Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Lovers Potion Number 9 ❯ Chapter 2

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Unexpectedly, Hermione leaned back and settled her head on his shoulder, putting almost all of her weight against him. Harry’s heart leapt on his chest, and his breath became ragged. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to bury his face on the crook of her neck and let her scent envelop him as he planted gentle kisses on her bare skin.

“See those three stars?” she asked Harry, sounding like a teacher excited about the lesson she was about to teach.

Harry forced himself to open his eyes and look at the direction she was pointing. He had to squint his eyes for a few seconds, but finally he saw it… next to the lower right part of the moon there were three stars, seemingly equal in shape and size, forming an almost perfectly vertical line. She lowered her hand, but didn’t move away from Harry.

“My parents and I went on vacation to Spain the summer before I began at Hogwarts. There, the gypsies have a legend around this sight…the moon and those three stars. They called it El Hijo de la Luna” Hermione started, her gaze fixed on the view in front.

“What?” Harry asked absently, turning his head around in order to gaze at her profile.

“It means Son of the Moon. The stars… they represent tears,” Hermione whispered, her voice almost reverent.

“How come?” asked the young man, noticing the sudden shift in mood.

Hermione started, “Well, according to the gypsies it all started when a gypsy woman prayed to the Moon for a husband. She prayed and she prayed, until the Moon had no choice but to respond. The gypsy then begged the Moon for a cale, or gypsy husband, who would love her with mad and endless passion. The Moon agreed to give this woman a husband, but it came at a prize.”

“The Moon asked the woman for her firstborn in return.”

“Why would the moon ask that?” Harry asked, genuinely interested in the strange tale.

Hermione continued, “Because the Moon wanted to be a mother above all else, and she had no one to be her lover, since the Sun, whom she loved with all her heart, burnt her with his intensity whenever he got closer.”

“And then, what happened?” Harry whispered, mesmerized by the way the light of the moon glinted inside Hermione’s eyes.

“The woman readily agreed to the Moon’s request. Sure enough, the moon granted the woman a husband that she desired… strong, handsome, fierce, passionate and just crazy for her. They married, and nine months later, the woman gave birth to a child. But it was not a gypsy child, for his skin was as white as snow, and the wavy hair on top of his head was the color of silver… just like his eyes,” Hermione whispered.

Harry felt her shuddering lightly, and impulsively hugged her tightly against his body, hoping that some of the warmth she was creating in him could pass into her.

Hermione continued with her tale, “When the husband saw the child his wife had just bore, his own intensity and passion for her led him to think his wife had been unfaithful. So… the man took a knife… confronted his wife…and stabbed her.”

Harry gulped, “And the baby?”

“Well, the husband took the baby in his arms with the intention of killing him… but he found he could not bring himself to harm the child. Instead, the man ran into the fields and left the baby there for nature to do as she pleased,” Hermione answered.

“And then?” Harry whispered, noticing that her eyes had glisten with unshed tears somewhere along the tale.

“The Moon took the form of a woman and came down to the ground. She wrapped the child in her arms and finally took him back where she belongs… into the night,” Hermione said, her voice slightly shaking.

Harry tore his eyes away from her face and looked ahead. And, to his surprise, he could see the face of a woman on the moon, with long flowing brown curls that fell over her shoulder and sparkling caramel eyes that seemingly glinted.

All right, so the view might be slightly influenced by the woman in his arms… but still, the moon that was looking down at him that night was one of the most striking sights his emerald eyes had ever settled upon.

Present company excluded.

Hermione finished the tale with a whisper, “The legend ends saying that, whenever the child is happy, there is a full moon, because the Moon is happy. But when the child cries, before the fourth tear has been shed, the Moon becomes a crescent… so she can rock her child in her arms.”

“It’s a beautiful story… sad, but beautiful,” Harry whispered, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It is,” Hermione laughed softly, wiping the single tear that had fallen on her cheek with the palm of her hand, “I can’t believe I remembered all of it. It’s been almost eight years since I last heard it.”

For the first time since they had stopped their journey, Hermione moved forward, leaving the comfort of Harry’s body against hers as she tightened her hold on the broom’s handle. Harry sighed inwardly, immediately missing the butterflies in his stomach that the sensation of her weight pressing against his body made him feel.

Hermione was still looking at the moon when she added as an afterthought, “Funny thing is that… when I was child… I thought it was just beautiful nonsense. But now… now I know exactly how the Moon felt.”

Harry gulped, frowning faintly. “You mean you want to have a child?” he blurted.

“Goodness no!” Hermione said with a slight chuckle, “not yet anyway.”

“Then why?” Harry asked her softly. He watched as her shoulders tensed a little, and another shudder ran through her body.

“Because… Because I think I know what is like to love someone and not be able to get close to him… because his intensity burns you… just like the Sun burned the Moon,” Hermione said, sounding awfully small, looking down at her hands as she finished the last word.

‘Who… who is this person Hermione loves? Is it Roger? Has Roger done something to hurt her? Is he the one who burns her?’

Harry didn’t respond for his actions if he ever found out someone had hurt his Hermione.

He opened and closed his mouth, wordlessly. Not knowing what to do or what to say to her to make it better, and fighting the desire to stay up there with her forever versus the fear of what might happen if he did, Harry finally sighed wearily and said, “Well, it’s late. We better get going.”

Without another word, they both glanced at the moon one more time. Finally, Hermione gently guided their descent pass the billowing clouds and the icy wind into the grounds.

After a slightly more graceful landing than the first time, Hermione got off from the broom, and Harry did the same, throwing the Firebolt over his shoulder. Hermione started walking toward the castle, and Harry didn’t know what else to say or do but follow her, a comfortable silence setting between them as he fell into step next to her.

After about a minute, Hermione broke the silence, “So… have you decided which lucky girl is going to be your date for the ball?” Harry forced himself to smile.

He really didn’t want to think about the Halloween ball… because thinking about the Halloween Ball made him think of Hermione in all her gorgeous glory… and thinking about Hermione in all her gorgeous glory made him think about Roger… and thinking about Roger made him think about the Ravenclaw’s annoying habit of putting his arms around Hermione’s shoulders… and thinking about the Ravenclaw’s annoying habit of putting his arms around Hermione’s shoulders made him think that maybe being the Boy-Who-Lived might actually let him get away with murder.

Ok, Roger Davies definitely didn’t bring out the best in him. But Harry found, surprisingly, that the night had turned out to be so magical already, first with the game and then with that solitary moonlight ride with the woman he loved, that he didn’t really want to spend another second thinking about Roger.

“I don’t think I’m going,” Harry said with a small smile, turning his head slightly so he could look at her profile, “I don’t want anyone to experience the same pain I inflicted on Parvati on the Yule Ball.”

“You are talking about your dancing skills, aren’t you?” Hermione said, the lingering sadness that had settled in her eyes after she finished the story vanished as she smirked up at him.

“I can see that they are now legendary,” he replied, arching his eyebrow mischievously.

“You are not that awful,” she quickly replied, shaking her head and sending her brown locks all over the place. He couldn’t tell if she was being honest or just pulling his leg.

Harry stopped walking and just gaped at her. She stopped and turned around, giving him an appraising look before adding, “Alright. You are pretty awful… but you are only awful cause you get so nervous. You have got to learn to relax.”

“I would relax if I knew how to dance,” he confessed, looking down at his feet and wondering how a person that could be so good at sports could be so clumsy when holding a girl in his hands.

“Well, we can solve that right here and now,” Hermione said with a resolute glint in her eyes, and took a step toward him. Harry’s smile faltered and a sudden lump formed in his throat as the butterflies started flying on his stomach as delicately as hippogriffs on Ecstasy.

She took the broom from his hand and laid it on the floor gently. Hermione then tenderly grab the hand that had been holding the broom and placed it on her waist, just above her hipbone. Her sleeveless tee had ridden up slightly during their little game of Quidditch, and that, coupled with her low riding jeans, allowed Harry to feel her skin under his fingers.

Electricity coursed through his body as if a lighting bolt had struck him down. This was the girl that been his best friend for almost seven years... and this was the most intimate touch he had ever shared with her.

Harry watched breathlessly as she took his other arm and raised it to the side, intertwining his fingers with hers. Hermione then raised her other hand and rested it on his shoulder.

Only then did she looked up and met his eyes… and only then did Harry realized his best friend was giving him an impromptu dance lesson. Some of the tension ebbed from his shoulders… but quickly returned when the hand that had been resting on his shoulder slowly travel to the side and settle behind his neck.

“Step forward with your right foot,” she ordered gently, her caramel eyes locked on his emerald orbs.

“But… but… there’s no music,” he stuttered clumsily, painful aware of how much he wanted to close the distance between their bodies.

“Use your imagination, Potter,” Hermione said, smiling up at him reassuringly. He gulped, and took a step forward with his right foot with the gracefulness of a first generation android… and landed hard on Hermione’s toes.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he quickly apologized after he saw her bite her lip from the pain, as he returned his foot to its original position.

“Don’t worry about it. You just need to let me know where you are going,” Hermione explained patiently.

“You mean I got to talk for as long as I dance?” Harry asked with a frown. He had seen other couples dancing before… it was strange that he had never realized that they didn’t shut up.

“Not with words, Harry. But with this hand…” Hermione said with a maddening serene tone in her voice. He jumped a bit when she lowered the hand that been resting behind his neck and placed it over his hand that was resting on her waist.

“Relax, Harry. It’s me… good ole Hermione,” she said with a reassuring smile, her fingers lightly caressing his knuckles.

‘That’s exactly the problem… that you are Hermione.’

Hermione continued with the lesson with the same ease she showed when trying to explain to Neville how to work on any of Snape’s potions, “You use this hand to guide me… see, the male is usually the dominant during a dance. You were probably stepping on Parvati’s toes because you didn’t know how to let her know what your next step was going to be. Just push your thumb into me when you want to take a step forward…”

A cold sweat immediately broke out Harry’s skin.

‘Hagrid and Snape belly dancing! And… and… rubbing lotion on each other! Oh, dear God, that’s disgusting…! AND IT’S NOT WORKING!’

“And when you want to take a step back, just pull my flesh with your fingers… not too hard… just enough so I know to take a step forward. And follow the same principles when you want to go side to side,” Hermione continued.

“Now… close your eyes,” she instructed. Harry readily complied, if only to stop the sensation of drowning in her eyes. He felt her hand leave his own and settle back into his neck, brushing his hair slightly with her fingernails and sending another wave of tremors down his spine.

“Now… think of a song you like… and hear it in your head… and when you are ready… open your eyes and take a step forward with your right foot… and then a step forward with your left… and then, retrace your steps back… then, side to side…” Hermione whispered.

Her voice was so soft and hypnotic, and Harry felt as if they were once again riding the Firebolt into the sky, just contended to have Hermione in his arms, feeling the wind caress her as he wished he could, just gazing at the woman in the moon and the three little stars that were her child’s tears.

And it was the sensation of holding Hermione in his arms that brought a melody into his head. He opened his eyes and look down, licking his lips nervously when her eyes bore into his.

‘You look so fine’

Harry took a step forward. But this time, he didn’t step on Hermione foot. He had successfully guided her back.

‘I want to break your heart…

And give you mine’

He took a step back, and she followed his lead.

‘You're taking me over’

Her smile widened, and he actually managed to give her a rather nervous smile as they stepped to the sides.

‘It's so insane.
You've got me tethered and chained’

“See, you were not a hopeless case after all,” Hermione said with a proud smile, brushing the back of his neck absently.

‘I hear your name…
And I'm falling over.’

“Can I now add incredible dancer to my list of impressive abilities?” Harry asked, some of his nervousness ebbing away. Somehow… he couldn’t quite explain how… feeling Hermione in his arms was starting to feel natural.

‘I'm open wide.
I want to take you home.’

As if it was meant to be.

‘We'll waste some time.
You're the only one for me.’

A memory suddenly burst into his head. It was of a fourth year Hermione at the Yule Ball, wearing that beautiful periwinkle blue dress with her hair up, exposing her delicate neck. She had little crystal earrings in her lovely ears, and a silver necklace with a single sparkling crystal solitaire pendant hanging around her neck. She was wearing little makeup, just a bit of blush on her cheeks and cherry lip-gloss appropriate for a fourteen-year-old girl.

But her eyes… those sweet caramel eyes sparkled more than the jewelry she was wearing. Harry instinctively knew that even if the Yule Ball had been a masquerade ball and Hermione had been hiding her lovely face behind a mask, he would have recognized her just by looking at her eyes.

Harry vaguely wondered why he had stored such an old memory with so many details in his head.

‘You look so fine.
I'm like the desert tonight’

“Hermione, why didn’t I asked you to the Yule Ball?” Harry asked out loud, “You would have saved Parvati from having blistered toes for a week.” Impulsively, he tightened her hold on her and the little space that remained between them lessened considerably.

Hermione let out a small laugh, not phased by the fact that her body was now brushing against his, “Well, if my memory doesn’t fail me, it was because of a certain crush you had a on very beautiful Ravenclaw girl.”

‘Leave her behind…
If you want to show me’

“Forgot about that,” Harry mumbled, his mood sobering a bit when he thought what a waste of time and energy pining over Cho had been.

Hermione moved her head slightly and now rested her forehead against his cheek, making goose bumps appear on his arms.

“I’m sorry it never worked out with her, Harry,” Hermione said softly, sensing his change in mood but attributing it to the wrong reasons.

‘You're taking me over…’

“I’m not,” he whispered breathlessly, feeling as her skin brushed against his cheek when she moved back to look at him.

‘Over and over’

“She didn’t make me happy, Hermione. And I definitely didn’t make her happy,” Harry felt the need to explain himself. Funny that Hermione was the only person that made him want to do that.

‘I'm falling over’

“Why? I mean… aside from the fact that she could be a bit, well… sensitive, she was beautiful, intelligent, and courageous… she was even good at Quidditch! She was great, Harry.”

‘Over and over’

“No, Hermione. YOU are great,” he said with uncharacteristic emotion in his voice. She once again rested her head against his chin, and he took the opportunity to close his eyes and breathe in her intoxicating fragrance, natural and sweet.

‘You're taking me over’

“Thanks, Harry. But I doubt catching the snitch is my contribution to greatness,” Hermione whispered with an uncharacteristically nervous smile, lowering her eyes to his chest.

‘Over and Over’

Harry opened his eyes, stepped back and looked at her. Using the hand that had been raised and was still intertwined with her fingers, he pushed up her chin and made her meet his eyes.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Quidditch, Mione. I’m just saying that… that…”

‘Do it!’

‘Drown in me one more time’

“That I think you are awesome…” Harry whispered nervously, “I mean, Cho was beautiful and mysterious, but you…”

‘Tell her!’

‘Hide inside me tonight’

“You are that and so much more, Hermione… so much more,” Harry finished breathlessly.

Still following that hypnotic movement she had asked of him, Harry took a step forward with his right foot… but this time, Hermione didn’t move… which caused him to try to shift his weight to avoid stepping on her toes again.

But he failed… and lost his footing… and ended up crashing against her.

They both fell down, Harry falling in top of Hermione on the moist grass.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked nervously, his eyes wide, propping his weight on his arms as they settled on each side of Hermione. Hermione, her eyes closed, nodded twice before taking a deep breathe.

She opened her eyes… and let out a laugh when she saw the expression on his face.

“What is it?” Harry asked her worriedly. Had she hit the back of her head that hard? Weren’t unexplainable bursts of laughter a symptom of a concussion?

“You should see your face,” Hermione teased him. It was now his turn to laugh.

“Well, this wasn’t exactly how I planned to impress you with my newfound dancing skills,” he smirked at her.

“Umm, you are definitely not hopeless, Harry. But…” Hermione pulled on his shirt, making him lean closer until his ear was just hovering over her mouth, “I suggest you tell your date to get a life-insurance policy before you ask her to dance.”

Harry laughed genuinely, his body rocking slightly on top of hers. She did the same underneath him, giggling uncharacteristically.

But when the laughter subsided, Harry became fully aware of the compromising position he was in.

His smile dropped immediately, and from his gaze all trace of playfulness vanished.

Hermione became aware of the sudden tension, and raised her gaze to meet his. She ceased smiling as a small gasp escaped her parted lips.

She had seen that intensity before in his eyes… but never directed at her.

Harry thought that the cat had to be out of the bag by now. There was no way in hell that the brightest witch in Hogwarts could miss what was happening to him.

There was no way she couldn’t notice how his body reacted to hers when the proof was pressing itself against her leg.

There was no way she could not feel his heart beating on his chest, threatening to break his ribs from the sheer force of its pounding.

There was no way she could miss the desire in his eyes.

Harry propped all his weight into one arm, and he used the other to gently touch Hermione’s hand, causing her to shudder faintly.

His eyes followed his hand as his fingers trailed a path from her hand and upwards, caressing her arm, her shoulders… her collarbone… the side of her neck…until his hand rested on her cheek.

‘Do what you want to do’

Harry cupped her cheek gently, and used his thumb to trace lazy circles on her face, watching her as she opened and closed her mouth, but no words came from her. He hoped for his logical mind to kick in, to convince him that she was going to hex him if he got any further, to stop him from doing what he wanted so desired.

‘…’

‘…’

‘…’

Her eyes. They were dark, intense… but unreadable.

One day, those eyes were going to be the death of him.

‘Let’s pretend… happy end…’

His thumb grazed her bottom lip, parting them with tenderness. The shudder that ran through her body was unmistakable.

And for the first time in Harry’s life, there was no Voldemort… no Death Eaters… no Snape… no Sirius… no Roger… no past… no future… no pain… no consequence… no death… no prophecy… no guilt… no shame… no regret… no scar… no potion… no antidote…

No doubt.

To Harry, nothing else existed but the young woman whose eyes had bewitched him from the first moment their paths crossed.

‘Let’s pretend… happy end…’

Not daring to waste one more moment without letting her know how he felt for her, Harry lowered his lips to hers…

‘Let’s pretend… happy end…’

He was so close.

He could count every little freckle on her cheeks and even the ones that adorned the delicate tip of her nose.

He could make out each of her eyelashes, so long and thick and soft that they left him wondering how they would feel if his cheek were to graze against them.

He could feel her hot breath on his lips.

He could see how perfectly her small body molded against his.

‘Meant.To.Be’

Time had no meaning anymore… this moment could have lasted for days, hours, minutes, seconds.

Nothing else mattered.

There was no other sound but the sound of her breathing.

There was no other smell but the scent of her skin.

There was no other sight but that of her beautiful face.

And there was no other gravitational pull in the universe but the one Hermione’s lips held on him.

Harry remembered that not so long ago, he had wondered what the flavor of her lip-gloss was. Would she taste like chocolate? Watermelon? Cherry? Maybe even strawberries?

‘Only one way to find out’

Truth be told, it was not really that important.

Harry knew–as he knew that the sun always followed the moon—that her lips would taste delicious.

Hermione had not moved an inch, looking intensely at Harry’s face, her eyes a blur of a brown and golden shade darker than he remembered ever seeing them. For a fraction of a second, he was reminded of the way a moth looked at a flame.

Hypnotized.

Deadly.

This moment was simultaneously the most scary and exhilarating instant in Harry’s life. How was it possible to feel so much for one person? Harry almost laughed at the thought of one kiss being able to make up for seventeen years of wrongdoings, but he knew instinctively that with one kiss… HER kiss… every little shitty deal life had handed to him would be forgotten.

And finally, just when his lips were about graze hers…

“HERMIONE!”

Hermione turned her head sharply toward the source of the sound before Harry’s lips ever reach hers and instead landed clumsily on her cheek.

Harry released a trembling sight as he felt his strength leaving him. His arms gave in, and he let the full weight of his body fall on hers, his forehead resting on her soft hair, that had fallen like a halo around her head.

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Reality hit him like a brick to the head.

He could now feel the drops of sweat that had pooled on his lower back… he could smell the grass underneath them… and most of all, he could see the look of utter horror in Hermione’s face.

“HERMIONE!”

The intruding voice was coming closer, and with it, the realization that he had been about to commit what may very well have been the worst mistake of his life.

“That’s Roger,” he heard Hermione whisper, her voice hoarse and slightly strained. He once again used his arms to support his weight and moved back just enough to look down at his best friend.

Hermione had turned her head around, and was now looking at his intently. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red, the sweat glistened on her skin like morning dew, and her eyes were dark and unreadable.

‘She’s ashamed.’

‘She’s excited.’

‘I repulse her.’

‘I attract her.’

Harry tried to find the courage to look her straight into those mesmerizing eyes.

‘Then why isn’t she pushing you?’

‘Because she’s scared…’

“HERMIONE!”

Why isn’t she moving?’

‘I… I don’t know.’

‘Tell her how you feel, Harry!’

‘I… I can’t.’

‘Tell her you love her!’

‘I… I…’

“I… I… I’m sorry,” Harry finally whispered, refusing to meet her eyes. He pushed himself from the ground, immediately missing the warmth that her soft body provided him with. He wiped his hands on his trousers and offered his right hand to help her up.

A few seconds passed before he felt Hermione grabbed his outstretched hand. Still avoiding her penetrating gaze, he helped her to stand up.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Harry repeated clumsily, letting go of her hand. He listened to his heart thundering in his ears as she beat the dirt out of her clothes.

“Don’t mention it,” Hermione whispered, her voice sounding not at all like her own, “it was my fault. I… I messed up the step.”

Suddenly, Hermione once again lost her balance. Harry’s Quidditch trained reflexes were activated, and he immediately grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her toward him to keep her from falling.

The contact lasted a mere second, but goose bumps broke up and down his arms with that chaste touch. Their eyes locked momentarily before Harry forced himself to look away. Those eyes that had held a magnetic pull on him just moments ago now tormented him, and he wondered if he would ever look into those eyes again without losing himself completely in them.

Harry let go as soon as she was steady on her feet. He barely wondered why Hermione had taken a tentative step back without taking her eyes off him.

Finally, Harry saw Roger walking toward them.

“There you are! I was starting to get worried!” Roger said, smiling widely at Hermione, and simultaneously throwing a very unfriendly look at Harry. He had to give points to Roger… how he could do both things at the same time was beyond Harry.

“W-w-what is it?” Hermione stuttered slightly while looking at the ground. Harry turned around before realizing Hermione was avoiding crossing gazes with both of them. Harry walked a few feet away and picked his discarded Firebolt from the ground, flinging it over his shoulder unceremoniously, trying to ignore the growing pressure in his chest.

“Oh,” Roger said, his smile faltering, “We were supposed to meet in the library. We were going to work on our Ancient Runes lesson together.”

Harry thought he should have felt delighted that Hermione had skipped about her encounter with Roger to be with him. But the only thing he managed to feel was the intense desire to have the earth open up and swallow him.

The expression of her face when she realized he was going to kiss her was permanently recorded into his brain. Was that confusion he saw in her eyes? Shock? Disgust?

“Oh, right… I… I… I… I was on the Quidditch field and… and…I… I… I was riding Harry… I mean… Harry’s broom… and…” Hermione tried to explain, nervously running her hands through her wild hair and fidgeting with the hem of her tank top, bringing it down so no millimeter of her midriff was exposed.

‘I’ve never seen her so nervous.’

‘I bet she’s terrified of me.’

“Don’t worry about it, love. You can make it up to me later,” Roger said, going back to his million-dollar smile, winking playfully at her.

‘I.am.going.to.kill.the.bloody.git.’

Harry did his best not to look at the couple standing next to him.

“Besides, I came here to let you know that McGonagall is looking for us,” Roger continued, closing the distance between him and Hermione before resting his arm over her shoulders.

For an instant, Harry thought Hermione seemed uncomfortable with Roger’s nearness, but he quickly dismissed the thought as the ramblings of a lovesick fool.

“She is?” Hermione asked absently. There must have been something very interesting in her trainers for her eyes seemed to be stuck to them.

“Yeah. Flitwick needs help in the Great Hall with the decorations,” Roger added, his thumb starting to lazily trace circles on Hermione’s shoulder.

Harry felt dizzy and breathless, as if the air had been knocked right out of his lungs.

“Um… yeah… I… I guess we better go then,” Hermione mumbled, still looking down at the ground.

A few seconds of heavy silence fell over them, until Hermione asked Harry, “You coming?”

He raised his head to look at her; she still refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on her shoes.

“In a minute,” Harry mumbled. The truth was he did not quite trust his legs to work just yet.

Harry barely noticed Roger’s frown before the Head Boy took Hermione’s hand in his own and started guiding her back into the castle.

He watched without seeing as the couple started walking away, Roger practically dragging Hermione, whose legs apparently were betraying her.

He wondered if their friendship would ever be the same.

Probably not.

Hermione will probably always remember the night her good friend had taken advantage of her vulnerable position and tried to snog her in the school grounds, and she will never be truly comfortable to be alone with him.

And as for him… could he survive watching her like this… hand in hand with another man?

Probably not.

And in that state of silent acceptance, Harry realized that, surprisingly, the anger that had been directed at Roger had disappeared.

The best man had won.

And Harry loved Hermione way too much to ruin this for her.

He just wanted her to be happy… even if it wasn’t with him.

“Hey, Hermione!” he called when they were still within earshot. Hermione quickly stopped and turned sharply around on her heel to look at him, her brilliant eyes magnetic even in the distance.

“What do you want, Harry?” she asked softly in a voice that belonged to a stranger. Roger’s eyes moved from Hermione to Harry and back again in silent inquiry.

“Let’s not wait another seven years for a second ride,” Harry said, managing to give a small smile, but sincere, smile.

In the darkness, he could see Hermione returning his smile. She nodded, and turned, slowly walking back into the castle with Roger next to her. The blonde sent one last look of puzzlement Harry’s way before returning his attention to his beautiful companion.

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off them until they disappeared through the castle doors.

And with them, the hope that he had finally found what had always been denied to him.

--------------------------

25 minutes later…

Gryffindor Common Room

“Merlin, where is he?” Ron groaned, resting his head in his hands. Luna, Ginny, Neville and Ron had been watching Harry and Hermione on the Quidditch pitch from one of the common room’s windows, but had lost track of them when the couple had started walking back toward the castle.

Thirty minutes later, and still there was no trace of them. The four friends were now alone in the common room, and it was nearing midnight.

“Maybe he pulled her into a closet and they’re snogging each other senseless,” Ginny said with a dreamy smile. Neville could only look at her, and smiled.

“I have to go back to my dorm,” Luna yawned, squeezing Ron’s shoulder as she added, “Are you okay, love?”

Sounding harsher than he intended, Ron replied, “I’ll be fine when I find out how that little trick we just pulled worked!”

The infinitely patient Luna just looked at him with her glassy blue eyes and a look of understanding she reserved only for him. Caressing her cheek ever so slightly with his calloused thumb, Ron’s eyes asked for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, Luna. I’m just a little nervous… Harry really needs this to…”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence as the Fat Lady portrait opened and Harry stepped inside, looking like something Crookshanks had dragged in.

“Where were you?” Ron asked, frowning slightly, hoping Hermione was about to walk in behind Harry and feeling rather disappointed when the door closed behind his best friend.

“Around,” Harry mumbled, his eyes on the floor as he dragged his feet toward the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, the Firebolt leaving a deep dent in the rug as he lazily hauled it behind him.

The four friends shared a worried look. This wasn’t exactly the dizzyingly happy Harry they had hoped to greet.

“Harry, what happened?” Ginny asked, getting up from her chair and standing next to her brother.

“What do you mean what happened?” Harry replied absently.

“Between you and you know who. We saw you flying together,” Neville answered for her.

