide isn't sufficient. I'll go more into it at the end of the chapter.

I mentioned before that this story is based on a challenge. It's called “Harry's Broken
Broom” and can be found in PK's forum. I haven't followed it very well.

Anyway, this one's a shorter chapter; sorry, that's how the page breaks (get it? Page
break? Whoa, where do I come up with them?!). But the next one should be longer, so in the end,
it's really of average-length.

**Chapter Five**

I felt as if I had been blindsided by a raging Hippogriff. I stared at Hermione in shock, and I
could only come up with one response: “What?”

But then I came up with another: “Why?” I tried to think of a few more, and I did move my mouth
up and down a few times, but my thought processes had come to a screeching halt.

Hermione, on the other hand, had plenty to say. “Harry, listen, okay? It's not as bad as you
think; I mean, it's bad, but it's not *that* bad. Oh dear. You see, Terry's
parents are going to buy him a new broom and he was curious about your Firebolt and asked me to ask
you if he could try it out for a minute. And I tried, I really tried to ask you before, but, you
know, things have been a little…*awkward* between us, and I could never find the right time.
But Terry kept bothering me about it because his parents wanted to know right away, and I know
that's no excuse, but I figured with tryouts here that you wouldn't need it and
wouldn't miss it, and I could just *borrow* it for an hour and return it to you. And I
would have, except *Terry* isn't *nearly* as good a flier as he thinks he is and he
crashed. I would have told you right away, but Terry was so afraid that you'd be mad at him and
kill him and he *promised* that he could have it fixed because his uncle has a broom shop and
could fix it, but then his uncle said he couldn't do it so I said we should tell you but Terry
said he could find another way, and then tryouts ended early and you found out and…and…and I'm
so sorry Harry! I've never been more sorry in my life, honest! But it'll be okay, because
Terry can get it fixed and then everything will be fine. I mean, it won't be fine right away,
but it will be fine eventually because we've been friends for so long and I know that-”

“Fine? Fine?!” I roared, startling her and causing her to take a step backwards. “You actually
think that everything will be *fine*?!”

Hermione wiped at her eyes. “Yes! I mean, no, I mean *eventually* things will-”

“Things will *never* be fine between us, understand? Stay away from me, Hermione.”

I pushed past her towards Boot, but then I felt her hand on my arm. “Harry, please-”

I moved so quickly she didn't have a chance to react, my face suddenly inches from hers.
“Walk out of here while you're still can, Hermione,” I said in a low voice, almost a whisper.
She stood still for a moment with wide eyes, though if it were from fear or surprise, I didn't
really much care at the moment. Then she fled for the door. I looked around at the rest of the
people gathered in the room. “And that goes for the rest of you too…get out!”

While the rest of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were smart enough to bolt, apparently Anthony
didn't have the sense to know when to use discretion and when to use valor. “Now, Harry,” he
said after a moment, in a voice dripping with calm and reason as he gestured about the room, “I
think we should call Professor Flitwick now…I mean, don't you think you're enough trouble
as it is?”

My hand flexed for a moment as I considered banishing him through the open doorway. But then
reason prevailed. I smiled. “Sure Anthony, that's a good idea.”

He looked taken aback. “What?”

“Yeah, you should call Professor Flitwick. A student shouldn't be able to just walk into
another House and start tearing up the place, right?”

Anthony was smart enough to look suspicious at my sudden change in attitude. Ron, on the other
hand, looked as if I'd just said that Quidditch was a silly activity with rules that made no
sense. “Er…right Harry, I'm glad you see things my way,” Anthony said, moving towards the
door.

“*However*,” I said, “I'd hate for Professor Flitwick to find out that the Head Boy and
Head Girl attacked a fellow student, in the back and unprovoked, no less.”

Anthony turned and looked at me.

“Surely there must be some sort of penalty for that. Do you think they'll lose their badges,
Ron?”

Ron stifled a smile and tried to look somber. “Oh, at *least*! I can't imagine
Dumbledore would let them stay as Head Boy and Head Girl after something like that.”

Anthony looked between us. “But-”

“And after Hogwarts, surely any potential employer will notice that, though you started the year
as Head Boy, you didn't finish it as Head Boy,” I continued.

“And,” Ron said quickly, “when they find out that you attacked *Harry Potter*, the saviour
of the wizarding world…well, I don't fancy your chances of getting a job once that tidbit gets
out.”