“Voldemort?” Harry said bitterly as he decided to continue on his way and tried to walk past them. Ron ignored the slight shiver at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name; he wasn’t going to have any of that. He stood up quickly from the sofa and grabbed Harry by the arm to stop him.

“Not that you-know-who… we’re asking about the one that can drive you crazy with just one smile,” Ron said in a whisper.

Harry looked to his right at Ron, and sighed. There was no denying the fact that Ron and the others had expected something magical to happen between him and Hermione today. Too bad they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Was it evil of him to actually be a bit glad that he wasn’t the only one whose bubble had burst tonight?

“Yeah, we went for a ride,” was the only thing that Harry managed to answer as he wriggled himself out of Ron’s vice grip.

“And?” Luna asked, her usually dreamy voice flooded with graveness.

“And Roger came and called her… and she went with him…” Harry mumbled as he started up the stairs. He didn’t feel like thinking about what happened, much less talk about it… and he definitely didn’t feel like sharing the fact that Hermione had rejected his kiss.

“Blimey. That pompous son of a…” Ron hissed as they watched helplessly the broken man making his way back to his room. But none of them knew what to say to make it all better.

They had been sure their “plan” was going to work, or at least give them a bit of progress… but it seemed to have blown up in their faces.

Surprisingly, it was Neville who hit the nail in the head. Before Harry reached the third step, the young man asked, “Harry, did you tell her?”

“Tell her WHAT?” Harry snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. He was beginning to feel angry at nothing in particular.

“How you feel about her,” Ron added seriously, guessing at Neville’s line of questioning.

Harry’s blood boiled in his veins, and he couldn’t bite his tongue before exploding, “WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSE TO SAY? “Hey, Hermione, I drank Ron’s Love Potion No. 9 by mistake and NOW I AM HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH YOU. But it could have been worst…I COULD HAVE BEEN LOOKING AT RON WHEN I WAS DRINKING IT!!!””

“But Harry…!” Ginny started, but was quickly silenced by the glare he threw her way.

“But Harry NOTHING, Ginny!” Harry screamed.

It wasn’t until he saw the brightness of tears shining in her brown eyes as Ginny took a step back that he felt something close to shame. He was being unfair; they weren’t responsible for him drinking he potion. He was taking it out on the wrong people. They had meant well. If there was someone to blame for making a mess of everything, it was himself.

Harry ran his hands through his unruly black hair and took a deep breath before speaking, “Look, I’m sorry… I just… I want this day to end! I want to wake from the fucking nightmare that’s been my entire week! I know… I know you meant well, but… I just can’t deal with this right now.”

“I want her… and I can’t have her,” he whispered, looking as imposing as a child’s broken doll. He started to go up the steps slowly and heavily, as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.

The four friends had been rendered speechless. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“I’m going to bed,” was the last thing Harry said before he disappeared from their sight.

It was a good couple of minutes before any of them could speak.

“Next time, let’s follow my suggestion and bind Roger for a couple of hours,” Ron mumbled angrily, wishing he could have convinced his friends into stunning Roger and locking him in a cupboard.

“Do you think there’s going to be a next time?” Neville sighed.

Ginny exchanged a knowing glance with her brother. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

“There has to be a next time…” she answered for her brother, instinctively hugging Neville for support and resting her head on the crook of his neck.

Everyone had expected Luna to add something, but she remained oddly silent, her face scrunched up as if she was mentally debating something.

“What is it, hon?” Ron asked her softly.

“If he had drank the potion while looking at you… would that have made him an homosexual?” Luna asked out-of-the-blue.

When his girlfriend started debating sexual orientations, it was a clear signal that it was time to call it quits.

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm… you need to sleep,” Ron said with a sigh, putting his arm over Luna’s shoulders and guiding her toward the door. With a heavy heart, he left the common room, pondering if maybe it is too late for Harry and Hermione.

If he only had Hermione’s side of the story…

-----------------------------

Later…

Harry didn’t know how long he had been lying on the bed when he suddenly felt a weight on the mattress next to him. He opened his eyes groggily; his surroundings were just a blur of undulating shapes and shadows. Sitting up on the bed, Harry was about to reach the night table for his glasses when he felt a delicate hand grabbed him by the wrist.

“Harry,” a voice he was all-too-familiar with whispered from somewhere very close to his ear.

“H-H-Hermione?” Harry stuttered, not really needing an answer. He looked to his right and tried to focus. Indeed, his female best friend was lying on the bed next to him, her hand still locked around his wrist.

‘What is she doing here?’

Hermione was still dressed in the jeans and tee she had on when they were in the Quidditch pitch. Her curls were framing her face in such a way that made Harry gulped loudly. The realization that he was in bed with the object of his obsession while wearing only a pair of boxers make the heat travel to his cheeks, and self-consciously he tried to pull the covers and hide underneath them.

‘Hermione… in my bed. In.My.Bed.’

To his utter shock, Hermione sat on the bed and pushed him back until he was lying down again. Before he could even ask her what was the piece of information she had found in her nightly reading that could not wait till morning, he watched as she pulled the covers away from his body, exposing him. And before he could verify if this was another Voldemort plot to drive him into a catatonic state, Hermione straddled him, her knees on each side of his body, her exquisite weight effectively trapping him underneath.

‘Oh.Dear.Lord.’

“H-H-Hermione… w-w-what are y-you d-d-doing?” Harry stammered, trying to force the blood to stay on the upper part of his body. It wasn’t an easy task.

‘…’

“Harry, what were you going to do tonight?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“When?” he croaked. Tonight? How was he supposed to remember what he was going to do tonight… he could hardly remember his name!

“Tonight… when we were dancing,” she replied smoothly. He could hear the amusement in her voice, and it drove him mad. To make things worst, she shifted her weight, putting even more pressure under her and causing him to roll his eyes at the delicious contact.

“Don’t,” Harry hissed, placing his hands on her hips to still her.

“Don’t what?” she asked innocently.

“Be still.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Harry started, feeling rather ashamed but being rendered incapable of stringing a coherent lie, “because I’m just flesh and blood.”

He heard her laughter before she replied, “What do you mean by that?”

When he got her to be still (or was it the other way around), Harry dared to look at her from his position on the bed and with a hoarse voice asked, “Why are you really here?”

Hermione lowered her head until she was just a few inches away from his face. He bit his lip, his body betraying him in more ways than one as the fabric of her clothes tortured his upper body as much as she was torturing his lower body.

‘I can’t. I can’t. This is Hermione. I can’t…’

“I.want.to.know.what.you.were.going.to.do.tonight.”

“Tonight? I-I-I don’t know what… mmm… what you mmm talking about,” Harry replied, closing his eyes and trying his best to concentrate on anything but the girl pining him to the bed.

He felt her close the distance between them, until he could taste the air she breathed inside his own mouth, and the curls around her face now cascaded around him, tickling his cheeks slightly.

“Oh, I think you know,” Hermione whispered, taking his hands in hers and drawing them over his head, until his knuckles grazed the headboard.

He had never been in a more vulnerable position, and yet, he wasn’t scared because he didn’t trust her… but because he didn’t trust himself around her.

“Hermione,” Harry groaned, a very primitive sound he had never heard coming out of his lips. He opened his eyes, and what little he could see was enough to take his breath away.

Again, he couldn’t help but think that those eyes were one day going to be the death of him.

‘Tell her!’

‘… I can’t …!’

‘Why?’

‘Because this is my best friend!’

‘She’s in our bed! Straddling you! Touching you! Don’t you get it, you dolt?’

‘Get what?’

‘That she wants to be MORE than your best friend!’

She had snuck into his bed in the middle of the night.

She pinned him against the bed.

She was touching him and torturing… and she seemed to be happy with the results.

‘Sweet Merlin, she wants me!’

And he couldn’t have been any happier.

“There’s something you need to know,” Harry whispered hoarsely, trying to stop the shivers of anticipation running up and down his body and fighting the urge to push his hips upwards. He had enough working neurons to free one of his hands from her teasing grip and cup her cheek ever so delicately.

“Yes, Harry?” she whispered, her voice showing that she knew she had already triumphed over his will.

The look in her eyes was nothing short of smoldering, and for a while, nothing but the sounds of his harsh breathing could be heard. He wanted to tell her how he felt about her so much, and yet, his voice failed him with every try.

‘Hermione doesn’t want you to tell her.’

‘She wants you to SHOW her.’

And by God, he wanted to show her so badly it hurt.

Placing his hand behind her head, Harry closed his eyes and pushed his head forward at the same time he applied gentle pressure to her neck, pulling her toward him.

He dreamt about the moment his lips touched hers…

But his lips grazed nothing but air.

Harry opened his eyes with a start and sat upright in bed. His chest ached, and the sheets were tangled like shackles around his legs. Searching his bed, a groan came from deep within himself.

He was alone.

It had been nothing but a dream.

‘Great. That’s just great. She not only haunts you every day, but you go and dream about her. Freaking awesome.’

Although, he had to admit, it had been a pretty good dream. Harry ran his hand through his messy hair, which was drenched with what, he guessed, was sweat. Even his boxers seemed to be sticking to his body in a very uncomfortable manner.

‘Don’t tell me I got to scourgify myself! I’m so pathetic,’ Harry thought with embarrassment as he wiped a particularly big bead of perspiration from his body.

But it felt strange… it was bulkier than sweat. He brought his hand up to his nose and sniffed. It smelled differently too… bitter… metallic. He had smelled this before, but he couldn’t quite remember when and where.

Six years old.

A slap from Uncle Vernon.

Two teeth missing.

The thick and heavy liquid filling his mouth.

And he remembered.

With a strangled gasp, Harry reached to his left and grabbed his wand from the night table, “Lumos”.

Only to find he was dripping wet with blood.

And it was not just his body… the sheets, the pillows… even the bed curtains were drenched in blood, making them almost translucent in the dim light.

He flipped the curtains open, jumped off the bed, and was ready to call for his roommates when an unexpected sight greeted him.

Their beds… they were in the same state his was in… drenched in blood… and dripping with heavier things.

Panic gripped him in the worst kind of way. He started screaming for them, but he got no reply aside from the echo of his voice bouncing on the room’s walls. He quickly recovered the use of his legs and ran toward the door. Slamming it open, he quickly stepped outside to call for help when…

He realized he wasn’t standing at the top of the stairs… but by the entrance of the Great Hall.

Or at least, it seemed like the Great Hall. There was hardly enough light in the room to really be sure.

‘What in bloody blazes is going on here?’

Harry raised his hand and whispered, “Lumos Solara” and a bright beam of light shot from his wand and illuminated the room.

It was a vision from his worst nightmares.

Harry fell to his knees with a whimper, feeling as if a giant hand had punched him in the middle of the stomach, knocking all the air out of him. His wand fell to the floor with a clink, forgotten and abandoned.

The Great Hall was in a similar state as his room, bloodstains splattered on the walls, the floor and the roof an awful shade of red.

But there was an addition to this room that truly terrified him.

‘This is not happening!’

There were bodies hanging from the ceiling. He could recognize the unruly red hair of his best friend, Ron, and the round-face of the once smiling Neville, and the long flaming hair of Ginny, and the blond locks of Luna… he could also see the others: Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, Roger, Justin, Ernie, Colin… they were all here… hanging from the ceiling by thin tendrils that looked awfully organic. Their faces were pale, their skin a dreadful shade of gray… and as still as the dead.

Harry’s eyes moved downwards and a whine of panic rose in his head not unlike the one he felt on that fateful night at the end of his fifth year. He tried to scream, but no sound came from his lips. He tried to move, to get up from the floor and run, but his body was not working anymore.

‘THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!’

His eyes were locked on Hermione’s figure; she was caught up in what… for lack of a better term… was a giant spider web. It went from one side of the room to the other, and she was caught right in the middle of it, her arms raised over her head, her knees pressed tightly together, her head hanging limply to her side, her cascading curls hiding her face from Harry.

Rendered immobile by some powerful force he couldn’t describe, Harry saw as a glowing red orb appeared over her head.

Hermione looked so small, so vulnerable.

Like a prey waiting for her predator.

‘GOD, NO! RUN! HERMIONE! GET AWAY FROM HERE! GO!’

The orb pulsed more brightly. He could now hear a small humming sound coming from the sphere.

‘NO! NO!!! SOMEBODY… ANYBODY… HELP HER, PLEASE!’

The cold came at him like a tidal wave, piercing his flesh and freezing his very bones. A graying mist had started to exude out of the orb, and the wind grew until the breeze became a whirling tornado that surrounded Hermione.

Harry struggled against the cold and the wind to keep his eyes open, but he doubted he could have closed them even if he had wanted to.

‘Somebody… please… please help her…’

He saw as translucent arms appeared out of thin air, and started clawing at Hermione’s body. She raised her head slightly, her eyes still closed. She didn’t struggle against her bindings. She was just standing still, either too stunned by what was happening or too weak to do anything about it.

‘Come on, Mione… wake up, love… you’ve got to run now… you’ve got to get out of here…’

The hum was replaced by the sound of actual voices. He couldn’t make out the words, but he found he didn’t need to understand to realize that the situation was progressing from bad to worse.

Hermione opened her eyes with a start, and Harry choke on his scream. Her eyes were not the color of warm honey and chocolate he had gazed upon for the last seven years, but silver, metallic and mirror-like.

And then, she spoke… and her voice was one with the voices from the mist.

“Time’s up.”

The mist closed around her, swallowing her completely, and a gut-wrenching scream echoed in the hall.

Harry felt himself being spattered with something warm and heavy …

And he knew… he just knew that the liquid that he could now taste in his mouth… that he now could feel in his nostrils… that had now fallen over his eyes and blinded him …

… was his beloved’s blood.

I'm not in love. So don't forget it.
It's just a silly phase I'm going through.

If Harry were to be asked what was the single worst moment of his life, he knew now what to answer. Without a doubt, the sensation of being washed in the blood of his best friend of six years - the woman he felt for like no other - was the most terrible experience of Harry's young life.

And considering he was the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Screwed, that was saying a lot.

There was something pushing out of Harry, something organic and foreign, originating from below the pit of his stomach. It moved from his stomach to his throat, burning and pulsing, pushing out of him like a giant snake looking for release. When it arrived at his mouth, he recognized the sensation for what it was.

A scream.

He opened his mouth and released an agonizing cry, a stranger's voice inundating his senses. He screamed and screamed and screamed till the world spun around him in a whirlwind of anguish, his tormented soul begging for only one thing as everything faded to black.

Death.

Harry didn't get his wish though, for the next moment he felt a pair of strong hands gripping him by his upper arms and shaking him violently. He opened his eyes to find the anxious face of his redheaded friend, Ron. "Wake up! Wake up!" Ron screamed over and over again, shaking Harry desperately.

'It was a nightmare…just a nightmare.'

A wave of relief flooded his head with such intensity that he felt like crying from happiness. His head was pounding, his scar was burning, the sheets that were tangled around his legs were cutting his circulation, the contents of his stomach were bubbling as if he had swallowed a chemical bomb, and yet he felt so happy he felt like dancing.

'She's all right. They are all alright.'

"I'm awake, Ron! I'm awake!" Harry whispered, his voice hoarse, the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach getting worse by the second. Ron, who had still been shaking him up to this point, sighed audibly and let go of his best friend. Harry looked around the find that Seamus, Neville and Dean had also woken up and were now standing around his bed looking quite frantic.

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked with a shaky voice as he looked worriedly at Harry. Harry nodded weakly as he tried to focus on getting his heart rate back to normal.

"Yeah… it was just a nightmare," Harry answered breathlessly, using his hands to sit up on the bed. It was not an easy movement, and his whole body ached with the exertion.

"Harry, I've been sharing this dorm with you for almost seven years. Next time you wake me up with your screaming, I'm going to smother you!" Dean said as he made his way back to his bed, shaking his head with a smile that told Harry the muggleborn was only half-joking.

"Sorry, guys," Harry whispered, taking deep breaths in an attempt to stop the shivers running up and down his extremities. Seamus patted him on the back before going back to his bed.

"At least we don't sleep in bunks. Imagine Harry dropping on one of us? Enough for a heart attack me says," Seamus said with a small smile before jumping into his bed and throwing the covers over his body.

"Are you sure you are okay, Harry? You look as pale as a ghost," Ron asked softly. Harry considered telling Ron about the dream… for about half-a-second; Ron would go frantic and go wake up Hermione, who will in turn panic, and with Dumbledore out of the castle, it would be all for nothing.

Harry nodded weakly as he swung his legs to the side and pushed himself out of the bed. "Yeah. I just… I just need some water." Harry slowly stood up, the blood rushing back to his legs with such force that he felt dizzy. His body seemed to be burning up, and he wanted nothing more than to splash cool water on his face. Ron looked reluctant to believe him, but he was groggy and exhausted, and finally nodded at Harry and walked back to his bed, snuggling under the Chudley Cannon's bed sheets Hermione had gotten him for last Christmas.

Harry walked to the back door of the room and opened it, but before he could step outside, he heard someone calling his name. He looked over his shoulder to find Neville, who had been silent since Harry woke up, sitting on his bed and looking at the picture he kept on his night table. It was a picture of his parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom, from their seventh year at Hogwarts. The look on Neville's face as he watched his father giving a piggyback ride to his mother left no doubt as to what was happening inside the boy's mind.

"This nightmare… it doesn't have anything to do with… with You-Know-Who… does it, Harry?" Neville asked, his voice strangely devoid of feeling, his eyes never leaving the portrait of his parents.

Harry didn't know the answer himself. What WAS that dream about? Was it a vision like the one Firenze said he experienced in Transfiguration? Why was Hermione the central character in the dream? Was it just a message of his unconscious regarding his current situation with his best friend? And if indeed the dream had something to do with Voldemort, how was he supposed to decipher its meaning?
Damn it! Where was Dumbledore when you needed him?

"Don't worry, Neville. Go back to sleep," Harry said with as much strength as he could muster, nodding slightly at his good friend. Neville finally looked at him, his eyes inspecting the green-eyed boy, before he finally sighed and nodded back at Harry.

Harry left the room and dragged his body by the other dormitories into the boy's lavatory. He bent over the water basin and opened the tap, splashing cool water on his weary face. He felt sticky, dirty and soiled… as if he would never be clean enough.

Water dripping from his face and the raven locks that were now stuck to his forehead, Harry looked up to find himself staring back from one of the bathroom mirrors. His usually vibrant green eyes were red-rimmed and shiny, with dark circles underneath them. Moving his hair away from his forehead, he gazed at the lightning-bolt shaped scar that had been his curse since he was little more than a year old. It felt like it was burning from the inside and yet, it looked the same as it had been for the last 16 years of his life.

Harry turned around, leaned back against the cool porcelain of the basin and closed his eyes, trying to replay in his mind what he had seen not ten minutes ago.

He bit his lower lip impulsively when the memory of Hermione on his bed came into focus. It had felt so real: the weight of her body pressing against his, the smell of her vanilla soap and her lavender shampoo, the way her hair tickled his face, the way her breath caressed his lips.

Oh, how much he had wanted to tell her right there about the potion, that he didn't care about anything but her, that he didn't want to be cured of his ailment, and that he wanted nothing more than to feel her lips against his! But, just like the mad love he felt for Hermione, it was just an illusion.

An illusion that had all-too-soon gone down the drain.

Why the sudden change? Why had he seen his friends trapped in the Great Hall, hanging from the ceiling like pieces of raw meat in a butcher shop? Why had Hermione taken a central place in the nightmare? Why was she trapped in the spider web? What is the orb and what was it doing hovering over her?

He remembered the feeling of Hermione's blood raining over him, how he had tasted the metallic bitterness of her essence in his throat, and he gagged in response. Harry felt the nausea hit him like a punch to the stomach, and he opened his eyes and ran to one of the stalls, kneeling in front of the ceramic bowl and puking the contents of his stomach into it.

After what seemed like an eternity (but in actuality was only 3 minutes), the violent lurches in his stomach subsided, and Harry sat on the floor of the bathroom stall, leaning back against the wall, the little strength he had recovered after his terrifying nightmare failing him entirely.

He had not stopped thinking about the dream and it's meaning, even when the headache was now pounding violently behind his eyes so harshly that the dim light from the few candles spread throughout the room hurt him.

Hearing only his ragged breathing echoing in the hollow lavatory, Harry thought he had reached a possible explanation for his nightmare. Potion or no potion, Hermione was the single most important person in Hogwarts for Harry. She was his best friend, the person that understood him and comprehended him like no other, and his number one ally in the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

If he were to allow himself to indulge in the fantasy that he was in love with her, it would ruin their friendship. She would be trapped in the proverbial spider web, suffering on the inside for fear of hurting him. The strain will get to be too much, and he would finally lose her completely.

And without Hermione, there was nothing for him in Hogwarts… no education, no friends, no Quidditch, no tests, and no future.

Hogwarts without Hermione meant nothing to him.

The thought that he one day might have to live without his best friend by his side terrified him more than any nightmare he had ever experienced, more than Uncle Vernon and his leather belt when he was a kid, more than Aunt Marge's rabid mutt chasing him through the backyard, and even more than encountering Voldemort face to face in that godforsaken graveyard.

Without his best friend, he was crushed… overpowered… defeated.

'I'm not in love.'

Harry ran his hands through his jet-black hair, soaked with sweat.

'It's just the potion.'

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, fighting the urge to cry. He was a man for Merlin's sake! And not just any man, but the one that had the fate of the wizarding world on his shoulders.

It was actually a blessing that what he was feeling wasn't for real, because if it had been… only God knows if he would risk it by going off to fight some evil dude with delusions of world domination.

And, still sitting on the cold marble floor of a dirty stall in an empty lavatory, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World and Fool Extraordinaire, fell asleep.

---------------------------------
Friday, October 31st
7:24 AM

The next time Harry opened his eyes, sunlight had flooded the lavatory. There was an incessant tapping on his shoulder, and Harry looked to his right to find Colin Creevey crouching next to him, frowning with worry.

"Harry, are you okay? You feeling ill? Want me to call Hermione?" Colin said in a hurry, his wide eyes scrutinizing Harry's face.

'Why does everyone think of calling Hermione when I'm in trouble? I'm starting to think I'm a bit co-dependent.'

"I'm okay, Colin. Just a touch of stomach flu," Harry grimaced as he pushed himself from the floor of the bathroom stall. He was still feeling rather weak, and it didn't help that he had spent only God knows how many hours asleep on the cold marble floor. Colin grabbed his arm and helped Harry to stand up, and didn't release the raven-haired boy until Harry was steady on his feet.

Harry slowly dragged his aching body back to his dormitory. Only Neville and Ron remained, and they both looked relieved when Harry stepped inside the room. "Where were you?" Ron asked as he hastily tied the knot in his tie.

"I went for a walk," Harry lied, feeling rather humiliated by spending the night in the bathroom. He didn't miss the look of disbelief that Ron and Neville shared, but decided to ignore them as he quickly dressed on his school uniform. Running a comb through his hair and putting his glasses on, he nodded at his friends, and the three of them walked in silence through the Hogwarts hallways until they reached the Great Hall.

A violent shiver ran down Harry's spine at the sight of the Great Hall, remembering what he had seen on his dream… the bodies hanging from the ceiling… the blood on the halls… Hermione in the spider web… the taste of her blood at the back of his throat.

"Harry, are you okay?" Neville's concerned voice broke through his thoughts. Harry looked to his left to find Neville and Ron looking at him as if they were expecting him to break into little pieces at any moment. It both warmed his heart and unnerved him to no end.

'Get a grip, Potter. It was only a nightmare. She's fine; they are all fine.'

"Yeah, just a bit dizzy. That's all," Harry nodded at Ron and Neville, managing to give them a weak smile. Again, Neville and Ron shared a look that told Harry they weren't easily fool, but they had apparently learned their lesson after last night's little date fiasco: that it was better not to meddle in Harry's personal affairs until he was ready to let them.

"Come on, mate. Let's get some breakfast in you," Ron said, smiling back and giving Harry a small pat on his shoulder. They walked toward the Gryffindor table and sat at the end, Ron next to Harry and Neville on the other side of the table. They were soon joined by Ginny, who gave a sheepish smile to Harry before kissing Neville on the cheek.

Ron was piling the pancakes on Harry's plate and telling Harry to "dig in", but Harry was too preoccupied by the sudden realization that there were no decorations visible in the Great Hall.

Had the whole business about helping Flitwick with the Halloween Ball decorations been a rouse by Roger to get Hermione to go with him? If it had been, he had to give points to Roger for his oh-so-simple yet so effective lie.

His stomach was doing summersaults, his heart was beating wildly in his chest and the palm of his hands started sweating profusely. He gripped the fork in his hand with such force that the old iron gave in.

'I'm not in love.'

The memory of Hermione, not the one on his dream, but the one that had danced with him in the grounds to the beat of a silent melody, came into focus. He closed his eyes and thought solely on the memory.

He had been so close, yet so far… Had Roger kissed her yet? Had he felt how her body fitted against his? Was he planning on taking her on a broom ride under the moonlight?

Had she danced with him the way she danced with Harry?

'It's just the potion.'

Harry exhaled loudly, and when he next opened his eyes, Ginny and Neville were trying to get more information from Ron about his infamous costume, but the redhead just blushed furiously and waved at Luna, who was looking at him dreamily from the other side of the hall.

"You two will know soon enough," Ron said, chewing his bacon loudly. Ginny, who seemed to be back to her usual excitable self, turned her attention to Harry.

"How about your costume, Harry? It is top secret too or can you let us in on the scoop?" the youngest Weasley asked before taking a bite of her buttered toast. Upon seeing Harry's sour expression, she choked.

"Sorry," she mumbled after swallowing her food. Harry gave her a small smile, one he hoped conveyed his belief that soon things will be back to normal.

"Don't worry, Gin. It's just a phase," he whispered before forcing himself to start eating his pancakes. The food was quite good, but his stomach was not really feeling up to it. So after a few bites, Harry settled for watching in silence the parade of students coming and going from the room.

Breakfast was almost over, and two key players were still missing: Hermione Granger and Roger Davies.

Trust one of the Gossip Twins to state the obvious. "Hey, where's Hermione?" Lavender asked from the seat next to Ginny, her question directed at Harry.

'What am I? Her boyfriend? Ask bloody Roger!'

"I haven't seen her since last night," Harry mumbled, whispering "not that is any of your business" under his breath, absently pushing a lonely grape on his plate.

"Oh, I bet something happened to her," Parvati said, winking playfully at Lavender. The not-so-innocent expression was enough to raise the alarm in Harry's head.

"What is it? What happened to Hermione? Is she okay? Where is she?" Harry asked hurriedly, unconcealed panic in his voice as flashes of last night's nightmare swam behind his eyes. Lavender and Parvati looked at him as if he had sprung a third head.

"Duh! Roger Davies happened to her!" Parvati answered bluntly, sharing a giggle with her best friend. Roger and Neville looked apologetically at Harry, who was gripping his wand tightly underneath the table and daydreaming about performing the Bat-Bogie Hex on those two, but it was Ginny who silenced the Gossip Twins' laughter with a "shut it, you hags".

Before World War III could break on the Gryffindor table, Hermione appeared at the doors to the Great Hall. Even from the distance, Harry could tell Hermione looked quite tired and haggard. Everything else faded to the background as Harry watched Hermione walking toward their table.

Will she be angry about the kiss that almost happened last night? Will she tell him that she wants to stop being friends with someone that can't keep his hands to himself? Will she scream at him for breaking the bonds of trust and friendship they had shared for the last six years?

Hermione sat on the empty chair next to Harry before the emerald-eyed boy had a chance to regain his senses. The brown-haired witch mumbled "Good morning everyone" before grabbing a piece of toast from a nearby tray and hungrily biting it.