Anthony just stood silently in place. “Hey Ron,” I said, “Would you mind getting the professor?
I'd like to get all the punishments over with, and I'm sure Anthony feels the same.”

Ron nodded and put his hand on the doorknob when Anthony said, “No wait! I, uh, don't think
that's necessary. This is probably something that we can take care of without the professors,
don't you think?”

“Good. I'm glad you see things my way,” I said, parroting his own words from moments before.
Then I stepped closer to him, my eyes narrowed. “Now shut up and get the hell out of here before
you start to annoy me.”

Anthony blanched and then quickly made for the door, Ron shutting it behind him. I turned back
to look at Boot, who hadn't moved from where I had last banished him. “Harry, I'm-”

“So, what happened, eh Boot? Thought you were good enough to take my broom for a spin?”

“I-”

“But you couldn't, could you? It was way too much broom for you to handle, eh? Lost control
and crashed, did you?” And then I remembered the time last month when Boot had been in the hospital
wing after an accident at Quidditch practice. I remember feeling bad for the guy, having been
through more than enough Quidditch-related accidents of my own. I didn't feel bad for him
anymore.

“Harry, I-”

“Shut it!” I said, raising a hand to rub my temples. I suddenly felt very tired - tired of all
of this, though I was amused to see him flinch when I moved my hand. I just wanted it to be over.
And besides, I couldn't think of a suitable way to punish the guy. I didn't want a
replacement broom from *him*, or really anything from him that would remind me of this whole
event. I had already flung him across the room a couple of times, and doing something nastier than
that really wasn't in my nature (especially since most of the anger that I was feeling had
ebbed away). After a tense moment of silence, I looked back at Boot.

“Watch your back, Boot, and take care not to do anything that might upset me,” I said and then
left the room. Playing mind games with the kid was all that I had the energy for. I stepped into
the hallway, which immediately cleared of people. Ron followed and closed the door behind us.

“That's it?” he asked, the disappointment clear in his voice.

“Yeah, that's it,” I said as I slumped against the wall. By now, the full weight of what
Hermione had done finally sunk in. She actually *stole* my broom to give to *him*! And
then lied about it when she *knew* that I was looking for it! And then took points from me
when she could have just *told* me that Malfoy didn't have it! And then she actually tried
to *stun* me when-

“Ron, what are you doing?” I asked curiously; he was fidgeting so much that it distracted me
from my thoughts.

He looked anxious. “Well, I'm…um…I mean I'm trying to…”

I straightened, suddenly alarmed. I tried to back up, but I was already against the wall.
“Mate…you're not trying to give me a…a *hug*, are you?”

Ron shrugged helplessly. “I, uh…well…isn't that what friends do when something like this
happens?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, they do…if you're a *girl*.”

“Oh, right…um, want me to get Ginny then? Or maybe Luna? She's right downstairs; I can just
run down for a second and-”

“No, no,” I said, waving my hands. “That's all right. Just a friendly - manly - pat on the
shoulder should be fine.”

Ron gave me an encouraging smile and patted me on the shoulder. “It'll be okay, Harry.”

I nodded and put my hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.” I knew that it was really the only thing he
could say at the moment, but I somehow doubted it would be true. And for the first time in my life,
I actually wished there was a cupboard somewhere nearby where I could hide for a bit.

*********

**A/N**: Okay, here's where I unsatisfactorily attempt to explain Hermione's
behavior, at least as how I'd envisioned it. Skip if you're not interested.

For years, Hermione's spent her time worrying about Harry and Voldemort. She's been so
focused on keeping Harry alive, that she never really looked at him as anything other than the best
friend that she has to keep alive. She hadn't had the opportunity to reflect upon her own
feelings of Harry, and whether or not they go beyond friendship. So, that's why she rejected
Harry in the first place - she's stuck in that “I think of him as a brother” mentality (which,
personally, I feel that Harry's kiss with Cho may have started Hermione on the path away from
friendship, but I digress).

In addition, she hasn't had the chance to lead a normal life. Even though she looks down on
the antics of Lavender and Pavarti, she's still a girl and likes “girl” things (what those
might be, though, is a complete mystery to me). With Voldemort gone, Hermione sees that she is now
free to be normal. That's why she starts a “relationship” with Terry Boot. They've never
actually dated (which Hermione may eventually tell Harry, if I remember later), but certainly a
young girl like Hermione, who's used to being called a bookworm, will feel flattered by the
attentions of a guy who's always complemented her intellect and respond accordingly. She's
basically just flirting and enjoying the moment, like many teenagers would, rather than think about
the future, which is what she's been doing for six years.

So when Terry asks Hermione to borrow Harry's broom, she says sure. Normally, this
wouldn't be a problem, except Hermione knows Harry probably wouldn't react all that well
after she denied his expression of love. So, while she tries to ask, she just can't build up
the courage because she knows a) he'll say yes because he's just like that, and b)
he'll be hurt by her request. But when Harry has to go through pro scouting and must leave his
broom behind, Hermione figures it's the perfect opportunity to just take the broom for a couple
of hours and return it. It would have gone perfectly, had not Terry crashed it.

Have you ever had something unpleasant to tell someone, but put if off? And the more you put it
off, the harder it was to tell them? Well, that's where Hermione found herself once Harry
realized his broom was missing. She couldn't bring up the courage to tell Harry that night
(which is why she wanted him to sleep on it so she could think about what to do), and after taking
points off in a moment of desperation, it became that much harder to come clean.

I hope that's sufficient. If not, then you're free to say so, but the story moves on
regardless.

-->



6. Part VI
----------



**Author's Note:** Oops! I made an error in the last chapter; or more accurately, I left
something out. Thanks to **kofoo**, I realized that I forgot to mention what happened to the
pile of wood that was formerly Harry's broom. Let's just pretend that Ron gathered up the
remains and took it with them, giving it to Harry later on. Okay? Good.

Oh, and in the spirit of “suspension of disbelief,” do not try and make any sense of the timing
of events. I'm not even sure what month they're in right now.

Onward!

**Chapter Six**

The next month was a study in conflicting emotions. I hadn't spoken with Hermione since the
day she told me she had stolen my Firebolt, and, in fact, had studiously ignored her. I didn't
go out of my way to avoid her though; occasionally we sat near each other during classes or meals,
but to me, she no longer existed.

And that was the hard part. On the one hand, I was still so angry with her by
her…*betrayal*. At least with the Dursleys, I always knew where I stood, and while
Dumbledore's manipulations hurt me, he was never as important in my life as Hermione was.

But on the other hand, when I *wasn't* angry or bitter (which wasn't too often), I
missed her desperately. Not even counting the fact that I had fallen in love with her, she and Ron
had always been the one good constant in my life for the past six years. I could always count on
them when it mattered, and the three of us spent the vast majority of our time together. Now it was
just Ron and me, and when it wasn't just Ron and me, then it was me and
everyone-else-who-wanted-to-be-near-the-Boy-Who-Lived. It was those times especially, when I was
surrounded by dozens of people who only knew my scar, that I really missed her.

And on top of all that, there were the times when all I wanted to do was to comfort her. Though
I did an admirable job ignoring her, and though she was pretty good at masking her feelings, there
were times when I noticed her looking rather depressed. I know it sounds weird, the thought of
providing comfort to someone who so completely deserved what she was feeling, but I couldn't
help but feel the urge to console her; I guess you just can't turn that off after six years,
though I tried my best. But I just couldn't help it when she just looked so miserable.

*************

“Man, she looks *miserable*.”

Ron and I were playing a game of Wizard's Chess in the Common Room a few hours before
dinner, about two months after the truth came out. I glanced over my shoulder to where Hermione sat
surrounded by her books, looking absolutely miserable. “She looks fine,” I said, lying through my
teeth.

A few moves later, Ron said in a voice full of forced-nonchalance, “So, I heard she hasn't
talked to Terry Boot since that day.”

I shrugged as I studied the chessboard, hating myself for feeling that glimmer of hope. What the
hell did I care if she stopped seeing Boot? Right? She was part of my *past*; I had nothing to
do with her anymore. Severed all ties. Kaput. She was nothing to me…so why, then, did I have to
continually remind myself of that?

When I didn't reply, Ron hunched over the chessboard and continued, “Actually, I heard from
Ginny that she doesn't really talk to *anyone* now…pretty antisocial, is what I
heard.”

Again, I made no response. I didn't need Ron to tell me that - it was pretty obvious that,
aside from her Head Girl duties and during class, Hermione was keeping to herself.