Okay, so she apparently decided to ignore it. Harry surprised himself by realizing that he couldn't decide if he was sad or happy about that.

The nearby Gryffindors watched in fascinating horror as Hermione bit on her food with a passion equaled only by Ron after a Quidditch game. She was already on her third piece of toast when Ginny said, "You are abnormally famished this morning."

"Sorry," Hermione said with a sheepish smile, wiping a bit of butter that had trailed down her chin, "I was up all night working." That simple statement was enough to make Lavender and Parvati break into another giggling fit. Everyone but Hermione glared at them until they were silent.

"Did I miss something?" Hermione asked, looking from Lavender to Harry and Ron, who were behaving rather oddly this morning, even for them.

"Where's Roger?" Harry asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to steer Hermione away from finding out what the Gossip Twins thought she had been up to. Part of him knew that to bring the subject of Roger was just plain stupid, but the other part of him wanted to know where the head boy was as badly as Lavender and Parvati did.

Hoping for a "he got pecked to death by Buckbeak this morning", Harry almost choked on his pumpkin juice when Hermione shrugged nonchalantly and answered, "Resting, I guess. Poor guy was exhausted when we finished."

Lavender and Parvati both whooped loudly, high-five-ing each other as if they had just won the lottery. Harry had had enough with those two that morning. His eyes growing into slits, he turned his attention to them and whispered, "Either you two shut your mouths, or I'll shut them for you."

At least the two girls had the decency to look intimidated by the empty threat (or they didn't thought it was that empty), because both stood up from the table and, without looking back at either of them, walked out of the hall.

If Hermione's frown were any deeper, it might leave a permanent scar between her lovely brows. Once again, she turned to her silent friends and asked, "Are you sure I didn't miss something?"

"Nope!" Harry, Ron, Ginny and Neville answered in unison, each trying to busy themselves with their breakfast. Hermione looked thoroughly unconvinced, but Luna, who was coming from the Ravenclaw table with a roll of parchment clutched on her tiny hand, spared them from further interrogation.

Kissing Ron soundly in his cheek, Luna quickly turned her attention to Hermione. "I got Father's answer," Luna said, waving the piece of parchment in her hand. Harry had no idea what the hell Luna was talking about, but Hermione apparently did, judging by how her ears perked up in interest.

"What did he say?" Hermione asked, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. An errand curl of chocolate brown hair fell over her cheek, and Harry impulsively reached out and tucked it behind her ear. A tremor ran through Harry's arm when he realized what he had done, but thankfully, Hermione just gave him a grateful, but rather shy, smile before turning her attention back to Luna.

Taking the empty seat next to Neville, Luna said in a whisper, "He says he doesn't have a lot of information about what the stolen artifact really is, but that his sources told him that, until the day before the exhibition opened, the artifact was under the care of the Department of Mysteries, and there's even rumors that it was under the direct protection of the Unspeakables."

The Department of Mysteries - the place that was the source of many of Harry's nightmares. His mind wandered to the end of his Fifth Year, to the reckless flight to save Sirius from the clutches of Voldemort, to the sphere that held the prophecy that had become Harry's curse, to the image of his best friend falling to the floor, still and seemingly lifeless, and to the veil that ultimately took his godfather's life.

Unexpectedly, he felt a warm sensation on the hand that had been resting on his thigh. Fingers curled around his hand and squeezed softly, a thumb tracing gentle figures in his skin. His eyes followed the arm of the person that was holding his hand under the table, only to find Hermione smiling tenderly at him.

She had instinctively known how he had felt. Somehow, she had known, and as always, she didn't waste another second in letting him know that she was standing there with him.

It was ironic that at that moment, with the simple feel of Hermione's hand holding his, Harry Potter felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

Still holding Harry's hand under the table, Hermione looked at Luna before saying, "You do realize that if indeed the artifact was under the care of the Unspeakables, it is potentially a very dangerous object. Probably a conduit for the dark arts."

"I don't know. But I'm guessing it's something that will do a lot of damage if it fell into the wrong hands…" Luna added, seemingly slipping into one of her meditative states, something the Trio had grown quite accustomed to.

Harry felt as Hermione withdrew her hand from his to scratch a spot next to her nose. He immediately missed the warmth she provided, but didn't want to dwell on why.

'I'm not in love. I'm just glad she's my best friend.'

Ginny, who had been watching Harry and Hermione out of the corner of her eye, cleared her throat and said, "Hey, does everyone else think is a good idea if we have our lunch outside? It's such a beautiful day! It would be a shame to spend it inside the castle!"

"I think it's a lovely idea," Luna said dreamily as Ron and Neville both nodded. In reality, the four friends had agreed last night after Harry had come from his date that it would do Harry a lot of good to spend as much time as possible away from the walls of the castle… and away from Roger Davies.

"I'll have to take a rain check on that. I already made plans with Roger," Hermione said after finishing the last of her juice.

"Well, change them," Ron said rather brusquely. A small kick to his shin by his little sister told him he had said the wrong thing.

Hermione, either accustomed to Ron's bossiness or simply deciding to ignore his immaturity, smoothly replied, "I can't. It's very important that I meet with Roger today."

'I'm not in love. I just… I just wish she could spend the hour with us and not with him.'

"I'll… we'll miss you," Harry whispered, giving her a slight smile. Only she heard him, and judging by the small smile she sent his way, she appreciated the sentiment. A mischievous glint appeared in her lovely eyes, and she unexpectedly beamed at them.

"Well, how about this? If you all want to, I can speak to McGonagall about getting us passes to visit Hogsmeade tomorrow. With all the extra work I had to do for this ball, I'm sure she'd agree to give me a day to relax with my best friends," Hermione said with excitement.

"I'm in!" Ron said, raising his hand. Luna and Neville did the same, while Ginny wondered out loud if the Hogshead would serve her Firewhiskey. Hermione turned her attention back to Harry, locking her eyes with his in an unmistakable "How about you?" expression.

'By tomorrow, I'm sure the potion would have wore off. What could be so dangerous about going to Hogsmeade with her?'

'Admit it, Potter. You just want an excuse to spend time together.'

'I'm not…'

' 'in love' bla bla bla. I know. Keep telling yourself that.'

"I'd love to," Harry said softly, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he averted his eyes from hers. He heard Hermione chuckle, and felt her fingers ruffling his hair playfully for a moment before she stood up from her seat.

Smoothing the front of her jumper, Hermione said, "Well, tomorrow I'll be all yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to return a book to Madame Pince. I'll see you all later." And with one last smile, Hermione turned around and walked away.

All eyes were on Harry as the young man watched his best friend walking away from him. He looked, by all means, like a little boy that had spent the last five hours looking at the latest racing broom on display at Quidditch Quality Supplies…

… And knew he would never get a chance to ride it.

------------------
12:03 PM
Hogwarts Grounds

It was an unusual morning for the Hogwarts crew, the only thing truly familiar was Hermione scolding of Harry and Ron when they started snoring in the middle of Professor Binn's lecture about the role of the red goblins in the trade of silk in 15th Century China.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson was canceled, mainly due to the fact that the teacher, Professor Dumbledore, was still absent from the castle. Again, Harry felt a deep sense of uneasiness; he may not always see eye to eye with Professor Dumbledore, but Hogwarts felt a lot safer with the old man around. The only one that shared his uneasiness was Hermione, mainly because she knew that Harry didn't felt comfortable discussing his dreams with anyone but Dumbledore.

'Don't be so paranoid. Nothing is going to happen.'

Harry had suggested (to the surprise of everyone but Ron) going to the library during the free period. Hermione congratulated him on trying to do better in school, but apologized because she still needed to work on some charms for the Ball. Ron had told a visibly gloomed Harry that he would go to the library with him, but of course, it had all been an excuse to spend some time with Hermione, and Ron, Neville and Harry settled for sitting in front of the Divination door for an hour and a half.

Divination was particularly uncomfortable for Harry, and not only because it was the only course Hermione didn't share with them. Nothing had changed from the previous classes taught by Firenze, and yet, Harry could feel a tension so thick he could almost cut it with a knife. Firenze hardly looked at him, and didn't spoke to him once during the entire time.

After the class had ended, Harry stayed behind, intent on apologizing to his teacher. But he hadn't finished the first word when Firenze put a hand to his shoulder. Harry was more than surprised when the usually stoic centaur looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Young Potter, if I had the answer to your questions, I will give it to you… gladly. But I don't. I am but a simple creature, just a fly caught in this web we called existence."

"Eh, alright, Professor. I'm sorry for being disrespectful the other day," Harry said sheepishly, not quite wanting to meet the centaur's gaze.

"Just follow your heart, young Potter, as Mars follows Venus to the Twelve house, and I promise, it will all be well in the end," Firenze added, an almost imperceptible smile gracing his handsome features. Harry returned the smile and left the classroom, feeling both relieved that the Professor had apparently forgiven his tantrum and troubled by the strange parting words.

The words still echoed in his head as he followed Neville, Ginny, Ron and Luna to their tree by the lake. It was a hot, but breezy afternoon, not unlike the one on Monday, where Harry had, by mistake, drank the cursed love potion. His heart sank when his thoughts drifted once again to Hermione, whom he had caught a glimpse of when they walked past the Great Hall, sitting next to his least-favorite Ravenclaw.

They finally reached the tree by the lake, and stood under the refreshing shade. Harry sat against the trunk as Ginny opened the basket Dobby had prepared for them. Neville and Ron placed the red and white picnic cloth on the moist grass as Luna performed a charm that would keep the ants away from the food.

Harry mumbled "thank you" to Ginny when she passed him a plate with fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy (Dobby may have taken the idea of a "picnic" a bit too far when Ron had asked for his help) and ate in silence, thinking about the last time he had sat under this very tree, Hermione resting her head on his shoulder as they laughed at one of Ron's stories.

'I'm not in love.'

"You are not eating, mate. Are you okay?" Ron asked softly as he took the spot next to Harry. Harry hadn't realized he had spent the last 10 minutes staring into his plate.

"I guess I'm not," Harry sighed as he put the plate aside, leaned back against tree trunk and closed his eyes.

"Hey, isn't that Hermione?" Neville suddenly asked, peering over Ron's shoulder. Harry opened his eyes in time to see Ginny elbowing Neville in the ribs and mumbling something under her breath. Harry and Ron looked around the tree to find that Neville was indeed right, for Hermione was walking on the other side of the lake, and she wasn't alone.

"Where's that dessert already?" Ron asked, trying to divert Harry's attention back to the picnic. Everyone else tried to continue with his or her meals, but for Harry, who just couldn't keep his eyes off Hermione and her companion, the idea of eating was preposterous. He wished he could see them more clearly, and not just as far away figures walking on the grounds.

Suddenly, Harry remembered a spell Hermione had taught him at the beginning of the term. She had apparently found it in one of the many books she read over the summer break, and memorized it in order to teach it to Harry. It was a simple and yet effective incantation, and one Harry had doubted he would ever need… until now.

Standing up and walking around the tree trunk, Harry sat against once again and, out of eyeshot from his friends, took his wand from his pocket and waved it in front of him. "Oculus Maximus," he muttered under his breath, tapping the end of his wand against the surface of his eyeglasses.

'Remind me to thank Hermione for this nifty spell… minus telling her how I tested it.'

The view in front of him magnified considerably, and he zoomed in on the two distant figures strolling on the opposite side of the lake. The wind had picked up, and Hermione tucked a strand of her curly hair behind her ear to stop it from hitting her in the face. Roger was animatedly talking next to her, waving his hands in front of him almost frantically, that trophy-winning smile plastered on his face.

'Wanker.'

'At least she looks happy.'

Hermione suddenly stopped walking and, tucking her hands inside the pockets of her cloak, looked down. Roger stopped speaking and turned to face her, a frown on his face. Since he couldn't read lips to save his life, Harry watched in interest as Roger said something and placed his hand on Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione looked up and whispered something in return. The frown on Roger's face deepened, and, placing his hands inside his trousers, waited for Hermione to continue. A few more moments passed in which Roger and Hermione just looked at each other, but didn't exchange any words.

Harry didn't know what came out of Hermione's mouth next, but as the words flowed and the seconds passed, he could swore he saw Roger's shoulders visibly sag, the proud posture he seemed to possessed betraying him. Hermione looked down on the ground, and said something that made Roger looked away, his eyes bright with something Harry had never seen on the Head Boy before.

Hermione looked up at Roger once more, and ceased to speak. Another silence fell between them, until Roger met Hermione's eyes one more time and nodded. Taking her hands between her own, Roger whispered something before tenderly kissing her knuckles.

Harry wanted nothing more than to hate Roger at that moment, but surprisingly, he found he couldn't. It had been such a gentle gesture, delicate and loving, and Hermione deserved nothing else but be treated with tenderness.

'If only I learned to treat her that way.'

A sad smile appeared at the corners of Hermione's mouth, and she took a step toward Roger, closing the distance between them considerably. Taking one of her hands off his grip, she gently cupped his face, her thumb tracing his cheek lazily, and started speaking.

Like a passerby watches a car crash, Harry found himself unable to look away from the couple in front of him. His chest was aching, his breath became shallow, his palms sweated, and yet… he could not look away. Not even when he felt Ron kneel next to him could he tear his eyes away from the loving picture on the other side of the lake.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Ron asked softly and with sadness evident in his voice, knowing exactly what had kept Harry's attention for so long.

"I don't know," was Harry's blank answer.

"You should tell her how you feel, mate," Ron pleaded, looking up from Harry and toward Hermione and Roger. He knew there was no way in hell that Hermione could feel about Roger the same way she seemed to feel about Harry.

"I'm not in love, Ron,"' Harry whispered the mantra that had kept him going since last night, his own voice sounding like a stranger's.

"It doesn't look that way to me," Ron sighed, turning his attention back to Harry.

"I'm telling Snape about the potion and begging him for the counter-potion. I don't care how much he ridicules me, nothing is worth this pain," Harry whispered in that hollow voice.

"Is there anything that can change your mind?" Ron asked, but Harry couldn't reply this time, for the view had once again captured his undivided attention. He forgot to breathe as he watched Hermione leaning on Roger, her lips capturing Roger's lips in a chaste kiss.

'There's one thing that can change my mind. Make me the one she wants to be with.'

"No, Ron. There's nothing to be done."

-----------------------
3:45 PM
Potions Classroom

The afternoon had gone in a blur for Harry. He did not remember walking back from the picnic, or the name of the creature that had stung him in Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't remember what Ron and Hermione had been fighting about on the way to Potions, so he was slightly confused when he found himself sitting in front of his desk, stirring a vile green liquid in his cauldron.

"What am I supposed to be doing here?" he mumbled to Ron, who was standing next to him stirring his own potion.

"Well, what WE are supposed to be doing is the first stage of the Draught of the Living Dead potion," Ron whispered back, stealing a glance at Snape, who was helping one of the Slytherins with his work. He then pointed at Harry's cauldron and added, "That, my friend… I don't know what the hell that is."

Ron was right. Harry muttered "Scourgify" and the contents of his cauldron vanished. He knew he would get a FAIL mark on today's lesson, but frankly he didn't give a damn. He had more pressing concerns in his head.

As they had been doing for as long as Harry remembered, his eyes drifted toward Hermione. She was biting her lip as she often did when she was deep in thought, stirring her potion with care, her eyes fixed on the simmering liquid. Harry chuckled dryly, not from amusement, but from the sheer irony that only his best friend could look so lovely doing such trivial things.

Hermione looked up and he caught her eye. She smiled at him, a gesture comforting because of its familiarity. Harry smiled back before Hermione returned to her work.

"I have your grades for last Monday's potion. As usual, you have done nothing but disappoint me," Snape's voice broke through Harry's thoughts. He looked at the front of the classroom to see Snape was sitting in front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, a look of deep disgust on his face. Harry shuddered when he remembered that this was the man he was supposed to ask for help. In normal circumstances Harry would prefer to swallow his own tongue than to go to Snape, but alas, there wasn't anything normal about his peculiar situation.

Harry didn't know how she did it, but the next moment he felt Hermione's familiar hand on his arm. He looked to his right to find her looking up at him with concern written in her charming features. "Did you just apparate?" was the only intelligent phrase that came out of his mouth.

"No, silly. I walked here. But I'm not surprised you didn't notice. You haven't taken your eyes off Snape for the last 10 minutes," Hermione said patiently. 10 minutes? Merlin, that loss of time was becoming rather annoying to Harry.

"I can see your potion didn't turn out that good," Hermione said, turning her attention to Harry's empty cauldron. Harry just nodded, mesmerized by the way she was still holding onto his arm.

'I wonder if… when things get back to normal… I will notice all these little things.'

'Do you want to notice?'

He didn't have a chance to find out as Hermione turned her attention back to him and whispered, "Look, I have to leave straight away after class, but I just wanted to let you know that I hoped you had changed your mind about the Ball. I don't want you to miss this."

She looked so hopeful that he didn't have the heart to let her down. He vaguely thought about how lucky he was to have a friend like her as he whispered, "I'll… I'll think about it."

Hermione gave him another knee-jerking smile and said, "If you do go… will you save me a dance?"

"The first," Harry said as he forced himself to keep smiling. He didn't thought it was appropriate to add that he would save the first AND the last dance for her, so he kept quiet before he could make an ass out of himself.

"Good. Hope to see you there, Harry," Hermione said, giving him another bright smile before squeezing his arm in farewell. She turned around to look at Ron, who was concentrating hard over his cauldron, committed to actually getting a pass in today's work.

"And I definitely can't wait to see you there, Ron," she said, her voice full of mischief. Ron grew immediately suspicious and, frowning at Hermione, asked her why.

"Oh, let's just say Luna told me all about the costumes. I'll definitely be asking Colin to take a picture of you," Hermione said, and with a final wink at Ron, she walked away from them.

"When you are finished with your potion, please prepare a sample for evaluation. Bring it to my desk so you can pick up your substandard grade for Monday's work," Snape leered at the classroom.

Hermione left her sample in Snape's desk and picked up Monday's grade. She smiled at what, obviously, was another Outstanding and ignored the sneer the professor sent her way as she walked out of the room.

"At least I know I'll get a good grade for a change," Ron said as he started to prepare his own sample for evaluation. Harry mumbled something under his breath and took a look around at his classmates. Most of them were visibly excited about tonight's ball, and even the Gossip Twins were minding their own business.

Harry looked over the Slytherin side, and found everyone but one in the same energized state. Surprisingly, it was Draco Malfoy that looked deadly serious, jumpy and rather edgy as he prepared the vial with today's potion, even spilling some of clear liquid on his work area.

'What the hell is his problem?'

"Ready, mate?" Ron asked, his sample readied as he threw his book bag over his shoulder.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head and tearing his eyes away from the white-haired Slytherin, "let's wait till everyone gets out of here."

So they waited until only Malfoy and Snape remained in the dungeon. Malfoy finally was able to steady his jumpy hands enough to put a cork on his vial and hand it to Snape. The Slytherin picked up his grade and stuffed it in his bag, leaving the classroom in a hurry.

"Now or never," Harry whispered as he and Ron walked toward the front of the class. Snape was reading an old scroll in his hands, and didn't look up at the two Gryffindors until Harry cleared his throat.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape asked, raising his eyes from the scroll and looking at Harry with nothing but disdain. Ron placed his sample with the others and picked up his grade from the desk.

"Professor… Professor Snape. I have a p-p-p-problem…" Harry started saying, but he didn't get a chance to finish his request.

"WHAT?!?" Ron screamed, effectively silencing Harry. Harry looked to his side to find Ron, his eyes wide, clutching his grade sheet in his hand.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked slowly, venom dripping from his innocent words.

"I failed… I FAILED!" Ron said, looking from Snape to Harry and waving his grade sheet in front of him.

"WHAT?" Harry said, his rational mind shutting down as he made a grab for Ron's paper. The word FAILED was written across the parchment in bright red ink, making Harry's heart beat twice as fast as it normally did.

'No, it can't be. The potion worked! This is just… this is just Snape messing with Ron! He hates it when we get things right!'

"How could… How could I have received a FAILED grade when the potion works?" Ron said, voicing Harry's concerns as he turned his attention back to his Potions' teacher.

Snape slowly stood up from his seat and, placing his hands on the tabletop, he rounded on Ron. "Mr. Weasley, if you are speaking about Monday's potion I can assure you, the grade you have is the grade you deserve. You did not hand in the Philtrum Casses Amator potion as was requested of you," Snape hissed, his whole body shaking slightly.

'I'm not in love… I'm not in love…'

"If the potion doesn't work, how come…" Ron started, turning his attention back to Harry.

Harry had the same thought in his head, and yet, didn't have enough working neurons to voice it. He just stared back at Ron, his jaw hanging open, his chest rising up and down heavily, his hands trembling.

'I AM NOT IN LOVE'

"'WHAT ARE YOU TWO NINCOMPOOPS TALKING ABOUT?" Snape screamed, sick and tired of the ridiculous staring contest Harry and Ron seemed to be engaged in.

But the Potion Master didn't get an answer, because the next moment, Harry Potter ran out of the classroom like a bat out of hell, his best friend trying to catch up to him and failing.

Reality had come knocking on his door, leaving his dirty little secret out in the open.

“Harry, I…”

“Don’t want to talk about it, Ron.”

Harry raised his head slightly, his chin moving away from his chest, and his gaze became lost in the shimmering reflections of the lake. He had ran to this spot as soon as he had left Snape’s classroom and, judging by the way the sun was setting behind the mountains, had been sitting under their beech tree for hours, a single thought pulsing in his head.

‘There was never any potion… there was never any potion...’

Who could have guess that such a straightforward admission meant that nothing would ever be the same?

“Aren’t you going to at least get something to eat?” Ron asked with a sigh.

“I’m not hungry,” whispered Harry hoarsely. He wasn’t kidding; his stomach was in such a state that he knew no nourishment was capable of staying down.

“Look, Harry,” he heard Ginny say, “I think there’s something you should know.” He frowned, and reluctantly looked to his right. Not so surprisingly, Ron was standing with his co-conspirators just a few feet away from the tree.

“Surprise! If it isn’t the Scooby Gang!” said a very sarcastic Harry. He took a deep breath, ignoring the way his lungs ached, before continuing, “If you are here to talk about what happened in Potions, which I’m sure Ron has already told you, don’t bother. I already know I got myself in this mess.”

“Actually, it looks like you had some help,” said Luna, who reached into the pocket of her cloak and took out an old leather-bound book. She carefully opened it, and read out loud from a page somewhere in the middle, “The Ardeo Candor Potion”. Seeing she now had Harry’s undivided attention, Luna continued reading…


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
The Ardeo Candor Potion

The Ardeo Candor potion, also known as the “Draught of Ardent Lucidity” is used to bring into the conscious mind the more pressing matters floating in the personal unconscious. That way, the wizard or witch can deal with those matters using a logical and empirical approach.

The Ardeo Candor potion, however, should not be used lightly, for it is not without harmful side effects. A wizard that was once under the potion’s spell compared it with “feeling like a man who has lived all his life with a blindfold over his eyes, and suddenly takes it off in the middle of the Summer’s Solstice.”

The feelings of disorientation, confusion and violent mood swings that are usually caused by this elixir can be so intense that some wizards have permanently lost their minds, while others have committed suicide in order to avoid having to confront that which they had buried in their unconscious. Disturbing dreams and hallucinations are also not uncommon when you are under the draught’s influence.

As tempting as it seems to use this potion in order to get a better understanding of your psyche, be careful.

There may be things you are not ready to know about yourself.

The ingredients and the instructions to brew this powerful elixir are the following…


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Harry’s face was ashen white by the time Luna was midway through the directions, and he found it difficult to breathe.

The only difference between the Philltrum Casses Amator and this Draught of Ardent Lucidity seemed to be 200mg more of lily dust.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
The Ardeo Candor potion has no antidote, and no counter spell has been able to cure the subject of its effects. However, the potion ceases to have any influence when the witch or wizard in question acknowledges and understands the now conscious notion.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Luna closed the book and set it back inside her cloak. “We found that in the library,” Neville piped in.

“And we checked Ron’s supply of potion ingredients,” Ginny added, reaching for Neville’s hand.

Ron crouched next to Harry before saying, “There is a bit over 200mg missing from my supply of lily powder.” Picking a pebble from the ground and throwing it into the water, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, mate.”

“It’s… it’s not your fault,” Harry muttered, his nails unconsciously digging into the muscles of his thighs.

What Luna just read explained everything… his sudden joy and unexpected anger, the burning jealousy when he thought Roger… the sensation of intense loss when she had refused his advances… the torturing thoughts that plagued him when he thought of Hermione with another man. Even the nightmares could be explained!

His sanity had gone down the drain… and it was a simple “faux pas”.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think knowing the truth is such a bad thing,” Luna said calmly.

“Have you been dipping in Ron’s firewhiskey? It said there that I would continue feeling like shit until I acknowledge and understand the now conscious notion! How the hell am I going to do that?” snorted Harry, annoyed that she could be so calm when he was feeling like a rat caught in a maze.

“How about actually doing something about it instead of just talking about it?” Ron suggested very matter-of-factly. Harry gave him a look that would have made others run for cover.

Not liking where this was going, Ginny tried for a more soothing approach. Crouching on Harry’s other side and laying her hand on his shoulder, she said, “Harry, being in love with Hermione is not going to be like falling for Cho.”

“Great. Thanks for reminding me about how bad that was,” Harry mumbled, focusing his eyes once more on the lake, hoping that his friends would take the hint that their presence at the moment was neither required nor desired.

“Well, if you aren’t thinking about Cho, what’s the big deal?” asked Neville with surprising certainty.

Harry stood up slowly, holding back the desire to scream. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember the fact that these were his friends, and that they only wanted what’s best for him.

Opening his eyes, he looked at each of them before speaking in a clear voice, “I’ve tried to explain to you. Hermione is my friend. My.Best.Friend. Being IN LOVE with her changes everything! We will no longer be Harry and Hermione, mates, buddies, and faithful companions! We will be the Boy-Hopelessly-In-Love-With-His-Best-Friend and the Girl-That-Is-Clueless-About-It! It’s a recipe for disaster!”

“For facing You-Know-Who so many times, you are a bigger coward than Gilderoy Lockhart!” Ron said without any trace of humor. It caught everybody off-guard, including Harry.

“What are you talking about?” Harry hissed.

“That you are scared shitless,” Ron continued, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes boring into his best friend.

“I am not a coward!” replied the green-eyed boy.

“Yes, you are!” answered Ron with absolute certainty. With a calmness that Harry found quite annoying, the redhead continued, “I recognize this because I felt the same way. You know Hermione so well that you think you know everything there is to know about her and everything there is to know about you with her… That’s what love changes.” He took a few steps toward Harry before adding, “You aren’t scared of hurting her because you know you would never hurt her… You are scared that she might hurt you!”

“She’s already hurting me,” muttered Harry defensively.

“And that’s your own bloody fault!” Ron said with conviction.

His hands curling into fists, Harry said between clenched teeth, “Why? Why is it my bloody fault?”

“Because you refuse to acknowledge what everybody knows,” Ron said, shaking his head softly.

“And what, pray tell, does everybody know?” Harry asked rather sarcastically, his eyes drifting toward the lake once again.

“That you and Hermione belong together.”

His head snapped back into place instantly. This was the second time in less than five minutes that Ron had managed to surprise him.

“Guys, can you give us a bit of privacy? I’ll meet you inside,” Ron nodded to his girlfriend, sister and good friend. Luna kissed him on the cheek goodbye, and reluctantly she, Neville and Ginny started walking back to the castle.