“The other day, Luna was saying that during the prefect meeting, Hermione-”

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice tight. “Is there a point with all of this, or do you
just like hearing yourself talk?”

Ron straightened. “Well, you know I like hearing myself talk,” he said, trying to keep things
light. “I'm just trying to make conversation. That's all. I was just going to say is that
Hermione's been really quiet lately, which is really odd. You know how she is-”

“Do I?” I interrupted, “do I really know her?”

Ron looked taken aback. “Of course you know her. You know her better than anyone else here,
myself included.”

I shook my head. “The Hermione that *I* know would never steal my broom and bust it
up-”

“Now hold on there,” Ron said suddenly, and rather emphatically. “You know that Hermione
didn't break your broom.”

“No? Well, it wouldn't have happened if she hadn't taken the broom in the first
place!”

Ron nodded somewhat reluctantly. “True, but she didn't mean for it to-”

“What's with you?” I hissed, careful to keep my voice low; I hate creating scenes. I noticed
we had garnered the attention of a few Gryffindors nearby. I glared at them and then waved my hand
in the air, casting a privacy spell that would both keep our conversation private and create a haze
that would obscure us from view. I turned back to Ron. “If this were *your* broom, you'd
be livid! And you're one to talk - you've gotten mad at her for much smaller things
before!”

“Yeah, but that's *me*!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that's how `Hermione and Ron' operate. One of us does something to make the
other angry, we yell, we get over it, and then it's rinse-and-repeat. That's not how
`Hermione and *Harry*' work.”

“Oh really?” I challenged. “And exactly how does `Hermione and Harry' work?”

“First, you two hardly ever fight, and then when you do, you actually *talk* things
out.”

I glared at him for a moment before turning back to the chessboard. “That's all in the
past,” I muttered.

“So that's it, then? Seven years of friendship down the drain just because she
*borrowed* your broom?”

“`*Just*?'” I repeated. “You don't think that it was a big deal? You think I should
just forgive her and pretend that it never happened?”

“I didn't say that,” Ron said. “What I'm saying is that…listen, all I know is that
you're miserable, she's miserable, you both are making *me* miserable, and everybody
would be so much happier if you two were back on speaking terms again.” I opened my mouth to
respond, but he quickly added, “No one's saying that you should forgive her right away, but
honestly Harry, have a little perspective. She took your broom and thought she could return it
right away, and then she panicked when Boot crashed it. It's not like she pretended to be your
pet rat for a decade and then turn out to be the man responsible for the deaths of your best
friend's parents.”

The only response I could make was to nod; you can't argue with something like that.

“Besides,” Ron continued, “You would never have noticed it was gone if Boot hadn't busted it
up; don't make me remind you of all the things that *we've* done and haven't told
Hermione about. Now, compare that to all the times that she stood by you, pulled your arse out of
the fire, and kept you from doing something stupid and likely fatal for the past six years…are you
telling me that all of that doesn't deserve a second chance?”

I buried my head in my hands, trying to process it all.

“Plus, there are…*other* factors…” Ron said uncomfortably.

I looked up at him; I could tell he didn't want to talk about what he wanted to talk about,
and I had a feeling that I wouldn't like these `other' factors, whatever they were. But I
had to ask. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, would you be so worked up over this if Hermione had taken your broom and given it to
*Ginny* to fly?”

“Ginny wouldn't have crashed it.”

“That's not the point, and you know it. I'm just saying maybe the fact that she gave it
to *guy* is making this bigger than it should be.”

I grumbled something incoherent and tried to return my focus to the game. Ron kindly shut his
trap, apparently having said everything he wanted to say. I was still so angry at Hermione for what
she did, but Ron did have a point, didn't he? For six years, Hermione was my best - but no, of
course he didn't have a point, this was *Ron* we're talking about. The day that
*Ron* starts making sense about feelings and emotions is the day that…that…Hermione steals my
broom?

I stood up. “I need to think.”

Ron nodded. “Where are you going?”

“Outside. To work on the broom.”

“Oh…okay. See you at dinner?” I nodded and reached for my bag. But with the discussion fresh in
my mind, I couldn't help but glance over at Hermione as I headed for the portrait hole. She
looked at me for a second, a thoughtful look on her face, before I looked away.