Ron watched them for a few moments before turning his attention back to Harry. The green-eyed boy was still looking at Ron as if the redhead had just bitch-slap him. “W-w-w just what are you talking about?” Harry stuttered.

Ron took another step toward his friend and placed his hand on his shoulder, “I’m talking about what everybody’s been talking about for years, Harry. Why do you think Cho dumped you as if you had a bad case of leprosy? Why do you think Viktor Krum was jealous of you and not me? Why do you think Rita Skeeter wrote about her as your girlfriend and everybody believed it? Why do you think Ginny stopped crushing after you when she became Hermione’s good friend? …

Why do you think I stopped crushing after Hermione?”

“Huh?” Harry stared at his friend, completely dumbfounded.

Ron snorted and shook his head while saying, “Bloody hell, Harry! Sometimes a flobberworm uses more brain cells than you!”

Harry took a step back, running his head through his messy hair. He couldn’t believe what Ron was saying! How could he have not known this? He walked toward the edge of the lake until he could see his reflection on the darkened water.

“You… were in love with Hermione?” Harry said, finally finding his voice.

“I… don’t know if it was love. But I liked her. I liked her very, very much. Maybe it was love… it’s too late to know the answer to that one,” Ron answered truthfully.

“Did you… did you tell her?” whispered Harry.

“I didn’t bother,” Ron shrugged, thrusting his hands inside his pockets. The redhead raised his head, and looking at the fading horizon, asked, “You want to know why I didn’t bother?” Harry nodded absently.

Ron walked toward the lake until he was standing next to his best friend before saying, “Because somewhere deep inside of me, I knew she would never return my affections… cause I believed she was in love with you, mate.”

“W-w-why… why would you think that?”

Ron exhaled loudly and waited a few moments before answering, “The way she looks at you… The way she puts her hand on your arm when she speaks to you… How she’s ready to forgive you when you act like an idiot… How she always stands by your side, no matter what… The smiles she reserves only for you. The way she goes absolutely spare with worry over your well being.” A smile tugged at the corner of Ron’s lips before he added, “Do you want me to go on?”

Harry’s mind had gone blank.

‘She’s… she’s in love with me?’

“No… no…she’s not. Yes, she cares about me… a lot… because she’s my friend… and friends care about each other. That’s all there is,” babbled Harry.

“You are delusional,” Ron said with an impatient shake of his head.

Harry’s hands shook slightly as he continued rambling, “And… and… and… how do I really now I’m in love with her? Maybe I’m just confused… maybe because she’s my best friend and I… I depend so much in her emotionally… well, maybe I’m mixing the fact that I love her as a friend with the fantasy of being in love with her. Luna did say the potion caused confusion.”

Ron spoke in clear voice, “Let me ask you some questions, mate… when you look into Hermione’s eyes… do you feel like you know everything about her? Every dream? Every thought? Every desire? And yet, at the same time, the whole lot of her is a mystery… something you want to know… to explore… a treasure to be discovered?”

“Yes,” whispered Harry, feeling as a shudder went through his body.

“When she holds your hand, do you feel like you’ve found the one that will stand by your side for the rest of your life? The one that will never let you fall? The one that gives you the strength to go on no matter how crazy and unfair life becomes?” Ron quizzed.

“Yes,” Harry croaked.

“Does she make you laugh? Does she make you cry? Do you want to hold her in your arms and never let her go?”

“Yes… yes… and yes,” whispered Harry breathlessly as he watched the last ray of light disappear behind the mountains.

Ron grinned and, patting Harry’s shoulder, stated, “Then, I got news for you, my friend.” He waited until Harry turned his head to look at him before he continued.

“You are truly… madly… deeply… in love with Hermione.”

Harry sighed, his head dropping of its own accord until his chin rested on his chest. There was no way to avoid the fact.

‘I am in love with Hermione… I am in love with Hermione… I am in love…’

“Harry, listen to me, ” pleaded Ron. Harry raised his head to see that Ron was not smiling anymore, but rather an expression that said Ron was wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“I am very happy with Luna, and being in love with her taught me that I was never really in love with Hermione… But I’ve always wondered… what if? What if Hermione had been in love with me? What if she was the one I was meant to be with?”

Placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder, Ron said, “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering, Harry.”

They both looked away at that moment, their gazes lost in what little they could see of the moon on the surface of the lake. No more words were needed. Ron had played his part, and it was now Harry’s turn to take the next step.

After a few minutes of silence, Ron patted Harry’s shoulder one last time and said, “I got to go. Got to put that blasted costume on. Will you be joining us later?”

“I’m not sure,’ whispered Harry truthfully, watching the reflection of a hummingbird that was flying over the water.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” Ron said, his voice tinted with sadness as he turned around and started walking back toward the castle. He had taken a good twenty steps when he heard Harry’s voice.

“DO YOU REALLY THINK HERMIONE IS IN LOVE WITH ME?”

Ron grinned and, turning around, replied in a booming voice, “SHE GAVE YOU A BROOM SERVICING KIT, HARRY! IF THAT’S NOT LOVE, I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS!”

Harry gave him a small, but genuine smile, his glasses momentarily flashing with the moonlight. “Thank you, Ron… for everything,” he said.

Giving him a dramatic curtsy, Ron said, “It’s my duty, mate.” He gave Harry a last nod, turned around and resumed his walk back to the castle.

Under the light of the full moon, Harry wandered the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his thoughts lost on the potion, the events of the last week, and the conversation with Ron.

Could his best friend be right? Should he tell Hermione how he felt? Could we have a chance with her after all?

Could she really be in love with him too?

It wasn’t until he found himself standing behind Hagrid’s hut that he realized his legs had taken him to Buckbeak’s enclosure, the place the hippogriff had called home since the beginning of Harry’s sixth year.

The massive beast was walking around the pen, flapping his wings occasionally, and trying to catch the little birds that flew near him as if to taunt him. He was alone; he had gotten so used to the contact of human beings that he wasn’t fit anymore to live with others like him.

“Hello, Buckbeak,” Harry called softly. Buckbeak turned his head and fixed his yellow eyes on Harry. The hippogriff started walking toward him. In an impulsive reaction, Harry jumped over the wooden fence and met the creature halfway.

He bowed to the beast, and waited until Buckbeak lowered his head in return. Harry then straightened and closed the distance between them, patting the feathers on the side of his neck. For a moment, he forgot about his own troubles as those yellow eyes fell on him.

He couldn’t quite put his fingers on it, but whenever he locked eyes with Buckbeak, he felt at calm, safe, at peace, as if the creature had been sent by someone to watch over him. He often imagined Sirius had felt the same when he had looked into Buckbeak’s eyes, and that thought alone was enough to make him smile.

“How are you, my friend? Hagrid treating you well?” asked Harry very softly. Talking with Buckbeak was a habit he had picked from Hermione. He wasn’t sure if the creature understood or not, but that didn’t really matter.

The hippogriff nodded softly and flapped his wings once. Harry was about to open his mouth to say goodbye, when something strange stopped him.

A cherished image.

A forgotten memory.

Triggered by the sight of Buckbeak’s remarkable eyes.

It was the summer after his fifth year. He had spent only three weeks at the Dursley’s, where he had been submitted to a new level of abuse. And this time, Harry hadn’t fought back. It was Petunia Dursley herself that had contacted the members of the Order, and had told them that Harry refused to come out of his room, and that she actually worried that he might not survive. He didn’t know if she was doing this because she in fact cared about him or simply because she was afraid of retaliation, but whatever it was, it had worked.

Lupin had taken Harry to Grimmauld’s Place. Harry had inherited the house from Sirius, but Lupin was in charge of the place until Harry was of age.

It had only made matters worse.

Harry had taken refuge in the room that used to belong to Sirius’ mother, and now was Buckbeak’s abode. The hippogriff, who was still nursing the wing wounded by Kreacher, didn’t seem to mind the company; Harry thought he benefited from being in a place where no one was constantly trying to get him to talk about what had had happened that night at the Ministry of Magic.

The problem was… once he was in… he refused to come out.

And the hours turn to days… and his surroundings faded to black… and he fell into a waking sleep.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Twelve Grimmauld’s Place
Summer after Fifth Year

“Alohamora”

The door to Buckbeak’s room opened, flooding the darkened and dusty area with uninvited light. The hippogriff raised his head, made a low, desolate sound, before setting himself back on the floor.

Sitting on the corner while resting with his back against the wall, Harry shut his eyes, temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness. As if the voice weren’t enough to give away the identity of the intruder, the smell of lavender and vanilla that accompanied her pierced the stale stench of his inner sanctum.

“Hermione,” whispered Harry hoarsely. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, thick and gruff from not using his vocal chords for only-God-knows how long. He heard her delicate steps as she drew nearer and stood in front of him.

“Hello Harry,” was the first thing Hermione spoke that day. She sounded weak and tired, and not at all unlike he felt. It wasn’t much consolation.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Tuscany with your parents,” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes. The less he saw of her, the better.

“I came to see you,” was her rather straightforward answer.

He chuckled without an ounce of humor, “Well, you’ve seen me. You can go now. Enjoy your summer.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Harry,” replied Hermione, her tone of voice indicating clearly that she was being very serious. He felt rather than saw her crouch in front of him, her knee bumping against his.

“I take it you’ve been speaking to Lupin,” Harry growled, the annoyance at the older man’s intervention plainly shown.

“So, what if I have?” quietly answered his friend. He was growing rather annoyed at her too. Why can’t they just leave him alone?

“For being a quiet man, Lupin seems to have a big mouth… better to eat you with, I suppose” Harry answered, trying to hide behind a cynical smile. His eyes twitched under his eyelids; he wanted to see her, to make sure she was getting better, and at the same time, he never wanted to lay eyes on her again.

“He’s worried about you… so is Dumbledore and Ron and the Weasley’s… and so am I,” Hermione whispered in a frustratingly patient voice. He heard her shift, and the next moment, he felt her hand on his bare arm.

It burned like liquid ice.

He immediately wriggle his arm free of her hold. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath, but didn’t try to touch him again.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine,” he murmured dully, his head dropping until his chin touched his chest. He was so weak… so damn tired. He just wanted to sleep… and never wake up.

“Really? Last I heard, you have hardly eaten or slept since you came here. You refuse to talk to Remus. And you haven’t left this room for four days… So, forgive me for not agreeing when I say that there’s plenty to worry about.”

Harry opened his eyes for the first time since she had stepped into Buckbeak’s room. A knot formed in his throat at the sight. Even when she was wearing a rather casual green jumper and black jeans, there was nothing relaxed about her posture. She looked thinner than she had been when they had said goodbye at King’s Cross, and the brown curls that framed her face did nothing to soften the dark circles under her eyes… those sweet caramel eyes that were now red with too many sleepless nights, and shiny with unshed tears.

It never crossed Harry’s mind that he looked ten times worst.

“Leave me alone, Hermione. Please,” Harry whispered, speaking honestly for the first time. Green eyes locked with hers, and, for a moment, he thought she was going to grant him his wish.

“You know I won’t,” she replied. Harry took a deep breath and looked down, trying to rein his temper under control. What could he do to make them understand that he just wanted to be left alone?

A heavy silence followed, were the only noise that was heard was the sounds of their breathings and the loud snoring that came from Buckbeak. Hermione finally broke the silence with a soft, “Harry, we need to talk.”

“If it’s about homework, don’t bother,” Harry whispered weakly. He seemed to be more interested on the grime on his white shirt than in the presence of his friend. It was a lie of course; her visit was like a pebble thrown in a pond. It had started a chain reaction in him of feelings he’d rather keep quiet.

“It’s not about homework. To tell you the truth, I haven’t felt like doing much this summer,” she sighed.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he deadpanned.

“I want to talk to you about what happened at the Department of Mysteries… I want to talk to you about Sirius,” Hermione spoke.

“Don’t waste your breath, Hermione. I’m sure I’ve already heard what you’ve got to say,” Harry whispered, his rising anger evident in his voice.

“It’s not your choice anymore, Harry,” Hermione replied tiredly.

He raised his head slightly, and, arching an eyebrow at her, asked, “You going to take that away from me too?”

Hermione shook her head, her jaw set in resolve, “No. You did that yourself, Harry. Do you think this is what Sirius wanted for you?”

Harry smirked at her as he closed his eyes. Resting his head back against the wall, he replied, “Well, he’s welcome to come and tell me that himself.”

His head snapped to his side rather forcefully as a smacking sound echoed in the room. His cheek burned, feeling as if hundreds of tiny needles were stinging him. Only when he opened his eyes did Harry realize what had happened.

Hermione had just slapped him.

His eyes blazed as he hissed at her, “Why the fuck did you do that for?”

Her eyes showed equal fierceness as she finally lowered her reddened hand, “To see if I could knock some sense into you! To finally get a reaction worthy of someone alive!”

He pushed himself from the wall until he was sitting on his knees, his body almost colliding into hers. His face was merely an inch away from Hermione when he spat, “You want a reaction from me? Fine.”

Harry stood up and violently grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up with him. Hermione winced before biting her lip; he had an iron grip on her arm and he didn’t show any signs of easing up.

He started walking toward the still opened door, dragging her with him. She resisted him by trying to sit down, but Harry used his free hand to grab her by the waist and raise her from the floor as she vainly tried to kick herself free.

Buckbeak screeched loudly, standing up from the floor on his two hind legs. The beast towered over them, a sight to behold as it flapped its massive wings.

The hippogriff’s outburst effectively distracted Harry, who failed to notice Hermione was reaching into her back pocket until it was too late. Immediately, he heard her whisper the spell that caused the door to the room shut with a squelching sound just before they reached it, bathing the room in shadows. He let go of her waist and tried the doorknob; the door did not budge.

He gritted his teeth when he remembered his wand was still locked up in his trunk… in his living room.

His eyes locked on the door as if he were trying to open it by the sheer force of his will, Harry spoke in a hoarse whisper, “Open the door, Hermione.”

“Not unless you leave with me,” she replied breathlessly, her wand still safely clutched in her hand. She tried to wriggle her arm free, but he refused to let her go.

Harry turned his head to look at her, and a small gasp escaped her parted lips. She had never seen him so menacing, not even when they fought about going to the Ministry that fateful night. Between clenched teeth, she heard him command, “Open the FUCKING DOOR!”

“I WON’T! NOT UNTIL YOU PROMISE YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE WITH ME!” Hermione screamed in return. She almost gave in when he raised his hand over his head as if to strike her, but the blow never came. Instead, his hand curled into a fist before he punched the door, enraged. He barely noticed the wooden chips that pierced the skin of his knuckles.

Harry’s eyes locked with Hermione’s as they stood by the door. His face and his eyes were red with anger, but he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t let go of her. Tears were threatening to break out from her eyes, and she bit her lip impulsively. “Harry, please…” she managed to whisper, reaching up with her hand to caress his cheek before he finally reacted, letting go of her arm and shoving her hard against the door.

Buckbeak let out another loud screech, and tapped his left talon against the floor menacingly. Ignoring the hippogriff’s outburst, Harry turned away from Hermione and walked toward the other side of the room, sitting with his back to the wall next to Beaky’s stack of hay. Through half-lidded eyes, he looked at the girl on the other side of the room, searching his weary brain for a way to get her out of his haven.

“I’m not leaving, Harry,” said Hermione, guessing his train of thought, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her, her eyes shiny in the darkness. He believed her; he had seen that look on her face before. She wasn’t backing out of this one.

Neither was he.

“Fine,” he said in a low whisper that carried all the way to the other side of the room, “You want to stay here, be my guest! But I am NOT going to talk about… about what happened. Got it?”

Hermione continued to nurse her wounded arm, her jaw set in resolve. Finally, she nodded. Harry watched as Hermione tucked her wand back in her pocket and leaned against the door. She slowly slid to the floor, crossing her outstretched legs in front of her.

Only then did Buckbeak sat back down between them, crossing his talons in front of him and resting his head on his knees.

Harry surprised himself when he realized he felt a rather perverse pleasure in the knowledge that he had hurt her when he had grabbed her so forcibly. Why? He had never been that type of person.

He found a reason why: he wanted to knock some sense into her, make her see one way or the other that she needs to stay away from him… for her own good. How can such a bright woman not realize that simple truth?

He closed his eyes and took another trembling breath. Slowly, but surely, he blocked out the smell, her sound, her presence, and he slipped into that wonderful state he had discovered weeks ago, a place that existed between sleep and wakefulness, where time and space had no meaning, where he couldn’t know the difference between night and day… and right and wrong… and life and death.

It was nirvana.

It was oblivion.

It was what he craved.

When Harry next opened his eyes, he instinctively knew many hours had passed. He couldn’t hear Hermione, and he vainly hoped that she had finally grown tired of him and left him alone. But when he looked up, a very unexpected sight awaited him.

Hermione was kneeling in front of Buckbeak, and she was reaching with her hand to stroke his gray feathers. She kept caressing the creature with unimaginable tenderness, until the wounded hippogriff raised his head and released a mournful cry.

Harry watched amazed as Buckbeak leaned his face into her hand, his yellow eyes looking intently at her. Hermione seemed to have been caught in a spell, leaning even closer to the deadly creature, and wrapping her arms around his thick neck, rested her forehead against his soft feathers.

He discovered that her mouth was moving. The words were unintelligible to him, barely reaching a whisper, but amazingly, Buckbeak seemed to understand, judging by the soft sounds he was making.

Tears were now running freely down her cheeks even as she continued speaking to the massive creature in the room. Hermione had not realized Harry was looking at her until he spoke.

“’What are you doing?” he whispered brusquely. He licked his dried lips, but it didn’t help much. He didn’t remember when was the last time he had water.

Hermione raised her head and leaned back on her legs, surprised that he had decided to speak to her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes again and fixing them on him, she answered plainly, “I’m speaking to him.”

“Why?” Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

“Because you are not the only one who’s lost someone they love,” Hermione coolly answered. She wiped her cheeks with the cuff of her jumper, and by the time she looked again at him, Harry had turned away, his gaze now hovering somewhere along the empty wall.

A grumble echoed in the room, and Harry recognized that it came from Hermione’s stomach. He tried to force himself to not care, thinking that it was her own damn fault for being so bloody stubborn, but the truth was he did care. He was used to get by for days without nourishment; after 15 years with the Dursleys you had no other choice. But he knew she wasn’t, and it hurt him to think she might be suffering.

“It’s late,” said Harry, still avoiding looking at her, “You must be hungry.”

“I am. Very much,” she answered with honesty.

“There’s food downstairs,” he offered.

“Are you going to go with me?” asked Hermione very softly. He shook his head in answer.

“Then I’m not moving,” she replied, her hand stroking under the hippogriff’s beak.

He curled his hand into a fist. She was going to make this more difficult than it had to be. “Then at least get your wand and summon something from the kitchen,” Harry suggested.

“Will you eat with me?” Hermione prodded in a gentle voice.

“I am not hungry, Hermione,” he answered automatically.

“If you won’t eat, I won’t either,” Hermione replied, turning her attention to the wounded hippogriff in her arms.

Harry had had enough. Turning to look at her, he jeered, “For Merlin’s sake, Hermione! Stop being so stubborn and get the fuck out of here!”

To his dismay, she just arched her eyebrow and gave him a very wry smile, “Stubborn? There’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

He bit his tongue before he could release all the expletives in the English language. Doing his best to control his irritability, he tried to make her understand, “Look, you are still weak from Dolohov’s curse! You need to keep your strength up, and you need to rest. Please, Hermione, I beg you! Leave me alone! Go home and stay away! You’ll only suffer more if you stay here.”

“Do you really care about my well being, Harry?”

The question caught him by surprise. How could she doubt that? He’d died for her. He was dying for her… for all of them.

”You know the answer to that question.”

He almost couldn’t see her dark chocolate eyes, but he felt the weight of her gaze in every fiber of his being, penetrating to his very core. The intensity of her gaze contrasted sharply with her quiet answer, “Then, think for a second… If I were behaving like you are doing now… if I were hiding in a dark room, wallowing in my grief, shutting everybody out while wasting away… would you let me?”

“Hermione…”

“Would you let me?”

For the first time since her arrival, Harry had no smartass reply to give her.

“I didn’t think so,” Hermione said quietly. Buckbeak gave another somber howl. She leaned closer to the creature and, to Harry’s amazement, dropped a kiss on the top of his feathery head. She finally stood up and walked back to the door as Buckbeak laid his head back on the floor, oddly looking as if he were finally in harmony.

Hermione took her jumper off before leaning back against the door and sliding back to the floor. She was wearing only a white sleeveless t-shirt that now revealed on her upper arm the red mark made by Harry’s hand.

“I’m sorry…”

She looked at him, tilting her head to the side in confusion.

“… for grabbing you so hard. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Harry finished, his voice barely audible across the room.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione nodded at him, signaling he was forgiven. They spend a few more minutes in the now familiar silence accompanied by the snoring of the creature now sleeping serenely in the middle of the room. Suddenly, Hermione stretched her arms upwards, yawning loudly, which caused the edge of her shirt to ride up. Harry became consciously aware that his best friend had indeed lost a lot of weight. His stomach tightened; it was his fault.

“You can take the bed,” Harry offered, nodding to the dirty mattress on the opposite corner. It wasn’t much, but it was the only furniture in the room remotely comfortable.

Hermione shook her head tiredly, “It’s okay, Harry. You take the bed.”

To her surprise, Harry used his hands to push himself from the floor. He wobbled a bit once he had stood up, obviously dizzy from lack of food and water and rest. He used the wall to steady himself, and once the room had stopped moving, he walked purposely toward her.

He was standing in front of Hermione when he extended his hand toward her and spoke a simple command, “Come to bed.”

She remained silent, looking up at him through the curtain of her long eyelashes.

“Please… for me,” pleaded Harry. Hermione finally reached up and took a hold of his hand. He helped her from the floor, and had to hug her against his body for a split second to steady her. But that was enough to make him realize how much he’d missed her. Breathing in her scent as his nose pressed against her hair, he felt warm and safe for the first time that summer. Taking a step back and shaking his head to push such thoughts out of his head, Harry gently pulled Hermione toward the mattress.

When they reached the bed, Harry pushed her kindly until she was sitting on the edge. Without any words, he knelt in front of Hermione, finally breaking eye contact as he looked down at her feet, slowly unlacing her shoes. He took them off her feet and placed them next to the bed.

He didn’t look up when he felt Hermione’s hand press against his cheek, the same cheek she had slapped many, many hours ago. It felt warm and cool and soft and delicate over his skin, and as soothing as murtlap essence.

“You are such a good person, Harry,” whispered Hermione, stroking his cheek with tenderness. He closed his eyes and leaned against her hand, reveling in the foreign feeling of security her touch provoked in him. Leaning closer to him, her eyes bright, she softly said, “Do you realize how much we care about you? How much we love you? How much we hurt to see you like this?”

That woke him up; to love him was to be sentenced to death. He won’t let any more of them fall to the eternal darkness for his sake.

Harry grabbed her by the forearm and yanked her hand away, because what had once been such a comforting touch now stung him. “Good night, Hermione,” he mumbled, standing up from the floor, turning around and walking toward his spot next to the hippogriff.

“Good night, Harry,” she sighed, her voice thick with exhaustion and heartache. She laid herself on the dirty bed and closed her eyes as Harry sat back on the floor.

He spent what seemed an eternity trapped in a single point in time watching Hermione’s sleeping figure, mentally capturing the way her hair fell over her eyes, the way her chest rose and fell with every breath she took, and the sound of her soft snoring.

He wanted to go to the bed and rest his head on her chest so badly, to hear her heart beating against his ear, to make sure she was alive and well and to believe, even for just one second, that what had happened at the Department of Mysteries had been nothing but a nightmare, and that tomorrow morning, he would join a healthy Hermione downstairs for breakfast with Sirius.

Harry closed his eyes, his head dropping of its own accord. Again, Harry fell willingly into the abyss, and endless void where nothing existed. The place he had called home for the last month.

A whimper. A cry.

Unaware of how much time had passed, Harry opened his eyes and looked toward the bed, only to find Hermione curled up into a fetal position, holding her hands over her stomach, whimpering almost imperceptibly as silent tears came down her cheeks.

Panic seized him immediately. “Hermione, what’s wrong?” Harry asked as he stood up, almost falling back to floor from weakness. He wobbled towards her, using the wall for support, until he finally collapsed on his knees in front of her. Harry smoothed her hair back from her now sweaty forehead, and looked down at her body to find her clutching her belly as if she were trying to reach inside and rip something out of her.

The realization of what was wrong with his friend suddenly struck him. It was the curse… it was Antonin Dolohov’s spell.

Hermione opened her eyes, but seemed unable to focus them on the boy kneeling next to her bed. “It’s okay, Harry… Madam… ugh… Madam Pomfrey said it would happen… from… aw… time to time,” she whispered in a strained voice.

“What can I do?” Harry implored.

“Come here,” Hermione whimpered, taking him by the hand and pulling him toward her. He jumped over her body and lay on the bed on his side behind her, his front to her back. Harry propped his head on his left hand, as she moved his other hand to her lower back and left it there. “Apply pressure with your fist; it eases up the cramps.”

Her hands went back to her stomach as he used his fist to knead the flesh on her lower back. Aside from the occasional whimper, Hermione remained silent, and if it weren’t for the brightness of the tears in her face, he wouldn’t realize she was crying.

Harry wanted to cry himself. He wanted to cry so badly that he bit his lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

She was in so much pain… and it was his fault.

Slowly, Hermione’s cries subsided, and she finally released a shaky breath and lay on her back, signaling the crisis had passed. Their eyes locked for a moment, before his eyes traveled down her body and settled over her stomach. He remembered that purple light that had flashed through her just before she collapsed, and he shivered as his right hand settled over her tummy. He was distressed beyond measure when he felt her insides move against his hand, like a giant snake looking for release by breaking through her flesh.

How acutely he wished he could have died before ever taking her with him that night.

“I’m so, so sorry, Hermione. More than words can say,” whispered Harry in a strangled voice.

“For what?” Hermione softly asked, her hand settling over his on her stomach.

“For not listening to you… dragging you to the Department of Mysteries… getting you hit with a curse… getting Sirius to fall through the veil…”

“You are not to blame for that,” Hermione quickly interrupted, reaching up with her free hand and smoothing back the hair that stubbornly stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“Why not? If I had listened to you, none of that would have happened! You would be healthy! Sirius would be alive!” Harry said between clenched teeth, refusing to give in to the urge to break down and cry.

“Harry, you can’t…” whispered Hermione in a shaky breath, tightening her hold on his hand.

“You want to know why I can’t sleep? … Because whenever I sleep, I see Sirius falling… I keep hoping to see him on the other side of the veil… but he never comes… he never comes…” Harry interrupted, his voice breaking.

Hermione couldn’t keep her emotions in check any longer, and she sobbed against him, momentarily unable to find the words to tell him all the things she wanted to say. The hand that was resting on her stomach started moving gently over her skin absently, for she knew that even when he was looking at her, he was not seeing her.

“Bellatrix’s laughter rings in my ears as I call to him… and I call and call… but he doesn’t answer,” he continued absently. Hermione still couldn’t find her voice, but she caressed his hair and what she could reach of his back, encouraging him to finally get what plagued him out of his chest.

“And I watch as the purple light passes through you,” he whispered shakily, sliding down on the bed until he rested his head on top of her belly. He felt her insides spasm against his cheek, and he closed his eyes to shut out the tears.

He took a deep breath before he continued, “And I see you crumpling to the ground… like a broken doll… I keep hearing my own voice in my head telling me that… that you are dead, that… that I killed you.”