*************

After leaving the Common Room, I headed outside where I settled myself underneath a tall oak by
the lake. Once seated comfortably, I began emptying my bag around me, ready to begin work
rebuilding the broom.

Oh, I knew that it could never be returned to its original condition; that, in fact, it probably
wouldn't fly, and if it somehow managed to leave the ground, it would fly worse than the
original Cleansweep. But that wasn't the point. I had already purchased a new broom for
Quidditch, but I just couldn't leave this one for kindling - there was too much sentimental
value attached to it.

So every day, I would spend a couple of hours attempting to rebuild the Firebolt. When it was
nice outside, I would sit underneath this tree and work on the broom; otherwise, I would find a
quiet spot somewhere in the castle. An unforeseen benefit of this was that I actually got some
quiet time; people seemed to know not to bother me when I was working on the broom. It was also a
task that required focus and concentration, and this prevented me from dwelling on my relationship
- or lack thereof - with Hermione.

This not to say that it was a fun process. I knew next to nothing about how a broom works, so I
often found myself referencing several different books as I put together the Firebolt,
piece-by-piece. I pulled out the pieces of the broom and tackled the same problem that I had faced
for a couple days now. I was trying to join two pieces together, but I couldn't seem to find
the right spell that would both fuse the wood together and preserve the portion of the braking
charm that was contained within that section of the broom. It was frankly maddening. I made a noise
of disgust as another spell failed when a voice interrupted me.

“Need some help?”

I looked up, surprised that someone had actually approached me. I was doubly surprised to find
it was Hermione, looking about as nervous and self-conscious as I'd ever seen her. I was about
to tell her off, or simply ignore her, when some of that old Harry Potter came through, and I
couldn't help but think she looked so damn adorable. I shook my head, both in the negative and
to ward off those types of thoughts. “No thanks.”

I returned to the broom, but she hadn't left. I ignored her, but after a few moments of
silence she spoke up again. “I think if you make a twirly motion counterclockwise with your wand,
it should work.” I looked at her again, and she shrugged nervously. “I read it in a book,” she
said.

I suppressed the urge to chuckle - such a Hermione thing to say - and tried the twirly motion
she suggested. Even though I was upset with her, the problem with the broom was so frustrating that
I would probably take advice from Malfoy at this point.

“No, like this,” she said. I looked up as she began to take a step towards me, paused awkwardly,
and then stood still. She then demonstrated the motion.

I mimicked her actions, and to my delight, the pieces stuck together. I couldn't stop the
grin from appearing on my face, but it faded when I looked back at her. “Thanks,” I said, and then
returned to ignoring her.

After a second, she spoke again. “If you like, I mean, if you wouldn't mind, I think…well,
I've been reading a lot about broom repair, and I could help, if you think it would be
okay…”

I looked back at Hermione as she stammered on, unconsciously playing with the hem of her robe. I
was going to tell her no thanks, or something perhaps a bit more snarky, but her uncharacteristic
fidgeting made me pause, my earlier conversation with Ron somehow springing to mind.

And then I knew that this was one of those moments that I would always look back on in life, one
of those `what if' moments. If I told her to go to hell, would I regret it later? If I accepted
her help, would I regret it sooner? I somehow knew that if I said no, she'd leave and we'd
never be friends again. I probably wouldn't see her much after graduation, and the times when
our paths would cross would be awkward and uncomfortable. And that made me a little sad. Like Ron
said, she'd done so much for me, sacrificed so much for me over the past six years. Could I
really let that go so easily? True, she stole my broom and - damnit, she *stole my broom and gave
it to Boot*! I couldn't just let that go either!

But saying no to her now was like slamming a door on our friendship. And I couldn't be sure
that, years later, I wouldn't find myself wishing that I could reopen that door, but unable to
because of all the years of baggage piled against it. I didn't want to be friends with Hermione
right now, but who knows how I might feel years from now?

So I looked at Hermione and nodded. She smiled, looking visibly relieved as she sat beside me.
As we worked on the broom together, we didn't talk except to show each other different
techniques and to offer advice. And after we left for dinner, we didn't talk or pretend that
things were okay. In fact, very little changed at all, but it was a start.

**A/N**: Yay! So now everyone's happy and cheery and they'll snog next chapter,
right? Ha! Not so fast there. A few more bumps in the road yet to go.

Okay, so here's where I respond to reviews in a general manner, so you can skip if you
wish.

Still here? All right then.