A tear escaped through the corner of his eye, and more followed, until the Boy-Who-Lived found himself sobbing achingly, his body rocking against hers, his tears staining her white shirt.

Hermione hugged him tightly to her, her hands soothingly moving down his neck to his shoulders and down his arms. Her body shook with his as he finally gave in to the tears he had refused to shed since his godfather died.

“And… when I wake up… I pray to whoever is up there… to let me die… I want to die, Mione… before the nightmare becomes reality,” whispered Harry.

“Harry, listen to me…” Hermione tried to interrupt.

“Because I can’t take this anymore…”

“Harry!”

“My parents, Sirius, you… I can’t keep watching the people I love die because of me. It is better for me to die before I keep taking people with me,” he finished, planting a kiss on her wet abdomen, tasting the saltiness of his tears on her skin.

““Harry, look at me… please, look at me…” Hermione said, tightening her grip on his hair, and gently pulling until he raised his head. He continued moving until they were laying on their sides at eye level, their faces barely an inch away from each other. She let go of his hair and let her hand traveled down the side of his face. She took off his eyeglasses, leaving his soul naked for her to see. Her delicate hands continued their exploration of his tired face, feeling the wetness of his tears when she cupped his cheek.

Her tender gestures helped him to slowly calm down. Finally, Hermione spoke, “What happened to your parents is not your fault, nor what happened to Sirius… least of all, what happened to me. You want to blame someone? Blame Voldemort, Harry. Blame Bellatrix and Kreacher, and Malfoy and Dolohov. But not yourself, Harry. Stop punishing yourself.”

“But it was my fault, Hermione… it was because of me that you two were at the Ministry. I was the one that refused to listen to reason,” Harry murmured weakly, the hand that had been resting on her stomach now on her hip.

“You made a mistake, Harry. You are human after all,” Hermione softly replied.

“My mistake got my godfather killed. And it almost got you killed,” breathed Harry, lost in the golden brown orbs she called eyes. To think he almost lost the chance to look into those eyes again…

Hermione shook her head delicately, “You didn’t make me follow you, Harry. I chose to follow you that night. Sirius chose to go after you.” Cupping both of his cheeks now, feeling the not-so-young-anymore face, Hermione added, “Our choices… our consequences to bear.”

“I thought I had lost you, Hermione… I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe…” Harry confessed.

Once again, Hermione shook her head, and giving him a reassuring smile, she replied, “You haven’t lost me. I’m alive, Harry. Alive… and I need you. I NEED YOU! Ron needs you. Remus needs you.”

“It would be better for all of you if I were to die. Don’t you get it? You are a target as long as you stand by my side.”

She moved closer until the tip of her nose touched his, and making sure he could see the honesty in her eyes, Hermione hushed, “Harry, try and get this through your thick skull… I can’t be without you. Not anymore. You are too… too much a part of me. There is no me without you, Harry. It is not a matter of choice.”

Harry had no words with which he could reply, and the only thing he could do was lean into her hand in a tender gesture. Hermione smiled at him through her tears as she said, “I’d die without you.”

They remained like that for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes, tears falling into the mattress in silence, sharing the pain and the helplessness and the suffering and the doubt that the last few months had brought in.

It finally hit him. Harry wanted to laugh at how ridiculous his wish had been… no matter how much he pushed them away, Hermione, Ron and Remus were never going to leave him.

But, how was he supposed to let them stay by his side when the only thing he wanted was to keep them safe?

“I miss him so much, Hermione… and it’s only been two months. Please tell me how am I supposed to go on without him… tell me how am I supposed to go on when everyone I love is in constant danger,” he said with honesty.

Hermione sighed softly, letting her hands roam his face soothingly, and she said, “Harry, I don’t have all the answers. But we’ll find a way… together.”

He surprised her by giving her a small smile. Somehow, he believed it… When she said it, he truly believed it. She wiped the tears from his face, and smiled back

Hours ago, Harry had wished he could lay his head on her chest, that he could feel her beating heart against his cheek. At any other time, that action would have been inappropriate, it would have meant crossing a line he was not ready to acknowledge, much less defy. But at this moment, and at this time, Harry found no reason not to indulge in his wish.

His eyes seeking permission, Harry slid down the bed until she settled on her back and he laid his head on her chest, his arm draped over her waist. Ah, there it was, beating against his ear, strong and steady. The smile tugging at the corner of his lips grew a bit wider as he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.

Yes… his best friend was here… his best friend was alive.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly against her body, one hand softly caressing his shoulders, the other weaving into his dirty hair, her nails gently scratching his scalp. When she heard him release a tired sigh, she whispered, “It’s time to sleep, Harry. And when you wake up, we’ll get out of this room… you’ll take a bath while I make some pancakes. You want pancakes?”

He nodded against her, feeling as the tension started easing from his body as her hand traveled up and down his back and her heartbeat thundered under him. Her voice was like a lullaby, and it was coaxing him toward the loving arms of the Sandman.

“And if you think is the right thing, maybe we can talk to Dumbledore about letting Buckbeak fly for just one night. He’s been cooped up here for too long,” Hermione whispered, her own exhaustion showing in her voice.

“I’d like that,” Harry mumbled. A surprising sensation of calmness was flowing all over his body, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he finally gets some rest.

A question suddenly popped into his muddled brain, and he knew he had to ask it before going to sleep. “Hermione,” he muttered against her skin.

“What is it, Harry?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Harry could hardly form the words. Her hand on his hair felt absolutely wonderful, and this promised to be the first time in a long time he would sleep without nightmares. And it was all because of her.

“Why are you here. Why not Dumbledore? Or Remus? Or even Ron? Why did you give up the vacation of a lifetime, the only time you have to be with your parents, to lock yourself in a room with a stinky hippogriff and an even smellier friend?” Harry asked with an almost imperceptible smile.

Hermione chuckled dryly, “Honestly, Harry! If you need me to tell you why, you are not ready to know the answer. Someday, I’ll tell you. But not now. Be assured that I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

She raised her head and drop a kiss on his unruly black mop before whispering, “Now sleep. Tomorrow is a brand new day.”

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up.”

“I promise… tomorrow, and forever”

The two teenagers soon fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, unaware that the yellow eyes of the hippogriff were watching over them.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Present Day

And she had kept her promise.

That morning, no words were exchanged as they fed Buckbeak before leaving the room. Harry took a shower and washed the dirt and grime from his body, and by the time he came downstairs, Hermione had already made breakfast and was sitting at the table with a very-relieved Remus waiting for him.

Hermione stayed at Twelve Grimmauld’s Place until the middle of August, when her parents had returned from Tuscany. They were only apart for two weeks, and yet Harry missed her terribly. He had gotten used to their late night talks next to Sirius’ fireplace, where they talk about everything and anything, from his parents and his upbringing to her childhood, from his plans for the future to her dreams and desires, from the threat of Voldemort to their favorite movies, from what they wanted to buy in his next Hogsmeade trip to what lady could they hook up Remus with.

Sometimes, they sat on the couch and held each other’s hands as the tears flowed down their cheeks, and sometimes, they laughed out loud while playing Exploding Snaps, or wizard’s chess (Hermione was really terrible), or just sat in comfortable silence in front of the flickering flames of the fire. Sometimes Remus joined them, and sometimes, the older man seemed to know the kids needed to be alone.

Remus never asked what had happened in Buckbeak’s room the day Hermione arrived, and they never told him. In fact, Harry and Hermione never spoke about it either, not even to Ron, not even between them. It had faded from his memory, like a wonderful dream.

But their relationship had changed that day.

And now, two years later, when the boy was no longer a boy, but a young man bathed by the light of the full moon, Hermione’s words from that night echoed in his head.

“If you need me to tell you why, you are not ready to know the answer.”

It was an epiphany… a revelation.

What Harry was experiencing at the moment could be compared with standing in a field on a sunshiny day and being struck by lightning.

For as he stared into Buckbeak’s eyes, Harry dared to think Ron might have been right.

He dared to believe that Hermione might be in love with him too.

“Thanks, Buckbeak... I’ll... I’ll see you later.”

Feeling as if he were walking through a fog, Harry stepped away from the hippogriff and turned around, carelessly jumping over the fence and making his way back to the castle.

He couldn’t get her words out of his head... neither could he stop thinking about the implications that those words entailed.

The question remained... if Hermione had indeed been in love with him, does that mean that she was still in love with him? If she was, why was she dating Roger?

His heart sank at the mere notion that he had lost the chance to be with her.

But what if she still held those feelings for him? What was she waiting for? Graduation? Voldemort’s demise? For Harry to get his head out of his arse and realize that the girl of his dreams had been standing in front of him all these years?

In that land of uncertainty he know inhabited, Harry was sure of just one thing.

He needed to tell her.

And it wasn’t just because the effects of the potion would not cease until he dealt with his feelings. He needed to tell her because he knew she should know exactly why had he been acting so weird this past week, why he couldn’t stand Roger, why last night had been the most wondrous night in his seventeen years of life.

He needed to tell her how much he loved her.

He had wasted enough time... he couldn’t wait another moment without letting her know.

What happened next... if something were to happen... would be her choice. It wouldn’t change how he felt.

Not now... not ever.

He stepped into the castle, barely picking up the sound of the music coming from behind the closed doors to the Great Hall. The All Hallows’ Eve Ball was already in full swing.

Briefly, he had considered going straight through those doors, finding Hermione in the crowd and just blurting “I’m in love with you,” but he knew he wasn’t in his best fashions, not to mention that after spending God-knows-how-long in the company of Buckbeak, he now smelled like a wet dog.

The hallways were deserted as he made his way directly to the Gryffindor common room. As Harry had expected, it was empty except for a few third and second year students who were too busy cheering in a game of Exploding Snaps to notice the preoccupied young man that made his way up to his dormitory.

The room he shared with the boys was empty, although in a particularly great state of disarray. Seamus and Dean’s beds were full of clothes, shoes, and other articles, as if they had been in a hurry to find something in their closets. Neville’s night table had one object Harry had never noticed before... a hair gel bottle. And Ron’s... what the hell was that white fur on Ron’s bed?

Harry’s attention quickly shifted to the foreign box waiting for him on his bed. He took off his tie and threw it on the bed before picking up the piece of parchment that lay neatly next to the box. He immediately recognized Ron’s messy handwriting.

Hiya Harry,

Fred and George sent me this a few weeks ago, before Luna chose another... well, another costume for me so we could match. I think it will fit you nicely... just in case you decide to join us.

Your friend,

Ron

PS. She’s waiting for you, Harry. Don’t let her get away.

“Bless you, Ron...” Harry whispered with a grateful smile, laying the parchment on the bed before stripping himself of the rest of his vestments and stepping into the shower.

It was the longest shower Harry had ever taken. The scalding hot liquid didn’t bother him as he replayed again and again in his head the different scenarios he could encounter. He had never been good with words. In fact, Ron was probably the only person in the lot of Hogwarts who had a worst case than him of the foot-in-mouth-titis disease.

So, what words could he use to make her understand just how much he felt for her? To make her see through his eyes that she was the most wonderful woman in the world and that it would be his honor if she were to give him... them... a chance?

Where was a Hallmark when you needed one?

And what would he say if Hermione told him that she didn’t share his feelings? His chest tightened as he leaned his forehead against the cool tile, letting the spray of water pelt his back. What would happen then?

Will they be able to remain friends? From his part, the answer was a resounding yes. It would be hard, it would be painful, but she was too much a part of him to ever let go, and if he could only be with her as Harry Potter, best friend, then that’s whom he’ll be. But could she still be his friend even when she knew how much he desired her?

‘It’s Hermione you are talking about. She will never leave you.’

“There’s no me without you,” her whisper echoed in his head. And reluctantly, Harry smiled.

He knew exactly how that felt.

He stepped out of the shower and quickly dried himself with a towel before heading back to his room. Dressing in his favorite boxers (a novelty gift from Fred and George that had the words SEEKER written over his tush), Harry opened the gift box, took out the costume and laid it on the bed.

He chuckled dryly, recognizing the costume from a BBC special he had seen on the telly about a British composer.

He’s here... the Phantom of the Opera.

Harry tried not to think about the fact that the Phantom was a tale of a disfigured man whose love for a woman was not reciprocated. He doubted the Powers-That-Be would use this costume to try to communicate with him. Besides, the possibilities of Fred and George knowing about the muggle story before buying it was close to nil.

He had to perform a charm on the black trousers to compensate for the fact that he was a bit shorter than Ron in stature. The white crisp shirt fit him perfectly, for Harry was thicker than Ron around the arms and the chest. The black vest with its silver embroidery was a tailor’s masterpiece, and he was surprised to find that he didn’t mind having to wear the bone-white bowtie that came with the costume around his neck. He slipped into the black tuxedo coat with ease before looking at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

Even with the mess on top of his head that people call hair, he looked halfway decent.

He quickly picked up his comb and did his best to arrange his hair, but it always ended up sticking on the back. Harry looked with unease at the tube of gel hair on Neville’s dresser; he had never use any before, but he knew he had to look his best if he wanted to divert Hermione’s attention from Roger.

The hair gel seemed to do the trick for the moment, because for the first time in Harry’s life, his hair was behaving normally. He slicked it back before picking up the white mask from the package. He really wanted to wear the mask (he thought it would help him if Hermione couldn’t notice him blushing), but there he found a dilemma, for wearing his glasses over the mask would make him look ridiculous. But not wearing his glasses would mean bumping into everything and anything, and he would probably end up visiting Madam Pomfrey’s once again.

‘You’re a wizard, Harry. Start thinking like one.’

Harry grabbed his wand from the pile of discarded clothing and, touching his eyeglasses, performed a Disillusionment charm. He watched in the mirror as the glasses became chameleon-like and took the colors and contours of his face. Removing them slowly, Harry placed the mask over his eyes before putting them on again and walking to the mirror.

He was ready.

Harry left the safety of his room and walked out of the Gryffindor common room, making his way through the labyrinth of hallways toward the Great Hall.

On the way, something quite unexpected happened.


His scar suddenly burned.

It was a blinding blaze so violent that Harry fell on his knees. He grabbed his head with both hands, breathing deeply through his nose, trying to remember the Occlumency lessons Snape had given him.

‘Voldemort can’t be nearby... he just can’t... this is Hogwarts... this is Hogwarts... we are safe.’

Harry sat against the wall while the burning receded. There was no way in hell that Voldemort nor his Death Eaters could be here. Even when he had encountered a life-threatening adventure every year since coming here, he knew the Hogwarts castle was the safest building on the planet, with every conceivable charm in place to prevent the entrance of those who were not welcome.

‘It’s just the nerves.’

It was comprehensible, thought Harry. He was about to have the most life-altering conversation of his life, not including the revelation of the Prophecy at the end of his Fifth Year. His hands were sweaty even in the cool temperature, and he had to wipe his forehead twice before standing up and leaning back against the wall.

Harry cracked a half-hearted smile. Seemed his head was more willing to go off and fight Voldemort than to tell Hermione how he felt.

‘I’m doing this, whether you like it or not.’

Harry pushed himself from the wall, the burning now reduce to an imperceptible sting over his scar, and continued his walk toward the Great Hall.

Rounding the last corner, Harry collided with an unexpected object. The force of the impact was so strong than Harry fell back on the floor before realizing what was going on.

‘Great. First the scar and now this...’

“Hey, you okay –“ but his words died out. Standing up from the floor was none other than Draco Malfoy, dressed in black and red. Malfoy grimaced when realization dawned on him as to whom he had crashed into.

Harry instinctively reached in his pocket for his wand as he stood up. He really didn’t want to waste another moment, but if Malfoy was looking for trouble, he was going to find it.

“Gryffindor scum,” Harry heard Malfoy whisper. His temper flared, but he thought of Hermione, and the desire to get to her was stronger than the desire to pick a fight with this git. Biting his tongue, Harry placed his wand back in his pocket before walking right past Malfoy.

He hadn’t taken two steps when he heard Malfoy whisper, “Do us all a favor, Potter. Turn around and crawl back to the hole you came from.”

Harry looked over his shoulder in time to see Malfoy’s billowing cloak as the Slytherin rounded the corner. Um, that was strange, Harry thought. He had called him Potter... not Potty, not Pothead, not Scarface, not Saint Potter... he couldn’t remember the last time Malfoy had actually called him by his name. And his voice... the words were carried it in a tone Harry had never heard Malfoy use.

Turn around.

He scoffed... as if he would ever listen to Draco Malfoy. If Malfoy had a problem with Harry going to the ball, then let it be his problem.

Harry finally stood in front of the massive oak doors that marked the entrance to the Great Hall. Loud orchestra music could be heard coming from behind the doors, along with dozens of snippets of casual and cheerful conversation.

For an instant, such a strong sense of panic gripped Harry that he considered listening to Malfoy, turning around, going back to his room and hide under his bed.

‘I am not going back on this... not until I speak with her.’

Harry pushed the doors open and took a sharp intake of breath at the sight that awaited him.

The Great Hall had been decorated to look like an Opera House. The full moon could be seen behind a huge chandelier that was hanging from nothing in the middle of the hall, and dozens and dozens of candelabra and light spheres were levitating overhead. The house tables had been pushed to the side, and were filled to the brim with the most delicious looking treats that Harry had ever seen, his mouth watering with expectation. Balconies were hanging high on the sides, and crimson velvet curtains were hanging from those balconies all the way to the floor, forming small canopies.

What little he could see of the walls, though, amazed him, for they were alive! Scenes from famous books were playing all around him... Count Dracula holding Mina Harker in his arms, delicately touching her face, even when his eyes were burning with passion... Dr. Frankenstein flicking the switch, lightning crashing over and over against the machine that would bring his “monster” to life... an Egyptian mummy rising from his coffin and walking toward a group of archeologists... a man transforming into a muggle version of a werewolf and howling into the night... the three witches of Macbeth throwing the ingredients of their potion into their bubbling cauldron as they intoned their incantations... and many other scenes from books he did not recognized but was sure Hermione had read before she reached her ninth birthday.

‘Love, you have done the impossible... you’ve outdone yourself.’

There were two grand staircases leading to an elevated stage on what was once been the faculty area, with a grander balcony above the stage. On the stage, a short wizard waved his wand from side to side, directing the orchestra of ghosts that were playing their flutes, oboes, violins, trumpets, cellos and other instruments Harry did not recognized.

On the balcony above stood a good-looking wizard dressed in a muggle-style tuxedo, using what appeared to be a 1940’s microphone to sing. Harry laughed out loud when he noticed Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Madam Pomfrey and Madam Pince standing next to the balcony, clicking their wine glasses to the rhythm of the music, looking at the singer with obvious admiration and blushing when he winked at them. Professors Snape looked rather annoyed at their childish behavior, sneering as he sipped his goblet, while Flitwick and Hagrid looked as if they were about to burst into a song and dance duet.

“Hey Harry, about time you came!” Harry felt a pat on the back and looked down to see Colin grinning widely at him, a lovely Hufflepuff girl by his side. Harry smiled back before returning his attention to the students in front of him.

Merlin, how he wished he had a camera with him! His fellow students were dressed as everything and anything under the sun, from vampires and devils, to werewolves and mummies, to Flobberworms and Blast-Ended Skrewts, from musketeers to jedis, to classical masquerade costumes with peacock feathers and domino masks, and top-hats and cloaks, and... was that a giant bunny rabbit?

A lot of students were crowding the dance floor, swaying from side to side with the rhythm of the music, while others were chatting at the corners or gorging on the delicious food the elves had prepared for them.

A pair dressed completely in black was approaching him, and it took him a few moments to recognize that the girl in the skintight leather outfit and the guy in the full-length leather coat were his two good friends, Ginny and Neville, dressed like the characters of the Matrix. He had fond memories of watching the movie together last summer, when they spent the night at Hermione’s house after celebrating Harry’s birthday.

“Wow, Ginny... you look... whoa,” Harry said with sincerity, getting a grin from the redhead.

“I know. And doesn’t Neville look delicious enough to eat with a spoon?” Ginny said, turning her eyes to the young man next to her. Neville cough loudly, his ears shining red from embarrassment as he mumbled something that sounded awfully like “not here, love”.

“Hey, where’s Ron?” Harry asked, craning his head over the heads of his fellow students, actually trying to see if he could spot Hermione on the crowd. Neville and Ginny shared a knowing look and a secret smile before turning their attention back to Harry.

“Want my brother? Just look for the big, white, fluffy thing on the dance floor,” Ginny smirked. Harry frowned, turning his attention back to the dance floor when he recognized Luna, wearing a beautiful white gown, her shiny hair braided with golden thread, her wide blue eyes brimming with laughter. And dancing with Luna was...

The giant bunny rabbit.

Oh, sweet, sweet Ron... what have you done?

Harry looked back at Ginny and Neville with a questioning look, and the pair just nodded in reply, their smiles growing wider. Harry bit his lip, but it was to no avail, and he just burst out laughing. His tummy was aching by the time the laughter subsided, and he was wiping the tears from his eyes by the time he chanced another look at his redheaded best friend.

“Don’t worry. I already asked Colin to take a picture... can’t wait to show it to the Twins,” Ginny joked. They watched Luna and Ron as they stopped dancing and went to the nearby juice table.

“That’s our cue,” Neville said, and the three of them made their way toward the big and fluffy white mothball that was Ron. Luna was the first one to spot them, and she grinned widely when she saw who had joined Ginny and Neville.

“HARRY!” Luna said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, hugging him with such force she almost knocked him backwards. Ron positively beamed when he saw Harry, patting him on the back with a furry hand.

“Hiya, guys. And who are you supposed to be, milady?” Harry asked when Luna finally let go of him.

“I am Diana, a famous witch from the Greek and Roman eras. Muggles called Diana the Goddess of Nature and – “Luna started to explain, but was interrupted by her boyfriend.

“Love, Harry doesn’t need a lesson right now,” Ron said sheepishly.

“And you? What does Diana have to do with a rabbit?” Harry asked, biting his lower lip in an attempt to stop from laughing at Ron.

“He’s not a rabbit, Harry. He’s a gryndybuck... Diana’s familiar, now extinct. Goodness, Harry... didn’t you read the editorial in the Quibbler last month? A gryndybuck’s skeletal remains were found near the black mountains of Romania. Fascinating creature!” Luna said in such a serious manner that the situation only became funnier in Harry’s mind. Ron was by now blushing scarlet, but still managed to look dignified in front of his girlfriend.

“Ron does look awfully like a fluffy rabbit,” Neville added, eyeing the redhead critically. That was the last straw for Ron.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, I am NOT a rabbit! Look at my tail! Does this look like a rabbit’s tail to you?” Ron said, turning around. Indeed, his tail looked like a baby dragon’s tail, very incongruous against the white fur that covered his derriere. To top things off, he wiggled his buttocks, opening the way for Harry, Ginny and Neville to convulse from laughter.

“Blimey, you are all prats! Love, I’m going to get us some pudding. All that dancing made me hungry,” Ron groaned, kissing his girlfriend’s cheek before turning to Harry and saying, “You, come with me.”

The still-sniggering Harry followed Ron through the blockade of students toward the other side of hall. “Shut it,” Ron whispered between clenched teeth when they were out of earshot.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, wiping the tears that once again sprung in his eyes, “it’s just that... that tail is really menacing Ron.”

“Well, I don’t care one bit what you lot think. Wearing this bunny outfit was the only way that Luna would wear hers. I mean, have you seen her legs? They go on forever! And the way her skin glows... man, oh man... I’m so lucky,” said Ron with a goofy smile on his face, “I mean, she looks so good that not even Malfoy has made a comment about my costume. He’s been too distracted by her legs, I bet.”

Harry looked toward the doors to find Malfoy had indeed come back. He was standing to the right of the massive oak doors, Crabbe and Goyle standing on each side of him. Malfoy’s face looked unusually serious without his trademarks sneer as he completely ignored Pansy nibbling his earlobe, his gray eyes searching for something or someone in the hall.

What the hell had crawled up his butt and died?

“So... seeing Luna dressed like that makes it all worthwhile?” Harry asked Ron when they finally reached the pastry table.

“You can be sure it,” Ron grinned, taking a big bite out of a pumpkin pie, “And speaking of the things we do for those we love... Since you decided to join us... does that mean you are going to speak with Hermione?”

Harry gave Ron a rather nervous smile, but nodded with certainty.

“Merlin, I can wait to know how that turns out,” Ron smiled, his eyes brimming with happiness.

“Are you sure I’m doing the right thing, Ron?” Harry asked, suddenly needing his best friend’s reassurance.

“Can you really stand the thought of Hermione not knowing how you feel, mate?” Ron asked softly.

Harry could only shake his head.

“Then don’t wait a second longer,” Ron cheered, slapping him on the shoulder playfully.

Harry used the chance to ask the question he was both dreading and hoping to ask.

“Do you know where she is?”

“Of course, I know. I always keep an eye out for my best mate’s girl,” Ron said, biting into a delicious-looking fudge bonbon. He closed his eyes and smiled dreamily, savoring the sweet treat for so long that Harry lost his patience.

“AND? WHERE IS SHE?” Harry blurted. Ron used his head to nod toward the front of the dance floor. Harry looked in the general direction, and it only took him a few seconds to spot her.

“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?”

Harry barely had enough working neurons to nod absently at Ron as he gazed at the object of his affection.

Hermione’s long and shapely legs were inviting to the touch through the slits on the side of the white embroidered gown, which reminded him of the illustrations of Greek goddesses he had seen in books. The hairs in the back of his neck stood on end when he chanced a glance at the low-cut v-line that revealed more of his best friend than he had ever seen, her curves accentuated by the golden pendant she wore around her neck. Her shoulders were bared except for the delicate clamps that held the dress together.

There was a dash of gold and silver glitter on her arms and shoulders, and he could almost imagine how they would feel if he were to run his hands over them, how it would feel to move aside the dress clamp and kiss her bare shoulder.

Harry pushed those thoughts out of his head when his eyes traveled upwards. Oh, how he loved those glorious brown curls! Her hair glowed by the light of the hall, and every strand seemed to be made out of priceless Egyptian silk. Two braids held together behind her head by a pearly clasp framed her face, except for the loose tendrils that rebelled against the confinement. His hands trembled at the thought of burying themselves in those curls, feeling every silky thread under his fingertips.

And her face... oh dear Lord, have mercy on him.

Hermione positively glowed as she smiled up at her dance partner, the most adorable dimples decorating her face, with just a little bit of blush on her cheeks and rosy gloss on her lips. Instead of a domino mask, she had a smattering of glitter around her eyes, adding to her already surrealistic beauty.

How could he have been so blind? How could have spent so many late-nights studying, talking, or just sitting next to this girl and not fully comprehend the extent of her beauty?

‘Because you love her for who she is... not for what she looks like.’

‘Although, it is a welcome bonus.’

“Go get her tiger,” Ron said, giving Harry an encouraging pat on the bum that sent the emerald-eyed boy yelping. He glared at Ron’s retreating figure before reaching for a nearby partygoer’s glass of pumpkin juice and gulping it down in one go. His mouth felt so dry and heavy he thought he had lost all ability for speech.

Like the Red Seas parting for Moses, the students in the dance floor unconsciously made way to for Harry. It didn’t take him long to recognize the Praetorian dancing with Hermione as Roger Davies. Harry didn’t know if it was common sense or jealousy, but he thought Roger looked absolutely ridiculous in a skirt.

‘You’re just jealous because you can’t pull that Scotsman look.’

The song ended, and Hermione and Roger parted to join in applauding the singer. The singer announced a five-minute break, a break Hermione and Roger used to approach one of the snack tables. Harry just stood there, about one meter away, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, feeling as nervous as he had felt when she had suggested the moonlight ride, thinking that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Hermione certainly seemed to be enjoying her time with Roger. The two were laughing and talking as they sipped the warm butterbeers they had picked up from the table.

‘Maybe this was a mistake. I mean... if Hermione wants to have something with Roger, who am I to ruin it?’

‘Stop it! Just stop it! You came here to tell her... let her decide! You owe her much more than that!’

Before he knew it, Harry found himself standing behind Hermione. He was close enough to smell her lavender shampoo, and once more he found his mouth was so dry he could hardly open it. But the sound of her familiar voice was somewhat soothing as she spoke with Roger about the enchantments playing on the walls. It was enough to make his brain start working again... somewhat.

‘Alright... you’ve never been in this situation... but you’ve seen movies about it. You know what to do. Just be cool, calm, collected... suave... charming... and you’ll swept her off her feet.’

‘As if Hermione would ever be impressed by that.’

‘Have a better idea?’

‘...’

‘I didn’t think so. Now, let’s get this show on the road,’

Apparently, Roger did not recognized Harry in his getup. So might as well strike two birds with a stone: introduce himself to Hermione... and piss Roger off.

“Excuse me,” Harry asked, doing his best to smile seductively, winking at Roger before turning his attention to Hermione, “I am looking for my best friend. You see? I promised I would save the first dance for her... and there are girls waiting for their turns.”

Hermione’s shoulder had tensed a little at the sound of his voice, and while Roger just looked at him with confusion, Hermione turned around, her mouth hanging slightly open.

The smile... along with his cool, calm, and suave plan... went right out the window.

“Harry?” Hermione gasped, grinning like mad as she looked up into the masked face of her best friend. Harry could only nod; she looked even lovelier from this distance. Before he knew it, Hermione was giving him a bone-crushing hug that he shyly returned by hugging her with the slightest of touches around the waist.

“Oh, I’m so glad you came,” Hermione whispered in his ear before giving him a small peck on the cheek, making him blush violently when she finally let go of him and step back.

“I’m glad I came too,” Harry whispered hoarsely, before clearing his throat unceremoniously. He forced himself to be polite and greet Hermione’s date, “Hello, Davies.”

“Hello, Potter. Nice to see you decided to join our little party,” Roger said, giving a nod to Harry, and... was that an actual smile? What had that Ravenclaw been smoking?

Hermione gave Roger a nudge on the ribs before turning her caramel eyes back to Harry. Again, Harry experienced the magnetic pull of those eyes, and felt as if he were drowning in the whirling of colors and shapes reflected on them.

“Y-y-y-you look great, Hermione,” Harry stuttered nervously. Hermione just lowered her head shyly, a sudden blush creeping on her cheeks.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Harry,” Hermione said, raising her head, her hands going up to straighten his bowtie. The boy once again felt the need to clear his throat of an imaginary obstacle while racking his brain for something, anything, he could reply to that that wouldn’t make him look like a complete loser.

An odd silence followed, one that Harry used to look toward his other friends in search of encouragement. He didn’t found them where he had left them, although he did find Ron standing by the stage, speaking to the singer, pointing at something down below. What was he up to?

It became quite evident what Ron’s plan was when the singer turned his eyes toward the dance students and, looking at where Harry and Hermione were standing, said into the mike, “This next song is dedicated to the most wonderful feeling in the world... love... and to two people in the audience that were lucky enough to have discover it.”

“4...3...2...1... hit it.”

As soon as the first notes of the song reached their ears, Hermione beamed, her eyes drawn to the stage, “Oh, this is one of my favorite songs.” Harry watched from the corner of his eye as Roger looked from Hermione to him and back again before releasing a sigh.

“You know what? I’m a bit knackered. Potter, would you mind terribly dancing with my date? I bet she wouldn’t want to miss it,” Roger said, a small smile at the corner of his lips. Hermione seemed as surprise as Harry was by Roger’s request, judging by the way she looked at the Head Boy over her shoulder.

Surprised or not, Harry wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.

“It would be my pleasure,”’ Harry whispered rather solemnly as he extended his hand toward Hermione. She seemed to hesitate for an instant before placing her hand on his. Giving Roger a fleeting glance over her shoulder, Hermione allowed Harry to guide her toward the middle of the dance floor.

“What is The Gryndybuck Formerly Known As Ron doing on stage?” Hermione suddenly asked when her eyes landed on the stage. Ron seemed to be having a bit of trouble walking through the orchestra, judging by the way he was trying to unhook his tail from the thankfully unused tuba horn. Harry mumbled something incoherently as they reached a spot that allowed them some movement without bumping into the other couples.

“This looks like a good spot,” Harry whispered sheepishly as he turned on his heel to stand in front of Hermione. The young woman nodded softly as one of her hands traveled to the back of Harry’s shoulder. He raised the hand that was still joined with hers to the side before tentatively placing the other one on her waist, painfully conscious of the warm skin hiding under the thin material.

‘Remember, Potter... front, back... side to side. You can do it! Just like you did last night... before you fell on top of her and tried to snog her senseless, I mean.’

They started moving to the beat of the song before the first words reached their ears.

Crash...
Would you like me to forget myself
and lose myself
in you?

“Y-y-you really look go-go-gorgeous, Hermione. Who-who are you supposed to be?” Harry stammered timidly.

‘Smooth, Potter. As if the sweaty hands, the light shivering, and the spacey expression in your face weren’t enough to make her see what a dolt you are.’

“You mean the costume?” she asked, her cheeks slightly flushed by his confession.

Harry nodded.

Push...
Just one push will do
then I’m overboard.
Drowning in you.

“I’m dressed as Helen of Troy,” Hermione answered.

“Helen who?”

“Helen of Troy. Honestly! don’t you remember History of Magic?”

The blank look on Harry’s face was the only answer she needed.


“A witch in Ancient Greece, of great beauty and wisdom, who was caught in the middle of a power struggle between two empires,” Hermione said. She added with uncharacteristic shyness, “She was said to be ‘the face men went to war and die for’.”

I hear a whisper slowly and
soon our lips will be near.

“Oh, THAT Helen of Troy. Well, I can see the resemblance now,” Harry replied, giving her a small but sincere smile. She looked up at him, her eyes showing their disbelief.

“Very funny, Harry. I hardly think men would go to war for me,” she whispered, laughing as she added, “I just wanted to wear a cool dress for once.”

In between the day and night
I step into the blue twilight.

He wasn’t laughing. In fact, his expression was so serious it caught her off guard.

Catch me, darling catch me.

How could she doubt herself? How could she not think she was beautiful? But then again, his Hermione had always been insecure about her looks. If only she could see herself the way he saw her.

As he stared into those drowning pools that she called eyes, Harry said the only thing he could think of that might make her think twice before doubting herself.

“I would go to war for you.”

Hold me back.
I think I’m falling
over you.
What did you do?

‘And I would die for you too.’

To say the least, Hermione was so surprised by the simple statement that she was rendered temporarily speechless. She was stunned not only because of the words, but also of the unmistakable sincerity his voice carried.

Help me now.
I’m losing me...
into you.
What did you do?
What did you do?


They gazed at each other’s eyes for a little while before Hermione looked away and replied, “Thanks, Harry. That’s... that’s really sweet of you to say.” She smiled before adding, “Although I don’t know if I should trust the opinion of a four-eye that is not wearing his eyeglasses.”

He smiled at that, loving the relative familiarity in the conversation, “Who told you I wasn’t wearing them?”

“Disillusionment?” she asked, arching her eyebrow in disbelief. Harry nodded rather smugly. “I’m impressed, Mr. Potter.”

“I aim to please,” Harry replied, his eyes drifting toward the edge of the dance floor. He almost choked when he saw Ron, Luna, Neville and Ginny standing by the stage, making strange hand gestures and mouthing something that he couldn’t quite decipher. After a few moments, Harry realized his friends were telling him to look at the other couples in the dance floor.

Harry did just that, and was surprised to find Hermione and himself were the only ones that were dancing so far away from each other. The other couples had their arms wrapped around each other, the females around their partner’s necks, the guys circling their date’s waists, their bodies so close that they almost touched (he tried to ignore the ones that were downright rubbing). Looking back at his friends one last time, now understanding that they were trying to tell him to pull Hermione closer, Harry thought it wasn’t such a bad idea, for his legs felt as if they were going to give out at any moment, and she could help him with his balance.

Walk.
I walk a line that leads to you...
waiting... anticipating.

With an unusual surge of confidence, Harry guided the hand that was joined with his to the back of his neck. Hermione just looked at him, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in puzzlement. He didn’t trust himself to speak just yet, so he just allowed his hand to drift to her waist.

“We don’t want to stand out from the others,” Harry whispered huskily when he dared to tighten the hold on her waist.

Desire...
has no safety
to lead you on the road.
Going crazy.

“That, we don’t,” Hermione whispered, her voice sounding an awful lot like his. She then did the unthinkable and wrapped her arms behind his neck, the distance between them considerably lessened to the point her body was brushing against his.

I hear a whisper slowly and
soon our lips will be neared.

Harry wanted to feel her silky curls against his skin, to bury his face in the crook of her neck and never come out.

Hold me back.
I think I’m falling
over you.
What did you do?

Hermione closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his cheek, not unlike she had done the night before. Sweet Merlin! If this was what torture felt like, then please let him be tortured for the remainder of his existence.

“I never did tell you... I absolutely adore your costume,” Hermione said in an attempt to strike a conversation.

Help me now.
I’m losing me...
into you.
What did you do?
What did you do?


“Recognize it?” Harry asked, painfully aware that she was stroking the hairs at the back of his neck absently.

I hear you whisper slowly... darling.

“Of course,” she smiled.

He couldn’t help but smile too as he teased her, “Don’t tell me... you read the story when you were 10 years old.”

In between the day and night
I step into the blue twilight.

“7, actually,” Hermione answered, leaning back just enough to look up into his face and grazing him with a bright smile.

‘That’s my Hermione.’

Hold me back.
I think I’m falling
over you.
What did you do?

“Did you like it?” Harry asked, feeling his own breath on his lips as it bounce back from her skin.

Help me now.
I’m losing me...
into you.
What did you do?
What did you do?

“Very much,” she whispered. Her gaze lost somewhere in her mind’s eye, she added, “Although I was never too fond of the ending.”

What did you do? I think I’m falling.

“Why?” he asked with genuine interest, unaware his fingers were tracing random patterns on her lower back.

What did you do? I think I’m falling.

“Because I could never understand why Christine chose Raoul over The Phantom.’”

Help me now.
I’m losing me...
into you.
What did you do?


“I would have given everything to have someone who loved me like He loved Her,” Hermione finished.

‘I do love you like that.’

What did you do?


Harry and Hermione seemed not to notice the song’s ending, as judge by the way their arms were still wrapped around each other and they continued to sway from side to side.

Hermione didn’t know if it was because she could not see his glasses, or because his eyes were framed by the delicate white mask, but she thought she had never seen that particular shade of green in them, like the green of a lush mountain just before it gets hit by a storm.

Harry thought that the moment had arrived. He had planned on speaking to her, on explaining his feelings and his intentions, and in asking her for her opinion. But this... the turmoil in her caramel eyes, the way her lips were slightly parted, the gloss glinting by the light of the sphere overhead, tempting him as if she were the Devil himself... her breath, which smelled faintly of pumpkin juice... it was too much for a sane man to resist.

So Harry tilted his head...

...and leaned in...

‘This is it.’

...only to lose his balance when someone knocked into him.

‘DAMN IT! NOT AGAIN!’

Harry regained his balance before crashing into Hermione once again. Thankfully, some of his fellow dancers assisted him. After making sure Hermione was okay and steady on her feet, he quickly turned on his heel to give the person a piece of his mind.

Actually, he wanted to kill whoever had interrupted. He recognized Goyle’s retreating back as he stepped out of the dance floor with his date in tow. Harry was tempted to reach into his pocket, take out his wand and hex the living daylights out of Goyle when he felt a familiar hand on his forearm.

“Let it go, Harry,” Hermione whispered soothingly as she took her place by his side, “Don’t let that caveman get you in trouble.”

Harry looked to his right, his hand working on autopilot as he searched for her hand and took it in his own, feeling her squeezing his fingers in support.

“Well, Mr. Potter, I already collected on my first dance,” Hermione said, looking down at their joined hands for a moment before looking back up at him, “You are free to go around the Hall and impress other girls with your dancing skills. But don’t forget to mention I was your teacher.”

She winked at him before turning around on her heel and taking two steps.

‘Oh, I’m not letting you go so easily... not now...’

Before she could go any further, though, she felt his grip tighten on her hand as he pulled her gently back to him. Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, puzzlement written on her face.

“Look, Hermione... I... I have to talk to you... somewhere more quiet,” Harry confessed, feeling once again as if his wobbly knees were about to quit on him.

“Right now?” Hermione asked with a slight frown.

‘Yes... because I’m a coward when it comes to you and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the guts to tell you again.’

Harry nodded.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she finally smiled and said, “Sure. Let me tell Roger.” She turned around and, this time, he did let her walk away as he left the dance floor. He watched from a distance as Hermione reached Roger, who was talking with three good-looking Hufflepuffs dressed like the Witches of Eastwick, and whispered something in his ear.

Roger searched the hall for something or someone, and Harry couldn’t help but frown when Roger’s eyes landed on him. He actually felt like squirming under Roger’s acute gaze when the Ravenclaw finally turned to Hermione and nodded, giving her a rather strange smile before whispering something in her ear and kissing her cheek with tenderness.

Harry actually wanted to get jealous by that display of affection, but surprisingly, he found he couldn’t. There was something odd about the interaction he had witnessed so far between Roger and Hermione, something he had never seen before. Roger seemed more genuine and at ease around her, and Hermione seemed to be enjoying that change in character a bit too much.

‘Does that mean I am too late?’

That single thought plagued his head as Hermione nodded to Roger and walked away, going straight toward him. Harry’s eyes burn from not daring to blink, afraid to lose her in the crowd, until he found her standing next to him.

Hermione took him by the hand, squeezing lightly, with a smile that made his stomach do violent summersaults.

“I’m all yours, Harry.”

“W-W-What?” he choked. Thank the heavens that he wasn’t drinking anything or Hermione Granger would have been one wet woman.

“You wanted to talk... somewhere more quiet,” Hermione added, once again puzzled by his behavior.

Harry nodded dumbly.

“Want to go to the terrace? You look a little pale... a bit of fresh air might do you good,” Hermione said, her expression changing from patient to concern.

“Yes... let’s... let’s go,” Harry whispered, allowing Hermione to guide him by the hand toward the curtains that hid the East terrace.

This was the moment of truth.

He just hoped he would remain conscious to see it to the end.

He was in daze, feeling strangely feverish as Hermione guided him by the hand toward the East terrace. She moved aside one of the wine-colored hanging curtains to reveal the door to the balcony. She turned her head to the side and gave him a soft smile before twisting the doorknob and stepping into the balcony.

Two steps behind her, Harry had no idea why Hermione suddenly stopped to gasp humorously, nor he knew why she had released his hand and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Ahem,” Hermione coughed dramatically, a rather mischievous expression on her face. Harry heard a flutter of movement before he reached Hermione’s side to see Parvati and Dean, with bright cheeks, puffed lips and messed up hairdos, trying to appear as if they hadn’t been snogging each other senseless just a few seconds before.

“The party is inside. You don’t want to miss it,” Hermione said in her best Head Girl voice, still looking rather amused at the embarrassing situation. Parvati just scowled at her while Dean mumbled his apologies and, straightening their clothes, walked by Harry and Hermione on their way out.

Harry was about to ask Hermione if she had had trouble keeping in check many couples tonight, but was caught short when she placed her finger in her lips and shushed him softly. Still with that rather cocky grin, Hermione walked toward one of the hanging curtains that decorated the terrace and quickly moved it away to reveal Seamus and Lavender, caught in the same peculiar situation as Dean and Parvati just moments ago.

“Hermione, we… we…” Lavender tried to explain, straightening her dress and standing up from the floor. Seamus was so red he looked like an Irish Weasley as he searched the floor for his discarded bowtie.

“You obviously got lost. The ball is that way,” Hermione said with ease, pointing toward the door. Judging by the relieved expression in their faces, they were thinking they had gotten away with it easily. Mumbling things unintelligible to both Harry and Hermione, Seamus grabbed Lavender’s hand and started leading her out of the terrace.

“Oh, Seamus,” Hermione called just before they stepped outside. Both Seamus and Lavender jumped a bit at the sound of his name, but finally looked at Hermione over their shoulders. “Your fly is open,” she added with a serious expression. Seamus’ eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of their sockets at any moment as the Gryffindor released Lavender’s hand and zoomed to his crotch… to find his fly zipped all the way up.

“Psyched,” Hermione winked maliciously at the pair, who was so embarrassed they probably were not going to try anything else tonight. They finally left, allowing Hermione to turn her attention back to Harry.

“That was rather wicked of you,” Harry smiled back, loving when she showed her impish side.

“It works better than a cold shower. Don’t you think?” Hermione said, walking toward the door and closing it.

He didn’t know if it was because he was anxious and incredibly nervous, but his heart started beating twice as fast when he heard the door click shut.

“That it does,” Harry mumbled, thinking that a cold shower didn’t sound like a bad idea at this moment. He watched in silence as Hermione turned around and reached the balcony’s edge, resting her elbows on the rail and looking up into the night.

He followed her until he found himself leaning on the rail next to her. Harry didn’t dare to look at her for fear his courage would fail him once more. So he settled in mimicking her movement and looking up into the sky.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” she whispered with solemnity. Harry did take a good look, and couldn’t help but agree. There were no clouds to shield the night from their eyes. The sky was filled with stars, some twinkling silver, others with tinges of blue and pink, small compared to the breathtaking full moon that now hovered directly above them.

‘But not as beautiful as you.’

“It is,” he sighed, looking down at his hands. They felt unusually cold and clammy at the moment; he resisted the urge to wipe them on his trousers, and settled for slightly drumming his fingers on the rail.

“So… we are here… alone.” Hermione whispered after a long silence, turning slightly to her side so she could face him. A shiver ran down his spine when she heard her asked, “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Right,” he whispered, attempting to clear his throat of an imaginary obstacle. He clamped his hands together and leaned all his weight on the rail.

“Hermione,” Harry started, hoping the quaking in his voice was noticeable only to him, “… as you know, I’ve been acting a bit… well, a bit queer this week.”

“Queer? Honestly, Harry!” she replied. He saw out of the corner of his eye as Hermione cocked her eyebrow and, added, “You’ve been downright mental.” The humor in her voice and the wry grin on her face was enough to get him laughing genuinely. He thought it was a very good sign that he could still laugh in his particular emotional state.

“Alright, I’ll admit it. I have been kind of mental,” he said when Hermione nudged him playfully, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Her wry expression morphed slightly, until her eyes shined with sympathy and she whispered comfortingly, “I know there’s something on your mind.”

“You ever wondered what it is?” he mumbled absently, trying to buy time to organize the chaotic thoughts in his head.

‘Maybe I should have thought about this a bit better.’

‘So you could have talked yourself out of it?’

“Constantly,” she answered with the honesty that so distinguished her, “And I’m constantly hoping that you will tell me when the time is right.”

“Yeah… I…” Harry started saying, when he chanced looking at her. He hadn’t been expecting her to be standing so close, to have her penetrating eyes focused solemnly on him, and it distracted him from his next words. His mind drew blanks over and over again as he tried to recapture his fleeting thoughts.

“You what, Harry?” Hermione urged.

“I-I… and who are you supposed to be?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, frowning in genuine puzzlement, “You already asked me that.”

‘Damn!’

“Right… Right… Helen… beautiful witch… men die for her… right… I knew that…” Harry mumbled rather incoherently, his eyes going back to watching the moon, for staring into the cinnamon pools that were her eyes left him dizzy and helpless.

‘Great. Just add a bit of drool and she’ll think you are having a stroke.’

All trace of amusement had left Hermione’s face. Looking rather worried for her best friend, he heard her ask, “We didn’t come here to discuss my costume, did we?”

“No,” he chuckled without humor, for he suddenly realized that his situation would be funny if he weren’t in the starring role.

“Harry, what is it?” she pleaded in a whisper, “You know you can trust me with anything, right?”

“I know I can trust you,” Harry nodded, gulping down hard. With a sigh, he added, “I’ve known it for what feels like… like forever.”

More silence. This was an insanely uncomfortable situation for him. He had never been good with words, and knew he was even worse when it came to feelings. How could he have expected this to go any different? When he was a child, he came to think his name was “Freak” and that “I love you” was a phrase only used in TV dramas. He had never said to a girl that she was “beautiful” or that she was “nice” or even that he even “liked” her. How was he supposed to tell his best friend of almost seven years that he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, that she was the nicest thing that ever happened to him, and that he liked her as more than friend?

How was he supposed to tell her he loved her?

“Are you okay?” Hermione finally asked when the silence became intolerable to her, leaning a bit closer to him in what he knew was another way of saying that she was there for him.

“Yeah… I’m… fine,” he lied. And he thought all Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous… the Hat had really messed up his sorting.

“Then what’s wrong?” the young woman whispered, resting her small hand in his left forearm.

That was the trigger.

His eyes fell on her hand. Like the frames in a movie reel, images started playing in Harry’s head, memories of all the times his best friend had done that seemingly unconscious gesture of holding onto him… moments of fear, of courage, of pain, of happiness, of anger, of kindness, of loss, and of hope… and moments when there was no other reason or motive but to let him know that he wasn’t alone.

And he wasn’t alone now, for he realized that, no matter what the outcome of this conversation turned out to be, Hermione will always be by his side.

“You are smiling,” she stated plainly, surprised but not taken back by his sudden change in mood.

“I was just… I was thinking about the past,” he whispered, his eyes still locked on her hand.

“Why don’t we start with that? Tell me what you are thinking about,” Hermione said, her thumb now tracing circles on his arm. Absently, he shifted until he was facing her, but his head remained lowered and his eyes locked on his arm and the impression of her hand, pale against the dark material of his tuxedo.

“I’m thinking… I’m just thinking about the first time I held this hand,” Harry started, his voice sounding strangely calm, as if he were a mere spectator in this terrace, and not the reason why they were here.

“It was the day they found you on the hallway… after your encounter with the basilisk,” he continued. Unconsciously, he reached with his right hand until he touched the back of her hand with his fingertips. “You felt so cold… so still… as if you were carved from stone… as if you were dead. I remember looking at you and feeling scared… terrified really… at the thought of losing you.”

His hand started moving of its own accord while he continued, “I remember there was one night… I couldn’t sleep. So I took my Invisibility Cloak and decided to wander around the castle. My feet had other plans though, for they took me straight to you. I sat on the bed next to you… and held your hand one more time. And I just started to cry…”

Harry heard her trembling sigh, but it was muted… distant. His own voice sounded distant, for the only immediate thing for him was the soft glowing skin he felt under his fingertips, “I felt so guilty, Hermione… guilty for not being there with you when it happened… felt helpless… helpless because I couldn’t do anything about it… and I felt lost, Hermione, so lost… because I thought you weren’t there anymore to help me… to guide me.”

She remained silent, but it was a silence that spoke volumes. The way she was holding onto his arm, the way she breathed, the way her hand was trembled… they were all a testament to the emotion his words caused on her.

“And then,” he continued, “I found the answer to the mystery of the Chamber in your hand. You were there with me, Hermione… even if you were petrified… you were my helper… my guide.”

Harry finally seized her hand in his own, “And you’ve been my guide, Hermione… my anchor… ever since. You stood next to me when we thought Sirius was coming after me to kill me… you stood by me when we found out that Peter Pettigrew had betrayed both my parents and Sirius, and was a servant of Voldemort. You were by my side during our fourth year… even when Ron doubted me… even when your friend Victor was one of the champions competing against me…”

His voice did not sound anymore like the voice of an spectator, for it shook with unconcealed feeling as the words kept coming out, “And you were with me during our fifth year, when I behaved like a stupid brat, angry with the world and everyone in it for the hand that faith had dealt me… even when my own stubbornness led to Sirius’ death.”

“Harry, don’t say…”

“You help me deal with my guilt, my pain, my anger… even when your own life is in danger… And when you don’t agree with something I’m going to do, you try to stop me, and you don’t back down even if I get angry or treat you badly… and even if that doesn’t work, you still stand by me… you still guide me.”

In an unintentional gesture, Harry guided her hand to his chest, where it rested flat just above his heart. It felt as if they were touching skin to skin, as if no layer of clothing existed between them. He knew she could feel his heart hammering wildly his chest, and it was comforting to know she didn’t pull away. The sensation was so intense his eyes fluttered shut, and for a few moments the only thing he could do was to feel.

That was how he felt with Hermione… how he had always felt with her. With her, there were no pretenses, no hidden secrets, and no lies.

He was naked in front of her, a nakedness that did not made him feel vulnerable, but safe.

“You keep me honest, Hermione… you keep me true… you keep me alive,” said Harry with solemnity, reveling in the warmth her comforting touch provided him. He rested his hand in top of hers on his chest, his fingers curling around hers, silently wishing never to let go.

“Harry,” Hermione breathed in a trembling voice, “why are you telling me this?”

“Because something happened this week that made me realized something I had refused to acknowledge,” Harry said, drowning in emotions and sensations he never thought he would experience.

“What?” she whispered, her hand caressing his chest absently. The gesture made Harry’s insides flare, and he had to stifle the reach and run his fingers through her glorious hair, to touch her lips to see if they were indeed as soft as they looked.

But he didn’t want to scare her. What he did do, thanks to his newfound bravery, was something he had not done during the entire course of his confession: he raised his head and allowed his eyes to connect with hers in that mystical bond he only shared with her.

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, leaving him no doubt that she was as overwhelmed with his words as he was, “That I need you… that if it wasn’t for you, I’m not sure I’d be here.”

“Don’t say that,” she protested, shaking her head as an errand tear fell down her cheek, the glitter on her skin sparkling brighter than ever before. She used the hand that had been resting over his heart to wipe it before it reached the corner of her lips. Lowering her head, Harry watched her bite her lower lip in that uniquely Hermione way, trying her best to gain control of her emotions.

“It’s true,” Harry whispered, his other hand traveling to her chin, tilting her face up until she could see into his eyes again, “And I have to apologize for taking you for granted…”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Harry,” she argued, “That’s what friends are for.”

“That’s just it, Hermione…” Harry breathed deeply before continuing, “you are not just my friend.”

“You are so… so much more,” he finished. His eyes darted back to the sky, and to the memories of the night before, when they had been flying together over the pitch, when she had told him the story of the Moon, when nothing else in the world existed but the girl in his arms and the love he felt for her.

Hermione laughed rather nervously, “Don’t be silly, Harry…”

“Last night, you told me a story about the Moon, and how the Moon was lonely because she couldn’t get close to the Sun… the one she loved… because he would burn her,” Harry whispered, lost in the memory, his thumb now caressing her jaw line with incredible tenderness, “And what you said about understanding how the Moon felt. And I remember wondering last night as to who could be so foolish to burn you… to hurt you.”

“Who could be so foolish to not see that the girl of his dreams was standing next to him for a long time… and do nothing to get you close?”

Harry noticed that she was holding her breath, her eyes shining with wonder and trepidation. She had her undivided attention, for her mouth still hung open from the protest that had died in her throat when he had started speaking about the night before.

“And I realized that maybe… just maybe… the answer was in front of me every time I look at the mirror,” he finished, lowering his head momentarily to hide the sudden rush of blood that had crawled onto his cheeks.