Issue #1: Another oversight on my part is how others in Hogwarts might react to Hermione and
Terry's actions. Essentially, I'm going to ignore that. Probably stemming from the fact
that I don't think too much about my plots beyond the H/Hr romance, I simply never considered
what might happen if/when everyone else found out. So, feel free to believe whatever you want -
that no one else really knows the whole story, or that everyone knows. Sorry, I know it's an
unsatisfying answer, but like I said before, the story moves on regardless.

Issue #2: Overall, people seemed to accept Hermione's reason for doing what she did.
That's not to say that it was a *justifiable* reason (I'm not condoning it), but it
should be, at least, a believable reason and somewhat realistic.

For those of you who don't buy it, I think it's rooted in the fact that it's too OOC
(though Hermione's lack of respect for Harry's feelings is not as OOC as you might think,
which I'll get to later). I'm not saying that Hermione would actually do any of this, but I
believe it's within the realm of *possibility* that someone who's been so focused on
such heady matters as life and death for six years might cut loose for a few months. Everyone
who's been to college must know one or two people who were straight-laced and responsible in
high school, but then, when given the taste of freedom that college brings, is always the first in
line at the keg.

And, let's face it, Hermione's not perfect; in fact, she can be downright insensitive
sometimes. Two examples immediately come to mind:

One, the way in which she nagged Harry about Occulmency. She should know that a) dealing with
Snape sucks and b) exposing your mind to Snape sucks even more. And yet, rather than encourage
Harry, she nags him.

But that's small potatoes compared to her plan for Harry to be interviewed by Rita. Now, I
know it turned out well (and was probably a very shippy scene…I can picture it now, Harry
struggling to recount the event, supported by Hermione…), but really, it could easily have gone in
the other direction. This was the most traumatic experience in Harry's life (up to that point)
that he's only shared with three people, and I can't believe that Hermione expected Harry
would just simply show up, see Rita, a witch he does not trust, and just spill the beans to the
world, without any type of advance warning or preparation. Harry could *easily* have gotten
angry and just left. But Hermione does that sometimes - she loses sight of Harry's feelings
when she thinks she knows what's best. And don't think that she's quite learned her
lesson yet, at least not in this story…

Okay, this will be the last I babble on about the subject, I promise!

-->



7. Part 7
---------



**Author's Note**: Everyone read HBP? If you have, then allow me to channel Dave
Chappelle for a minute:

Who's portrayal of Hermione is OOC now, <bleep>?

Looks like I'm much more insightful then I ever imagined, and that the Hermione in this
story is more in-character then you ever imagined, eh?

Yeah, it breaks my heart too.

Ahead is a short (1,700ish) chapter, with only one more likely to go. Sorry if this sounds
rushed, but I want to finish my WIPs and get cracking on the post-HBP world.

**Chapter Seven**

I wasn't sure what I expected on that first day that Hermione helped me with the Firebolt -
whether this was a one-time effort, the proverbial extending of the olive branch, or whether she
would offer to help once or twice more.

I never imagined that, two weeks later, she would have sat patiently by my side every day,
working on the broom, the majority of it spent in silence.

The first day after she offered to help, I returned to my place under the tree without even
sparing her a second thought. Well, not entirely true. I couldn't *stop* thinking about
her and wondering if she would appear to help, but at the same time I was still angry with her. I
was a veritable potpourri of conflicting emotions - hoping she would help and wanting her to leave
me alone.

A few minutes after I had sat down, right after I arranged everything on the ground, she
appeared. We locked eyes for a second before she sat across from me and wordlessly picked up pieces
of the broom. I watched her for a second before grabbing my own pieces. Again, like the first time,
we didn't speak much, but if I have to be honest, I was pleased that she showed up. Though I
hid it well.

On the third day, we had a pretty big exam to study for. I took a break to work on the broom,
and wondered idly whether or not Hermione would show again. The exam was a wildcard - she could be
spending her night in the library to study, or at the same time she could have studied for the exam
for the past week and have time to spare. But, just like before, she suddenly appeared just as I
had taken everything out of my bag. And, just like before, we worked on the broom in virtual
silence.

By the start of the second week, I actually found myself nodding at her before leaving the
Common Room, my bag slung over my shoulder. She nodded back and began packing her things away, and
we walked to the tree together. It was odd, walking beside Hermione without either one of us even
*attempting* to make conversation. There were times, when we were sitting next to each other,
that I could easily forget everything that had happened and just enjoy being with my friend again.
It was almost as if I had to *remind* myself to be angry with her even while handling the
broken pieces of my broom.

Finally, by the end of the second week, I could no longer overcome one of the lessons that the
Dursleys taught me - never be an inconvenience. Though in my head I knew it was only fair that she
was helping me (it *was* her fault, after all), I couldn't help but feel that I
shouldn't be a bother to her. It was something that the Dursleys beat into my skull day after
day, year after year, and I couldn't break from habit. Rink a bell, and I'd probably start
salivating.

So, as we were packing up to go to lunch, I cleared my throat. “Er, not that I don't
appreciate your help, but you don't have to keep coming out here day after day.”

Hermione looked at me in mild surprise, no doubt taken aback by the fact that I'd spoken to
her using more than four words at once. She gave me a small smile. “I don't mind.”

“No, really,” I insisted, “it's not necessary. I mean, you've done enough already.”

I was somewhat surprised when I saw how she reacted to my statement - hurt and surprise
registered on her face - before I realized how it might have sounded. And while it's true that
I could easily have meant it *that* way, I honestly wasn't trying to rub it in.

“Wait, I didn't mean it like that,” I said quickly. “What I meant was-”

“No, you're right,” Hermione said in a firm voice. She took a deep breath and then looked in
my eyes. “I *have* done enough. I…” she paused, made a few attempts to speak, and then turned
to face the lake.

I tried to fill the uncomfortable silence, “Hermione…”

“It's hard for me to admit when I'm wrong,” Hermione said, as if I'd never spoken.
“And it's doubly hard when I'm both wrong, stupid, and hurtful.” She turned to face me.
“I'm sorry, Harry. I never meant to hurt you. I…I have no excuse for what I did,” she said,
still maintaining eye-contact.

I fidgeted nervously. Having someone apologize to me is a relatively new experience; in fact,
before this, I think I've only had one real, heartfelt apology before. “Er, it's okay,” I
said reflexively. “You're already helping me rebuild the broom.”

Hermione shook her head. “It's *not* the broken broom that matters - not that the broom
wasn't important - but it's the fact that I broke your *trust*, which is so much more
valuable.” She looked as though she might burst into tears right then, but then she sniffed and
seemed to compose herself. “Ever since we were eleven, you've placed your trust in me, and
I've never let you down before. Over and over, through the years, we've been there for each
other, through petty fights and life-threatening situations. And then, with one act of stupidity
that quickly compounded into multiple acts of stupidity, I ruined it all. And even when I
*knew* that I was hurting you, I only thought about myself and trying to cover my tracks.”

As she's saying this, I have wonder where she's going and why. This isn't the way
that I deal with things. I don't talk about them. I don't dwell on them. I just push past
them, and yet here's Hermione, dredging it all back up by talking about trust and feelings and
junk.

Girls.

“Listen,” I begin, but Hermione cuts me off again.

“I've taken you, us, for granted, Harry. I see that now. I see *a lot* of things, now
that I've thrown them all away.” Hermione wiped at a tear, and then looked me directly in the
eyes. “I know I can't fix this with just words, but I promise you, that I will do whatever it
takes to earn back your trust; that is, if you want to try and be friends again.”

After a second I realized that she was waiting for an answer. But by this point, there was only
one answer to give. Maybe it was because I always believe in second chances, or that the Hermione
of the past six years doesn't match up with the Hermione of a month ago, or maybe I was just a
glutton for punishment. Either way, the answer was simple, “Yes,” I said, “I'd still like to be
friends.”

Hermione's lower lip trembled, and then she launched herself at me, arms going around my
waist as I staggered backwards. I patted her awkwardly on the back until she pulled away. She gave
me an embarrassed smile and rubbed a spot on my robes that had gotten damp from her tears. “Sorry
about that,” she said softly.

“It's okay. It won't leave a permanent mark, and it'll be back to normal in no time,
you'll see.”

She looked at me, and we both knew that I wasn't just talking about the tear stains on my
robe. Hell, I can be all deep and symbolic when I want.

***********

Over the next couple of weeks, things seemed to settle down between Hermione and me. At least on
the surface, we both seemed to come to an unspoken agreement to put the whole thing behind us and
to try and rebuild our friendship; after all, she's already apologized, and she's helping
me to rebuild the broom, so there's not much sense it rehashing the past.