“Harry, what are you - ” Hermione started, but her voice became so constricted she was unable to continue. He raised his head and looked into her eyes one more time.

He was standing on the final threshold. The words that would come out of his mouth next would determine the fate of his friendship with this beautiful woman in front of him. He could just thank her for all the things she’s done for him and walk away. His secret would still be his and his alone, his love for her an unknown.

Or he could tell her that she was his oxygen… that he’d live and die for her… that she was the Moon to his Sun… that he wanted nothing more than to bring her closer and never let her go… that he’d rather hear her voice than any other sound in the world… that with her he felt he could reach the skies without the aid of brooms or spells… that she’s the first name that comes to mind in the morning and his last thought when he goes to sleep.

And to tell her that she makes him believe all that he had heard in all those silly love songs.

His heart swelled and stretched to greater heights, and he realized that there really was no choice to make.

He was past the point of no return.

“I… I think I love you.”

His confession was simple, unadorned, but it was enough to elicit a gasp, her hand covering her mouth in an attempt at modesty. He would be amused by her reaction if he didn’t felt as if his knees were going to give up on him at any moment.

“I… don’t think,” Harry shook his head, chuckling nervously, “I know, Hermione.”

“I love you.”

A lone tear fell from her eye, only to die in the palm of Harry’s hand.

“And I… I’m wondering if you… you feel the same for me.”

For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing but the sounds of their heavy breathings echoing in the terrace. She did not move, and neither did he. Their eyes clung to each other, Harry pouring his entire soul for her to see, and Hermione… he was not sure what he was seeing there. Was that confusion? Hesitation? Fear? Happiness?

He suddenly thought he recognized the expression on her face.

It was as if she was looking at him for the very first time.

‘Because she has never seen me as more than a friend.’

He felt his heart shatter into a million little pieces.

His hand dropped, and he stuck both his hands inside the pockets of his trousers. His eyes fell on the floor, not wanting Hermione to see him so broken.

So, Ron had been wrong. Hermione obviously didn’t love him the same way he loved her. Knowing her as he did, Harry imagined she was probably running in her mind a thousand different ways to tell him “Thanks… but no thanks” without hurting his feelings.

If she only knew that her silence hurt him more than her words ever could.

“You know… you can tell me to go eff myself,” he sighed, “But please, say something.”

“I’m… I’m just… just… I’m just… speechless…” Hermione stammered.

“I guess there really is a first time for everything…” he winced, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to hide the pained expression on his face.

She either didn’t get the joke, or she didn’t find it funny… probably the latter.

“Look, Hermione,” he started, biting his lip when he heard his voice breaking, “I’m not expecting anything from you.”

He looked up to see the tears running silently down her cheeks. He ached to see her like this. “I just… I just wanted you to know,” he said truthfully, hoping that would make her feel better, “I thought you deserved to know… just how much you mean to me.”

He watched as a violent shudder ran through her body, She bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and looked away, her hands going to her face and covering her reddened eyes. She turned to her side, but he could see her trembling still as she took breath after shaky breath in an unsuccessful attempt to regain control.

“I’m s-s-sorry, H-Harry…”

“It’s no big deal,” Harry said, mustering a half-hearted smile, his hand instinctively going to her shoulder. Realizing what he was about to do, he pulled back without touching her, for he knew that touching her would hurt too much. How ironic that what he wanted was just in his reach, but a million miles away.

“I think I’ve said enough for tonight,” Harry sighed, his hand returning to his pocket. He had an irresistible urge to just disappear from the face of the Earth, “I’ll be in the common room if you need me.”

Harry turned around and started to walk away. With every step, his heart grew heavier, until he could feel the prickling of tears in his eyes. He didn’t want her to see him like this, for he knew it would make her feel worse.

Besides, he never should have expected this to go any differently. He never had any proof that Hermione was in love with him, only vague glimpses of something that he couldn’t classify.

So why, now that he knew how she felt, did it hurt so much?

‘Because I dared to believe.’

He had taken a leap of faith… only to come crashing down into the ground.

His hand had just reached the doorknob when…

“STOP!”

The emotion was still thick in her voice, but her command came out strong, almost defiant.

Harry did stop, but he kept his hand on the door, unwilling to turn around and look at her, for he felt the tears already flowing down his cheeks, and he refused to let her see him cry.

“Turn around.”

He suddenly felt very cold. Why was she doing this? Why couldn’t she just let him walk away with at least some of his dignity intact?

“Please.”

He sighed shakily. Who was he trying to fool? Not even in the worst of situations he could deny her.

Like a man about to face the firing squad, Harry let go of the doorknob and slowly turned around. Hermione was still standing by the rail, shivering, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry whispered softly, “the last thing I wanted to do was to make you…”

He never got to finish the sentence, for in a surprising move Hermione closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his waist. He barely had enough time to process this new development when Hermione buried her head on his chest and started weeping, but not the trailing tears that she had shed before, but raking sobs that emanated deep from within.

He hesitated for just a few moments before placing his arms around her and pulling her closer.

“I’m so sorry, Mione… so sorry…”

His own body was shaking from the force of her cries as his eyes looked up into the night’s sky. Damn it! Why had he been so stupid as to take Ron’s advice?

Absently, he kissed the top of her head, his hands traveling up and down her back, trying his best to be of comfort. It was torture for him to be so close… to feel her body pressing against his… to bury his nose in her hair… to have his hands on her skin. And yet, Hermione’s well-being was his one and only concern.

He rocked her in his arms as he would a small child, and Hermione slowly started to calm down. “Please, don’t be sad,” whispered Harry, “Nothing is going to change between us… nothing.”

A lone teardrop finally escaped the confines of the white mask and landed on the crown of her head. Maybe it was his words, or maybe the wetness of his teardrop, but Hermione finally calmed down enough to raise her head and look into his eyes.

“But Harry, you don’t understand…”

He cupped her face in his hands with unbelievable gentleness, using his thumbs to wipe the wetness from her cheeks.

“I do, Hermione,” interrupted Harry, “I know you don’t feel the same way I feel toward you… and I know that you have such a big heart you are now feeling guilty.”

“But Harry…”

“Don’t feel bad, Hermione. Please,” he shook his head like a stubborn child, “I just… I want you to be happy. That’s all I want. And if that means standing Roger, then I guess I’ll have to…”

“Will you shut it and let me speak?”

He cocked an eyebrow. Hermione sounded rather annoyed and a little exasperated, a complete opposite of the emotional wreck she had been just moments ago. Harry looked into her reddened eyes to find the unmistakable look of determination that was pure Hermione.

“Oh… okay.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione disentangled herself from Harry’s arms, and with uncharacteristic agitation started pacing in front of him as she spoke, “First of all, haven’t I taught you anything about how to deal with girls? Honestly, Harry! You just don’t go and tell her “I love you” without warning. And you sure as hell don’t walk away afterwards!”

“Err… sorry. I just… I just…”

“Furthermore,” she stopped pacing just when she was in front of him, closer than she would normally be, and whispered, “Stop assuming.”

“Assuming what?”

“Assuming you know how I feel.”

Harry was too stunned to form coherent words, and could only watch her release a sigh before she turned around and slowly walked toward the rail. Hermione wiped the last of her tears before leaning on the rail and looking up at the moon.

Harry didn’t know for how long they remained silent, but it seemed to last forever. He leaned back against the door and just watched her, his best friend, her hair cascading down her back, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath she took, the moon light reflecting off the glitter in her skin, her gown so white it seemed to shine… like a mirage of an angel.

She was the first one to break the silence, “Remember earlier today? When I told you I couldn’t have lunch with you and Ron because I needed to meet with Roger?”

Harry nodded, not realizing she couldn’t really see him.

“You want to know what we spoke about?” she asked.

“I… I guess,” Harry replied truthfully.

“I told him… that I was going to go to the ball with him tonight… but that I couldn’t date him anymore. That it was a mistake to have started in the first place…” she sighed, rubbing her hands together absently, “That I wasn’t being truthful to him… or to myself, for that matter.”

That got Harry’s undivided attention.

“Harry, I’m in love with someone.”

He felt dizzy and out of breath, and he could only rest back against the door and close his eyes her words echoed in his head.

‘She’s in love.’

‘She’s.in.love.’

“I’ve been in love with that person for so long that… that I really didn’t know any other way to be. But he didn’t love me as I loved him,” Hermione continued, her voice soft and melodic and full of emotion.

“I waited… waited for him to wake up one day and see me for what I was… the young girl… not girl… woman… who was willing to give up anything and everything for him… who loved him for who he really is and not for what everybody else wants him to be.”

He opened his eyes, and felt the dampness of tears trail down under the mask, down his cheeks and chin. Surprisingly, he found he was not embarrassed one bit, for there were too many emotions in his heart to leave space for shame.

“And I waited, Harry… I waited for him for so long that I… I lost hope,” Hermione went on, “I thought it was a lost cause… and I thought I was wasting my youth on a dream that was never to be fulfilled.”

“So on Monday night… after I went to visit you in the hospital wing… when I came back to the common room to find Roger waiting for me, I thought… I thought that this man was offering me something I wouldn’t experience any other way… a chance to be loved… not as a friend… not as a sister… but as a woman,” said Hermione, looking down to her hands and rubbing them together.

After a few moments, her eyes went back to the moon as she continued, “So I took the chance, and agreed to start dating Roger, thinking that maybe… just maybe… it would help me to forget about my silly little dream…about a love that was not meant to be.”

Still in a daze, Harry realized that his feet had started moving of their own accord, and he was now standing just two feet away from her, spellbound by her words.

“Last night, you told me that, for once, I should think with my heart.”

“And I did, Harry… I really did.”

“And I realized I had been wrong… on so many levels.”

“I realized I would never forget about him… I realized I would never forget about my dream…”

“I realized I would never stop loving him…”

“And I realized that it would always be so… even if I had to wait for just one minute… or the rest of forever.”

In the midst of his pain and heartache, Harry smiled. Hermione sounded content with her decision, and if this is what she really wanted… then he would learn to be happy for her.

“If it makes you happy, then I’ll be there… I’ll help you wait for as long as you want,” said Harry, running a shaky hand through his hair, “And when he does realize, Hermione, because he’s bound to wake up and see… tell him I think he’s the luckiest man in the world.”

To his surprise, Hermione snorted, shaking her head from side to side in disbelief.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, turning around to look at him. He was taken back to see her sporting such a wide smile as she rested her elbows on the rail, her eyes filled with humor, even if they were still bright with tears.

“You can tell him yourself… tonight” she said, giving Harry a lopsided smile that only served to confuse him more.

“He… he… he’s here?” the young man whispered, wiping the moistness that had accumulated on his chin.

“Honestly, Harry!” Hermione grinned at him, “You are the world’s greatest man…but you can be a bit dense sometimes.”

Hermione stood up straight and started to inch her way toward him. He had not been expecting this, and he was rooted to the spot. Had he angered her? Was she disappointed that her best friend had not figured out the identity of the person she loved?

“That night we spent together at Grimmauld Place, you asked me why I had chosen to be there with you. Do you remember?” said Hermione, finally reaching him. She was standing so close the hem of her gown brushed against his knees, looking up at him with an inconspicuous expression in her face.

Even with her reddened eyes and nose, she was a sight to behold. He could see the golden specks in her chocolate eyes, count every eyelash that framed them, every freckle that kissed her cheeks, even the small scar just over her hairline she got when she was six and fell while playing in the kiddie park.

The last time their faces had been this close was that night, when they had grieved together for the death of their friend and the beginning of a life without him.

Her nearness now had the same effect on him as her nearness then.

It soothed him. It calmed him. And it gave him strength.

“How can I forget?” he replied, his eyes wandering over her face as if trying to memorize her features. It had been one of the most painful, beautiful and cathartic nights of his life.

Just like tonight.

He wasn’t prepared to see her hands reaching up and settle on his face, touching the edge of his mask, and pulling it away. The white mask, along with his glasses, fell to the floor with a soft clink.

He felt chills run up and down his arms as her hands started to caress his tear streaked face, gently and without hurry. He drowned in the overwhelming sensations of her fingers tracing the contours of his naked face, first his jaw, then the tip of his nose, his cheekbones, the curve of his eyes… until her hands finally dug into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as her fingers weaved into his raven locks.

‘Why… Why is she doing this to me? Can’t she see how much it…’

Unexpectedly, she tilted his head down, until her lips were barely an inch away from her. He didn’t have time to wrap his head on what was happening, when he heard uttered those magic words.

“Well, I think you are ready to know the answer.”

Her mouth found his.

‘Oh. My. God.’

Harry experienced a moment of pure bliss as he had never experienced before, a moment when nothing else existed but the woman he loved and the sensations she aroused in him. The instant her lips fell on his, Harry’s eyes fluttered, and then shut. His own arms snaked around her, one settling in the small of her back, bringing her closer, the other pressing behind her neck, driven by instinct to pull her harder against him.

‘Pumpkin… Merlin, her lips taste like Pumpkin…’

Harry sensed a change in her, and he grew afraid that this… whatever this was… was going to end soon. Just when he thought Hermione had realized her mistake and was about to pull away, she opened her mouth to him and deepened the kiss, her tongue claiming him like a proud conqueror. Driven by instinct, he pushed his velvety roughness against hers, and she moaned into his mouth, and for a moment Harry thought he might be dreaming, for reality had never been this good to him.

This was real magic, Harry thought, not the type of magic performed with complicated incantations and wand movements, but a pure, simple and sweet type of magic he’d never known or even suspected could exist in this world.

Her lips, lips that had haunted him, lips that had made him wonder and fantasize and dream and lust after… were simply divine. They were made for him, he thought absently, because there had never been a more perfect fit.

Harry breathed into her mouth, relishing in the sensation of her fingers lightly scratching his scalp and now tangled in his hopelessly wild hair. His own fingers reached inside Hermione’s hair, relishing in the silkiness of every strand against his roughened palms.

This is it, he thought. This was the fates’ reward for 16 years of heartache.

‘I am the one.’

For finally, Harry Potter realized Hermione Granger, the person he loved like no other on God’s green earth, was also in love with him.

In her kiss, he felt himself die… only to be reborn.

His lungs were already burning from the lack of oxygen when he felt her lips pulling away, not a trace of fear remaining in his heart.

When he opened his eyes, Harry found Hermione with her eyes still closed, her cheeks flushed, her breath ragged and her lips slightly parted. It was a sight that had the same effect as her kiss, for it took his breath away.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, giving him a rather shy smile, one that he returned gladly.

“Does that answer your question, Harry?” Hermione said in breathless voice, her eyes glinting with feminine pride.

He rested his forehead on hers and just drowned in her eyes. His heart felt like it was ready to burst from sheer happiness, and yet he couldn’t find the words to let her know how much this meant to him.

“Actually, I was sort of distracted for a moment,” said Harry, giving her a lopsided smile, “would you mind repeating it?”

“Cheeky,” whispered Hermione before her lips settled on the corners of Harry’s mouth, teasing him playfully. He couldn’t resist the temptation to capture her lower lip and nibble on it. Oh, he will never be able to taste pumpkin pie without thinking of her! Hermione giggled for what was probably the first time in her life, tightening her hold on his hair and kissing him fully, turning his legs into jelly.

When she pulled away, she looked up at the disarray she had made of his hair and couldn’t help but laugh. She ran her fingers through his head in an attempt to smooth it back. “Sorry about that,” Hermione said in a breathless voice, her tone showing she was not really sorry that all.

“Feel free to make a mess of my hair anytime,” Harry laughed, tightening his hold on her waist. He couldn’t resist the temptation to lower his head and capture her lips in another sweet kiss.

Sometime later, Hermione laid her forehead on Harry’s chin and closed her eyes, a contended sight escaping from her parted lips. Harry knew exactly how she felt as his hand ran up and down her spine and buried his face in her hair, letting her sweet lavender scent embrace him.

But there was something he needed to know. Harry was almost afraid to speak for fear of breaking the magic of this moment, and yet, he knew the subject could not be avoided.

“What happens now?” whispered Harry softly. With her arms still wrapped around his shoulders, Hermione lean back just enough so she could look him in the eye. And she asked him the question no one had ever asked him before.

“What do you want, Harry?”

Harry didn’t need to search his soul to know what he wanted. A tiny voice inside his head that sounded an awful lot like his whispered about the dangers Hermione would be facing if Voldemort and his goons found out how Harry felt for her, whispered about the media scrutiny that had plagued him for many years and would surely befall on her, whispered about the Prophecy that loomed over his head, and if it would be fair to her to be involved with a man whom at any moment could go off to fight a battle from which he may never return.

But there was another voice in his head, a voice that was louder and more resolute. It was the same voice that had encouraged him all week to tell Hermione of his feelings… a voice he had been hearing for a while in his head, that had saved him countless of times from doing to wrong thing and the worst of times.

Her voice.

A voice that now was reminding him that he had finally found what he had been looking for… a person that loved him as much as he loved her, a person that was willing to stand by his side through thick and thin, through good and bad.

He had finally found home.

And for the first time in his life, Harry knew no pain, no anger, no fear, no hopelessness, and no guilt.

He knew only his heart’s desire.

Harry cupped her face with affection, his thumbs caressing the arches of her cheeks, and lowered his head until he knew she could look him directly in the eyes.

“I want you… to be my girlfriend,” started Harry, planting a feather light kiss on her forehead, his hands delicately traveling from her cheeks to her shoulders.

“I want you… to be my fiancé,” he added, kissing her cheek tenderly, tasting the saltiness of a teardrop that escaped her eye. His hands slowly traveled down her arms, feeling her shiver under his touch.

“I want you… to be my wife,” he trailed, landing another kiss on the tip of her nose, his arms circling her waist and pulling her flush against him. Only then his eyes left hers as they traveled down her face and settled over her lips, his body trembling with desire.

“I want you… I want you to be the mother of my children,” he said, claiming her lips with his own, pouring every emotion he felt for her into that kiss as if it were their last.

His lips finally released hers and once again Harry found his eyes locked on hers. Dear Lord, did she know what she did to him when she looked at him like that? Tears were coming freely down Hermione’s cheeks, but Harry did not doubt they were tears of happiness, for she was looking up at him with a smile that could brighten the night.

“And if I die, I want to die an old man… by your side,’ Harry finished, resting his forehead on hers, shedding the final threads of the mask he had wore over his emotions for as long as he could remember, his eyes screaming how much he loved her and how much he needed her.

Hermione placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, feeling overwhelmingly delirious by the feeling in his eyes and the knowledge that she was indeed the cause.

“So, first things first,” whispered Harry, wiping her tears away with the palm of his hand, “Hermione Granger, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

Hermione gave him a rather cheeky smile, as her hands traveled back to his hair, lacing her fingers into it and pulling him down until their noses touched.

“What do you think?”

Hermione gave him another one of those kisses that Harry thought existed only in movies, pouring her heart and soul with every caress of her lips and touch of her hands.

Merlin, not even in his wildest dreams would he have imagined his Hermione to be so passionate.

‘My Hermione.’

She gave him one last butterfly kiss before her eyes fastened on Harry’s, her soul bared for him to see. And then, she said the words he had ached to hear all his life.

“I love you, Harry.”

‘She loves me.’

‘SHE.LOVES.ME.’’

His lips descended hungrily on hers as that single thought echoed in his head like a mantra. Her admission didn’t surprise him as much as the fact that he believed her.

Oh, if a dementor were to attack now, the bastard was going to be in a surprise, for Harry Potter was the happiest man in the world, and would be able to conjure up a patronus so powerful no one would dare stand against it.

“Thank you,” whispered Harry with honesty, resting his forehead on hers as her nails started playing with the hairs in the back of his neck.

“For what?” she breathed against his skin.

“For not giving up on me…” he laughed, “…on us.”

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for green eyed best friends with slightly borderline personalities,” she bantered in good nature.

“Lucky me,” he replied cockily, leaning in and kissing her one more time. Not even he could believe that less than an hour ago he had been a blubbering fool trying to find the right words to tell this girl how he felt, and now he felt more confident than he could remember feeling before.

Just another wonderful side effect from feeling loved.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Harry, trailing kisses down her chin all the way to her neck. He heard something that sounded between a moan and a giggle, but didn’t know if it came from her or from him, “specially considering you just booted four people out of here from doing the same thing.

“Took you long enough. And besides,” she chuckled throatily, a sound that sent a bolt of electricity throughout his limbs, “what’s the fun in being Head Girl if I can’t abuse my power from time to time?”

“Amen to that,” he whispered, his lips nipping the flesh of her shoulder. He was addicted to her, and nothing about her would ever be enough for him.

“Harry,” she moaned, a tinge of something that sounded like regret in her voice, “as much as I hate to say this… we have to go back.”

“Why?” he pouted against her skin for what probably was the first time in his life, “I thought we could stay here for a while… or forever.”

“We’ve been here for a while,” said Hermione, her hands rebelling against her words as they held him close, “I need to get back to Roger.”

He tensed against his will, more out of habit than out of any real fear. He relaxed in her arms when that little voice in his head reminded him that He was the one she loved, not Roger.

Yet, he couldn’t pass the opportunity for a little playful banter, “Oh, going back to your old boyfriend already?”

“Honestly! I’m supposed to be helping him in keeping the students in check,” said Hermione, jokingly punching his shoulder, “Besides, Roger was sweet enough to tell me today that you were already in love with me… you just hadn’t quite realized it.”

Harry lean back to look into her eyes, and was pleasantly surprised to see that she was telling him the truth. That would explain why Roger asked him to dance with Hermione, not to mention that strange look he sent Harry’s way when she had excused herself from the party.

Wow. Talk about having the wrong impression.

“I’ll build him a shrine,” Harry smiled, kissing her forehead tenderly, “but that still doesn’t make me want to go back in there when we could stay here and…” He finished the thought by reaching up and caressing her lower lip with his thumb.

She shivered under his touch, but managed to smirk as she said, “We’ll have the rest of our lives for that, Mr. Potter.”

Now it was his turn to tremble, for her words held promises of enough stolen kisses, fleeting caresses, and whispers of devotion to last a lifetime.

“Now, let’s find your glasses and go back to the party. I want to dance with my Phantom again,” Hermione said, using her index finger to wipe the gloss from his lips.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Harry quipped, reluctantly disentangling himself from her arms and turning around, his eyes now roaming the floor in search of his glasses. He found his mask by the corner of the terrace, and bend down to pick it up. But he couldn’t see his glasses anywhere. Already fearing they might have gone over the rail, he suddenly remembered he had disillusioned them. Chiding himself for his showmanship, he fell on all fours and started patting the floor near the corner to try and feel them.

An appreciate whistle reached his ears, and he looked over his shoulder to see Hermione, one hand on the doorknob, the other one her hip, looking at him with a strange glint in her eyes.

“Just what are you doing over there?” asked Harry, evidently amused by the look on her face.

“Just enjoying the view… and I’m not talking about the starry night,” smirked Hermione.

His hands closed on the frame of his eyeglasses just as her words sank in. He choked nervously as he slowly rose back on his feet. Her good-natured laughter was so contagious he couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“I’ve never seen this side of you, Miss Granger,” said Harry when he turned around and started to walk toward her.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she winked. He took her hand when he reached her side and raised it to his lips, planting a feather light kiss on her knuckles. Her hold tightened on him as Harry continued to stare at her arm, his bright smile shifting to a more contemplative expression. Silence soon followed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was natural.

“I’m afraid. I’ve never been in a relationship,” he said, his eyes still holding onto her hand, “I don’t want to… I don’t want to screw up and lose you… not as a girlfriend… and definitely not as my best friend.”

“I’ve never been in a relationship either, Harry,” Hermione replied, cupping his cheek tenderly, “but I love you. We’ll learn about this… together. And besides, no matter what happens between us…”

“I’ll always be your best friend.”

“I love you. And I’ll never get tired of telling you,” said Harry, his voice thick with emotion, before kissing her knuckles one more time.

“And I’ll never get tired of hearing it,” replied Hermione, leaning in to kiss him one more time.

Yep, he definitely was going to get used to this.

She gave him another pulse-accelerating smile before turning the doorknob and opening the door…

Only to have four bodies fall flat on the floor, one on top of the other. Good for them that the big white fluffy thing was the first to fall… he kind of lessened the impact for the others.

“How long have you four been eavesdropping?” Hermione asked as Neville helped Ginny and Luna to straighten up.

“Long enough to know I am 10 galleons richer!” Ginny said happily as she pushed herself from Ron, who was still face first on the floor. She then went straight to Hermione and Harry and hugged them both with such force she almost knocked them to the floor.

“Does it have anything to do with the bet you made with Lavender and Parvati after Harry broke up with Cho?” Hermione said, arching her eyebrow knowingly when Ginny let go of her.

“You know about that?” Ginny asked, her ears going red with embarrassment.

“I do,” Hermione nodded, smiling cockily, “And I expect you to donate all proceeds to S.P.E.W.”

“She will,” Neville beamed, throwing his arm over Ginny’s slumping shoulder before patting Harry affectionately on the back, “I am going to make an honest woman out of her.”

“You two are no fun,” Ginny stuck her tongue out at them. A muffled curse reached their ears, and they look down to find Luna struggling to get Ron the White Rabbit off the floor.

“Anybody have a camera?” Harry asked, grinning genuinely, before he and Neville gave Luna a hand.

“FINALLY! Thought you guys were leaving me down there,” Ron said as soon as he was back on his two feet.

“That’s what you get for being a busybody,” Hermione quipped, squeezing Ron’s nose.

“Ah! Cut it out! I just wanted to make sure Harry didn’t suffer another occurrence of the foot-in-mouth-titis disease he’s been having lately,”

“I am happy to inform you that he’s recovering,” Hermione said, before Ron leaned in and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.

“I’m very happy for you,” Ron whispered on her ear as her arms went around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. He had no trouble in returning her hug with earnest.

“And you,” Ron continued, turning his attention to Harry once Hermione released him, “you better remember that being my best friend won’t exempt you from getting your arse kicked if you hurt her.”

“I told you before: I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Harry smiled, offering his hand to Ron in a handshake. Ron looked at Harry’s hand, and finally took it, surprising Harry by pulling him into an affectionate hug.

“You deserve to be loved, mate… remember that,” Ron whispered before letting go of Harry and reaching for Luna.

“This is going to be a night to remember,” Luna said, hugging Harry and Hermione simultaneously.

Harry didn’t remember very well what they spoke next. Every voice was muted as he watched his Hermione… his best friend… his girlfriend… speaking to the two girls. Her eyes had never shone so brightly; her smile had never been so wide. It had been years since the last time he had seen her so cheerful.

“How does it feel?” Ron said, resting his arm on Harry’s shoulder.

“Like I died and went to heaven,” Harry replied, giving Ron a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, guys. The last act is about to start,” Neville, who had been watching the party by the door, announced.

“Oh, we can’t miss this!” Ginny said, grabbing Hermione by the hand and pulling her toward the door. Hermione reached for Harry’s hand and pulled him with her, giving him a reassuring smile over her shoulder.

Their relationship may be new… but this need to reach out for each other definitely wasn’t.

Harry let Hermione guide him back inside the party, a smile etched on the corners of his mouth, as he absently thought that he was returning to the party a different man.

He was no longer nervous. No longer lonely. No longer alone.

He had found his missing piece.

He was finally complete.

Little did Harry know that that the universe was a system of equilibrium.

That on the magical night his dreams had finally come true…

… so would his horrifying nightmares.

As Hermione lead him by the hand back inside the Great Hall, Harry wondered why had he been so scared to reveal his feelings in the first place. Now that they had gone through it… whatever the step that they had just taken was called… he realized that it was just the next natural step in the evolution of their friendship.