Of course, if only it were that easy. One thing that I've always been good at is holding
grudges; letting go of that anger and resentment towards Hermione would take a lot of work on my
part.

I was running late for dinner one day, having had to subject myself to another interview. As I
entered the Great Hall halfway through dinner, I detected a noticeable buzz throughout the air. I
sat down in my customary place, next to Ron and Hermione. “What's all the excitement
about?”

“Dumbledore's announced the ball!” squealed Pavarti from my other side.

“The ball?”

“Yeah,” Lavender said, eyes sparkling in excitement. “The Graduation Ball! I've been looking
forward to it for seven years,” she sighed.

My stomach fell. A ball? Great, that's all I needed after everything else that's gone on
this year - another chance for teenage angst and awkwardness where I'll no doubt be near the
center of attention.

“Hey Harry, I have an idea…” Hermione said.

I looked at her. “What's that?”

“I know how you must hate the idea of going to a ball…” she said.

“True enough.”

“Well, I was thinking we could go together,” she said cheerfully.

My mouth dropped in disbelief. After everything that happened... “Together?”

She nodded. “I know we've been through some bad times this year, but…well, wouldn't you
rather go with someone you know, where's there's no pressure or awkwardness, someone who
can understand why you hate the attention you'll no doubt receive?”

I had to admit that she had a point, but still! No pressure or awkwardness? Did she forget that
tiny little incident where I professed my undying love for her and she shot me down?

“Harry?” she asked, suddenly looking uncertain and shy - and adorable, which proved to be my
undoing.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, “I think that's a great idea.” I smiled while internally berating
myself for being so weak.

Just then, Terry Boot appeared behind us. “Erm, hi Hermione,” he said nervously.

“Boot,” I acknowledged in a cold tone.

If Terry was nervous before, he looked like he was going to have to scourgify himself in a
second. “H-H-Harry.”

“Hi Terry,” Hermione said.

Hearing Hermione's voice must've pulled Terry out of his stupor, for he managed to
collect himself. “Um, I was…uh…wondering if you'd…uh…like to…you know…go to the ball with
me?”

Before I could form any emotional reaction to that, Hermione spoke, “I'm sorry Terry, but
I'm already going with Harry.”

“With *Harry*?” he asked doubtfully.

I grew angry; `with Harry?' What's that supposed to mean? I stood. “Yeah, with
*me*. You have a problem with that?”

Terry's eyes widened, and had I not been angry I probably would've been amused. “No, of
course not…there's no problem…er, uh, I'll see you later.” And then he scampered off.

I sat down, Hermione apparently deciding to ignore my testosterone moment. I turned to her, a
little irritated. “You still talk to that guy? After everything that happened?”

She shrugged. “It really was my fault, after all. Plus, he's brilliant in Arithmancy.”

I sullenly turned towards my plate. “Yeah, brilliant,” I muttered under my breath.

***********

**A/N**: Next chapter coming soon. Some HBP thoughts ahead, so move along if you haven't
read it. Actually, it's odd that I have HBP thoughts since *I'm* only on page 77 right
now, but whatever.

Something must be afoot! You can't say JKR is a horrible writer based on book six when
you've said she's a wonderful writer based on five other books. She's said before that
she rewrote chunks of book 5 to lay clues…well, there were no clues to H/G or Hr's personality
change, so there *must* be a reason. If we went straight from GoF to HBP, then it'd make
more sense, but OotP tells me something else is going on here. I'll wait for JKR's
interview with Leaky and Mugglenet before I begin the tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth.

But even if H/Hr doesn't happen by book seven, they have the rest of their lives to get
together (assuming they all live). After all, how many relationships that start in high school end
up in marriage (excluding my own, two of my best friends, and two other good friends)? How many
marriages end in divorce? Looks like H and Hr are just taking a detour on their way towards each
other.

Besides, a few of my fics are post-Hogwarts, as are some of the greatest novel-length fanfics
(e.g., Lori's *POU*, Paracelsus' *Restitution*, Ebony's
*TiP*/*PL*), and most of them have R/Hr occurring in the past. And if I can still ship
Buffy/Angel, then I can certainly ship H/Hr.

I'll no doubt have more thoughts once I actually *read* the book.

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