They had already loved each other as only best friends could… now it was time to be in love.

Back inside the hall, Harry barely noticed that all the students had risen from their chairs and were now packed on the dance floor, looking ahead at the stage. The final performance was about to start, and this was something nobody wanted to miss. The five friends followed Ginny as she tried to find a spot big enough so they could sneak closer to the stage. It was proving to be quite the impossible task.

“About time you came! You’ve been gone for an hour!” Harry heard a voice called from somewhere to their right. He and Hermione looked simultaneously to find Roger approaching them.

“Sorry,” said Hermione sheepishly, her cheeks showing a hint of pink that was not there before, “time flies.”

“So I see,” Roger replied with a playful grin, his eyes traveling from Harry and Hermione’s intertwined hands to their swollen lips. “Specially when you are having fun.” Patting a stunned Harry on the shoulder, Roger ribbed, “Damn it, Potter! When I told Mione you were bound to get your head out of your bum sooner or later and figure out she was the one, I didn’t think it was going to be this fast!”

Oh, the calming effects of being happily in love… he didn’t feel the need to break each and everyone of Roger’s bones when he heard him call her by her pet name.

“Took him long enough,” joked Hermione. Seeing the easiness with which those two treated each other, Harry knew he had underestimated the fact that Hermione could be good friends with others outside their circle. Roger indeed was her friend. “And speaking of fast…” she continued with a playful smirk, “How did it go with the Hufflepuff girls?”

“Already got two dates lined up,” the Ravenclaw answered, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, “It would be a shame if the fact that you broke my heart would stop me from spreading the love to all beautiful women out there.”

“Have they played a song yet?” Luna casually interrupted, nodding toward the stage. Roger shook his head tiredly.

“No. They just got on stage … they are being a little too dramatic for my taste. They should just get on with it and stop with the drama. It’s a band, not a theater troupe!” he shouted to no one in particular. Harry looked distractedly toward the stage. Three hooded figures stood there, their heads low, their backs to the audience, dressed in black cloaks that reached all the way to their ankles as an invisible chorus reached the middle verse of “Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi.”

“Well, we might as well stay here,” said Ginny grumpily, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing a very dirty look toward the packed dance floor, “there’s no way we’ll be able to squeeze in there.”

“Don’t worry, Ginny… I promise you front-row seats for their next concert,” Neville offered with an easy smile. His girlfriend turned toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck and started to sway with the music.

“I’ll be more than happy with last row seats if you can get a nice, dark corner for a little make-out,” the little redhead said slyly, planting a small kiss on the corner of Neville’s lips.

Neville blushed scarlet, but he didn’t turn as red as Ron, who was fighting the urge to slap Ginny’s hands away from Neville, “For Merlin’s sake, Ginny! Stop trying to corrupt Neville!”

“Your friends are crazy,” Roger said to Hermione in a matter-of-fact voice. Hermione just rolled her eyes before she started to scan the crowd. Harry noticed the slight frown that appeared on her face while she continued her search of the place. Just when he was about to ask her if something was wrong, she spoke.

“Where are Professor McGonagall and the others?”

“They all left about ten minutes ago… apparently there was something wrong with their drinks, and they all had to follow Madam Pomfrey to the Infirmary… You should have seen Snape! His was no longer his ghastly shade of grey… he was downright green!”

“Lovely.”

“Anyway, McGonagall said they were coming back later,” Roger said absently, “So, do you take the right side and I’ll take the left side?”

“Sure,” Hermione answered, tightening her hold on Harry’s hand. Harry squeezed back as he suppressed the urge to grin like a maniac; the fact that Hermione was going to work did not mean he couldn’t steal a kiss or two.

“Alright,” Roger nodded, “Just don’t let me catch neglecting your Head Girl duties because you’ve gone off to snog Potter.” With a teasing wink, the Head Boy walked away.

“You know, Hermione?” I’m beginning to like the insufferable git,” smirked Harry, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing her closer, ”although I say we risk his wrath and go snog on the hallway.”

“Maybe later,” Hermione purred, standing on tiptoe and letting her lips graze his cheek. When she pulled back, Harry bit his lower lip to fight the desire to kiss her again; her lips were swollen and reddened from his previous kisses… his kisses. Just the idea of it felt like a dream… a wondrous dream he still had trouble believing had come true.

“But now, I want to see the show,” she added, twisting around under his arms to face the stage. Harry tightened his hold on her, resting his chin on her shoulder, his head turned slightly so his nose grazed the crook of her neck, drowning in scents and sensations he was already addicted to.

He planted a small kiss on the exposed skin; she released a groan from deep within her throat. “You are distracting me, good sir,” she whispered, resting her hands over his forearms.

“I can’t help it… I don’t have anything better to do,” he whispered, his lips traveling to her shoulder. He was determined to continue his ministrations until he felt a hard pinch in his arm. “Ouch! What was that for?” he complained, pouting childishly in a manner he hoped she found endearing.

Hermione looked at him over her shoulder and plainly suggested, “Watch the performance.” Then, giving him what he will from now on refer to as her naughty smile, she added, “We’ll see what happens afterwards.”

And with the promises of what was to come, Harry decided it wasn’t such a bad idea to enjoy the show.

His eyes followed Hermione’s to the stage, but what he saw was quite unexpected.

The three-cloaked figures were arranged like a pyramid, the two on the side a couple of feet back from the central figure, which was standing with its back to the crowd, its arms raised upwards as the song hit crescendo.

And there it was… hovering just above that figure… the prominent object of his dreams… his nightmares… for the last week.

The orb.

His scar was on fire. Images of what he had lived through for the last few days flashed before his eyes: the pulsing red sphere that swallowed the darkness, the gray cold mist, the voices, the red moon, the rain of blood, the earth that buried him, the globe that consumed him, the bodies of his friends hanging from the ceiling…

His love trapped in a spider’s web.

Dead.

Firenze’s words echoed in his head.

“It is a very powerful omen… what the heavens have decided to reveal to you, Harry.”

And as an iceball settled on where his stomach ought to be, Harry Potter finally comprehended.

They hadn’t been nightmares.

They had been warnings.

“Something’s wrong. We got to get out of here. We gotta leave,” he hurriedly whispered, desperately pushing Hermione away so he could search the pockets of his coat for his wand.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, a puzzled expression on her face. She immediately saw the fear behind his green eyes, and that was enough to provoke a tightening of her gut that she always associated with incoming trouble.

“Harry, what is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, helplessly watching as he desperately reached into his pockets and returned empty-handed.

“Where’s my bloody wand?” he spit, keeping his eyes on the stage while thinking of the quickest way to reach the exit. He was sure he had slipped it into his pocket before coming to the ball. How could he have lost it?

“HARRY! WHAT IS GOING ON?” asked Hermione, scared. There had been many years since she had seen such panic reflected in his viridian eyes.

The music stopped.

There were no teachers to call for help, no swords to wield, no shields to protect and no wands to hex.

Survival instincts took over.

“Come on!” Harry hissed, taking her by the arm and walking the opposite way, making a beeline toward the exit. There was no time to waste, no time to explain.

His priority was Hermione. After she was saved, he’ll worry about everything else.

“Harry! Stop! What is it? What’s going on!” his companion asked, struggling against his grip in an attempt to make him stop and calm down. What was going on in his head to make him so afraid?

“Hey! Where are you two going? The party’s just started!”

Harry recognized Ron’s voice, but didn’t lose momentum in trying to explain. Hermione, however, had a different idea.

“Ron! Something’s wrong with Harry!” she said, trying to look back at her friend while her boyfriend continued to pull her arm on the opposite direction.

Ron shared a puzzled look with his sister, and both grabbed their respective dates’ hands and started running after them.

“What do you mean something’s wrong with Harry? What’s going on?” asked Ginny worriedly when the four of them reached Hermione.

“He’s not explain…”

“THERE’S NO TIME!” Harry finally reacted. His voice dropped barely above a whisper as he added, “I’ve seen this, Hermione… that… that sphere… is trouble…”

They had reached the doors. He had just to push it and lead her outside, and she’ll be saved.

Or so he thought.

There was a loud squelching sound.

He may not be the brightest bloke at Hogwarts, but he knew enough to know what that sound meant.

A part of him refused to believe it though; the same part that made him think that he could actually change what the future had in store for him. Stubbornly, he pushed at the door, first with his hand and then with his entire body, swallowing the screams he wanted to release.

It was to no avail; they had been magically locked in.

It was only then that he heard her…

She was laughing.

And her laughter didn’t fail to provoke in him the same feelings that had arose in him the first time he had heard her laugh.

Fury. Repugnance. Hatred. Terror.

Harry, Hermione and the rest of their friends turned around at the same time, both looking for the source of the laughter and praying to be wrong.

They looked at the stage just in time to see the lead singer lowering her arms while turning around, and finally lifting the hood from her face.

The students gathered in the dance floor gasped in horror, also recognizing the woman standing there.

After all, who could forget the face of one Bellatrix Lestrange?

“Where is everybody going? The party has just begun.”

There was no mistaking the wand she was twirling in her bony hand, nor the fact that, once her two companions lifted their hoods, her two favorite partners in crime, her husband Rodolphus, and her brother-in-law, Rabastan, were revealed.

“Trick or treat”

It was pandemonium.

The students that had been packing the dance floor started running toward the doors, trampling over one another like cattle; the musicians had also jumped from the stage, heading for the exit The three Death Eaters just laughed at them.

The coldness that had started in his stomach had spread to his very flesh and bone. He pulled Hermione to him violently and whispered in her ear, “Do you have your wand with you?”

“No,” she answered breathlessly, “I couldn’t… with this dress, there was no way to hide it. Ron?”

“I don’t even have pockets! I’m a walking carpet!” Ron replied, doing the very chivalrous but completely meaningless act of putting himself between Luna and the stage, “Anybody else?”

The others shook their collective heads. Bellatrix and her gang had definitely caught them with their pants down. “Where’s yours, Harry?” Luna asked.

“I know I took it with me, but I can’t find it!” Harry replied. The students were now brushing past them, trying to push the doors with their hands or throwing their full weight on it. Like fishes trapped in a net, they pushed and pulled, fighting to escape, refusing to accept their fate.

“Can’t we accio our wands?” Neville suggested. Harry barely registered the fact that Neville’s voice was the only one not trembling, and if he had been of sound mind to look at his friend, he would have seen quite a different man.

“That’s not going to work,” Hermione went on to explain, “The spell that sealed the doors… it was an imperturbable charm. It’s sealed the entire room. No one and nothing can get in our out until it wears off.”

Harry could barely hear her above the screams and cries of the students around them. They were being seized in the other’s panic, but not succumbing fully to it yet.

“SILENCE!”

Bellatrix hadn’t used a spell, but her command was as good as any enchantment, for an unnatural silence fell on the hall. Screams became hushes, cries nothing above shallow breathing. Some already understood that escape was impossible unless the devil herself granted it.

Bellatrix cold, dead eyes scanned the room slowly and purposely, until they finally settled on Harry. She then smiled that easy smile people share over tea and biscuits and said, “Nobody is going to get hurt as long as they stay out of the way. I want one thing and only one thing. And I intend to get it.”

“What is it want?” a voice from somewhere on the far left asked. Everybody turned to look at however had dared to raise his voice, and Harry was the first one to be surprised by the fact that it had been Roger. He was staring at Bellatrix defiantly, like only someone who had never had the displeasure of crossing her path could.

“Oh, my dear, I thought it was obvious,” she answered, now smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. She then raised a bony finger toward the door and added, “I.want.him.”

You didn’t have to be rocket scientist to know she had come to settle an old score with one Harry James Potter.

“Ron,” whispered Harry urgently, “Take care of Hermione for me. Make sure she’s…!”

“NO! You are NOT going to her!” Hermione screamed, grabbing him by the arms with such strength she was sure to leave a mark. For a second, he allowed himself to get lost in those beautiful eyes, wanting nothing more than to tell her everything was going to be okay, that this was just another nightmare, and that as soon as he woke up everything was going back to normal.

It would, of course, be a lie.

“She’s got the upper hand, Mione,” Harry said, cupping her cheek tenderly even the bleak situation, “I got to play by her rules.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Crabbe stand behind Ron and Goyle doing the same with Neville. The difference between them was that Crabbe and Goyle had their wands out and at the ready, and Ron and Neville were unarmed.

“Move it, Potter.”

That voice which belonged to Draco Malfoy said from somewhere behind him. Harry slowly turned his head around to look at the Slytherin over his shoulder. “You,” he hissed.

“I told you to stay away. Didn’t I, Potty?” whispered Malfoy, his gray eyes filled with an emotion Harry had never seen before in his nemesis’ eyes. Without the slightest hint of amusement, he continued, “She only wants you… as long as your mudblood and the others stay out of the way, they’ll be safe.”

Hermione hugged Harry by the waist and buried her face in his chest, mumbling over and over again, “Harry, please… don’t… please… don’t…”

“Draco…” Bellatrix called in a sing-song voice that was anything but friendly, “I don’t have all night. Bring.him.here.”

“You heard her, Potter. Move!” Malfoy spat, prodding Harry’s back with his wand.

“Hermione,” whispered Harry softly, “I got to do this.” He raised her head gently with his hands and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “Just stay out of the way...” he continued, kissing her lips gently, “It’ll be okay.”

“NOBODY IS GOING ANYWHERE!”

Harry let go of Hermione and turned around, only to realize that the Head Boy had managed to sneak behind Malfoy and now was pressing the tip of his wand to the back of Malfoy’s head. Without taking his eyes off the Slytherin, Roger addressed Bellatrix, “Relinquish your wands or your niece gets it.”

The only reply he received was a loud snickering.

“I am serious! Relinquish your wands or else!” Roger screamed. Harry didn’t know if the others could tell, but Roger’s resolve was diminishing by the second with the realization he was in way over his head.

“Really? What are you planning to do, little boy? Stun him? He’ll wake up to find you dead. Bind him? Maybe cast an Unforgivable on him? Oh… that I’ll love to see…” Bellatrix said with morbid curiosity. Positively giddy with glee, she finished, “Do it.”

Malfoy was breathing hard, anger etched clearly in his face, but he had not lowered the wand pointing at Harry’s chest. Roger’s arm began to tremble as he pushed his wand harder against Malfoy’s skull, trying to convey his seriousness.

“Do it.”

“Crucio…” Roger whispered between clenched teeth. As expected, nothing happened. He pressed the tip of his wand even harder against Malfoy’s scalp and repeated more forcefully, “Crucio.” Nothing happened. Taking a deep breath, his blue eyes blazing, he screamed, “CRUCIO!”

And again, nothing happened.

“Boys…” Bellatrix said, her head turned slightly toward the two Death Eaters that accompanied her tonight, “let’s show him how it’s done.”

“CRUCIO!”

Three distinct rays of light traveled from the Death Eater’s wands and converged just before hitting Roger, sending him flying to one side, screaming all the way before his body collided face first against the edge of one of the tables. His body fell near Seamus and Lavender, who started whimpering “He’s dead… he’s dead… he’s dead…” as she buried her face on Seamus chest.

“Anybody who decides to play the hero will have the same fate befall on him,” Bellatrix announced with eerie calmness.

Hermione’s eyes were wide, fixed on the general direction of Roger’s body, unable to see him but already fearing the worst. She was trembling from head to toe, her lips parted with her shallow breathing, and was too stunned to realize Harry had disentangled himself from her arms until he started to walk away. “HARRY! NO!” she screamed, running towards him. She had not taken two steps before Goyle released a vicious punch to her stomach that sent her to the floor, gasping for air.

Harry roared, turning around, ready to pound Goyle to a bloody pulp. And he would have if it hadn’t been for Malfoy, who now pointed his wand at Hermione and whispered, “Don’t give us an excuse, Potter.”

Hermione’s lungs were still burning for oxygen when she felt Ron’s hands grabbed her by the arms. He pulled her up, resting her body on his as he whispered against her ear, “We’ll find a way to help him…we’ll find a way.”

“Is she okay, Ron?” Harry asked, his eyes jumping from Malfoy to Goyle and back. If he got out of this alive, these two were going to pay dearly.

“I’m fine, Harry,” Hermione answered, staring straight at Malfoy’s unwavering wand. Mentally promising that he was going to torture Goyle for laying a hand on Hermione, he turned around and continued to walk toward the stage.

Harry wondered at the expression on his fellow students’ faces as they parted in front of him, making way for him to reach the stage. Some were surprised, others were terrified, others were sad, defeated, others were angry, and others… others looked at Harry as if he was already a dead man.

He was halfway toward the stage when he suddenly heard Dean’s voice break the silence.

“He’s alive! He’s still alive!”

Harry stood still and, speaking directly to Bellatrix, said, “Let somebody help him.”

Bellatrix’s eyes slanted angrily as she hissed, “You are in no position to make demands, half-blood.”

“I am if you don’t want me to cause any trouble,” he replied, sounding a lot more collected than he felt.

Bellatrix looked visibly ill as she stared down at him, but finally nodded her head slightly. At the next moment, Harry heard Malfoy’s voice say, “You… help him.” Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Hermione cut her way amidst the students toward Roger, followed by Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna, with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle close behind.

“Don’t keep me waiting, little Harry,” commanded Bellatrix, “Draco, keep an eye on Potter’s friends.”

Harry turned his attention back toward the stage and kept on walking.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Hermione and Ginny crouched next to the body, one of each side of the Head Boy. Dean had been right; Roger was still alive.

His body was twisted in an impossible position; one of his legs was trapped under his body, his left arm jerking in an automated bodily response. A soft gurgling sound emerged from his throat with every rise and fall of his chest. Having learned first aid at the behest of her father, Hermione measured his pulse. She realized he was getting weaker by the second.

“We’re losing him,” whimpered Ginny.

“Ron, Neville… straighten him.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Harry slowly walked up the stairs to the stage. He needed to time to think, to try to form an escape plan.

His mind was drawing blanks.

With each heavy step he found it more difficult to breath as a heavy weight took residence on his chest and refused to leave. He stripped off the mask that partially covered his face in an attempt to shake that horribly oppressing feeling, but it just got worse and worse.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Hermione lowered her ear until it hovered over Roger’s lips. She could hear the horrible gurgling sound louder this time. Careful not to move his head for fear of worsening his injuries, she searched his wounded body, until she noticed a purple mark about an inch thick in the right side of his neck. It suddenly became clear to her what was so wrong with Roger.

“His windpipe is crushed,” she explained, “we need to open up a passageway or he’ll suffocate.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Ron asked, looking down at the Ravenclaw with pity. He and the others were kneeling around the body, while Malfoy and his goons made a wider circle around them.

“I need a knife,” confirmed Hermione while Ginny and Luna struggled to get Roger’s costume chest plate off him.

“Use this.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Harry reached the landing without any idea of what his next step should be. He was unarmed, outnumbered and defenseless. It seemed that the only thing they could do was to play by their rules until help arrives.

He could see Bellatrix much more clearly now… that black stringy hair, that ghostly pale skin, those taut cheeks, those hollow eyes, those bloodless lips curled in a perpetual sneer…

How he hated her… how he hated her for what she was and for what she had done.

It was only then that Harry noticed that she didn’t have one wand, but two, and that the one in her left hand was an eleven-inch holly wand with a phoenix feather core.

His wand.

“Courtesy of Vincent Goyle,” Bellatrix said, twirling Harry’s wand in the air, “who’s proven to be slightly more resourceful than his father… not that that says a lot.”

He remembered how Goyle had bumped into him while he was dancing with Hermione earlier in the evening. The slimy son-of-a-bitch must have pick pocketed his wand then.

Bellatrix made a dramatic wave on the air with her wand, and a chair appeared in the middle of the stage, just below the hovering orb. But it wasn’t like the other chairs found in the Great Hall, for it was metal, with thick leather straps in the front legs, the arms and on the top, secured with strong metal buckles. In fact, the chair reminded him of the electric chairs used in old prison movies to fry muggles.

“You are the guest of honor in our little party,” said Bellatrix in a low whisper, “so we saved you the best seat in the house.”

Things were taking a turn for the worst.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------
Hermione was looking over her shoulder at the silver dagger Draco Malfoy was offering her. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing; the same guy that had conspired to bring Bellatrix into the castle and capture Harry, the same sadist who had not let one opportunity to torture her and her friends go by, was the same person offering to help.

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione hissed, anger blazing in her eyes. Was this another one of his games? How dared he played with Roger’s life! With all of their lives!

“Look, mudblood,” sneered Draco, “do you want to save him or not?” Without waiting for answer answer, he threw the blade in her direction.

She caught it in midair and, not wanting to waste another second, turned toward Ron and said, “I need a tube.”

“A tube?”

“Yes… something narrow, but with a hollow center… like a straw, or a…”

“Got it,” Ron nodded and stood up. Ignoring Crabbe’s order to stand still, he ran directly to the table with the Honeydukes sweets, picked a caramel lollipop, and ran back, biting into the candy until only the small plastic tube remained.

“Good idea,” Hermione whispered with as much pride as she could muster in the bleak situation when Ron reached her side and handed her the tube. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself that this was the only way.

Opening her eyes and looking down at Roger, Hermione continued to say, “Luna, I need you to hold Roger’s head still … Neville, Ron… you two take the arms… make sure he doesn’t move an inch. Ginny, hold this.” She handed Ginny the small tube while the others move into position.

“I’m sorry, Roger,” she said as she unsheathed Malfoy’s knife, “but this is the only way.” Ignoring the fear and trepidation she felt, she pressed the tip of the knife against the hollow of Roger’s throat and pushed. The blade broke through skin and flesh until blood spurted from the open wound.

“Ginny!” she called. The shaky Ginny immediately handed the tube to her friend, and Hermione plunged the tube into the wound. There was a distinct hissing sound, and she tentatively reached with her fingers to the top of the hollow tube, and sighed in relief when she confirmed that air was coming in and out of Roger’s lungs.

But she knew it was too early to call victory; Roger needed to get to St. Mungo’s and he needed to get there fast.

She looked over her shoulder at Malfoy, who was looking at Roger’s wound with a mixture of disgust and awe, and said, “He needs professional medical attention. If you plan to keep us here for long, you’ll have to find a way to sent him to St. Mungo’s.”

“Don’t worry, Granger…” said Malfoy, nodding his head toward the stage, “it won’t be long now.”


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It was ironic that, while Rodolphus and Rabastan were fastening the leather straps to his arms, his legs and his head, Harry was thinking about how in the world could the most magical day of his life have disintegrated into this. Couldn’t destiny allow him just one night of true happiness?

Of their own accord, his thoughts went back to the image from his dreams… of Hermione trapped in a spider’s web.

He was the one now who was trapped in Bellatrix’s clutches. Why was Hermione the central figure in his dream? Why was she the one in danger?

Did it have something to do with the awareness of his feelings for her?

Or was it something more unthinkable?


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“We’ve done everything we can for Roger,” whispered Hermione to her companions, “the question is: what are we going to do for Harry?”

They were huddled over the Head Boy’s body. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were so distracted by Bellatrix’s show they didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them. The knife lay on the floor next to Roger’s head, forgotten by both its owner and the girl that had used it to save a life.

“We can’t do anything without wands,” Neville replied, not a trace of fear in his dark eyes.

An anxious Ginny started to say, “Why don’t we wait for the professors to come? Maybe the Order has already been…”

“They have no way of knowing something’s wrong,” answered Hermione, “Dumbledore’s out of the castle, the rest of the teachers are sick and in the infirmary… possibly poisoned by Bellatrix… and thinking we are just enjoying the last musical act of the night.” Her voice trembling slightly, she finished, “let’s face it… we are on our own.”

“There’s no other way,” Ron finally spoke, his eyes locking with those of his best friend, “we have to wait for the chance to take their wands from them.”


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“Do you know why you are here, little Harry?” asked Bellatrix in a tone that indicated she actually expected to answer that.

“I assumed it was because of my animal magnetism,” Harry replied dryly, his mind momentarily distracted by the insignificant way the metal buckle dig into his forehead.

“I wouldn’t be joking if I were you,” responded Bellatrix, “In fact, if I were you, I would start begging… right about now.”

She smiled. He didn’t.

Slowly, almost languidly, the tall woman started to walk in circles around Harry and continued, “You’ve been a thorn in the Dark Lord’s side since you were born. By some twisted stroke of luck, you almost destroyed him when you were just an itsy-bitsy boy.” Her smile grew, her voice heady with pleasure, “But now, the Dark Lord is back, more powerful than ever he was, ready to bring noble’s Salazar’s utopia to life, where mudbloods and their supporters alike will join their beloved muggles in taking their rightful place in the world… as our slaves.”

It played like a scene from a bad movie, where the enemy revealed his villainous plan, giving the hero enough time to devise a masterful plan to stop the nemesis.

But Harry was no hero, and this was no movie. He didn’t have a masterful plan to stop her, and he doubted there was a happy ending in store for him.

“And I’m here to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself,” Bellatrix finished.

“I’ve gathered from this little rant that Voldemort sent you to kill me.”

“How dare you say his name!” screamed Bellatrix, taking a step toward him and lowering her head so her face was barely an inch away from his.

He saw many things behind those dark eyes: intelligence, power, devotion, madness… and evil.

He quietly answered, “I don’t fear him.”

“You should,” she hissed. It seemed to have taken a lot of willpower to restrain herself, but she finally took a deep breath and a step back before continuing, “But to answer your question… no, he didn’t sent me to kill you.”

“How generous of him,” Harry sarcastically mumbled.

“You should know by now, young Potter… there are things far worst than death.” Looking up at the object hovering above their heads, she asked, “Do you know what that is?”

He thought of asking if it was the latest fashion craze for paranoid psychotic witches, but decided it was wiser to keep his mouth shut.

“You should consider yourself lucky,” Bellatrix continued, her voice filled with icy wonder, “Not many have stood in the presence of the Carcer Lamentatio Anima.


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Ron knew there was something very bad about that thing when he heard Hermione and Luna gasp simultaneously. “What?” he asked in a hurry.

“Do you know what that is?” Luna answered, pointing at the sphere floating over Harry’s head.

“I wouldn’t ask if I knew!” snapped Ron angrily.

“The Carcer Lamentatio Anima…” Hermione whispered with unmistakable fear in her voice, “the Orb of the Wailing Souls.”

Harry… her Harry… dear Lord, this was not happening! It couldn’t be happening!


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“I’m afraid the dramatic revelation has been lost on me,” Harry countered, annoyed at the delighted look on the Death Eaters’ face.

“Don’t worry…” cooed Bellatrix, reaching up with her hand and tracing one of her nails over Harry’s scar, “you’ll find out soon enough.”


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“That… that thing exists?” Neville asked in a trembling whisper.

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck it means?” Ron hissed, annoyed that everyone seemed to know the answer but him.

“When wizards die, their souls… their anima… transcends,” Luna started to explain, “But some… some choose to remain behind… and they become ghosts.”

Ginny hurried, “Skip the part we already know, Luna”

“But what you don’t know,” the Ravenclaw continued, “is that some have no choice but to remain behind. They are those wizards whose anger and rage and hatred and pain at the moment of death were so strong that it could not be vanquished. Those are the damned… wraiths whose only pleasure is to inflict suffering upon the living.”

And you are saying that, because…” Ron pressed, not really liking where this metaphysical trip was taken them.

“Because, according to popular legend, the Dark Wizard Grindewald found a way to imprison the souls of the thousands that fell prey at his hand”. Looking up at the orb now reflected in her pale blue eyes, she finished, “That’s what the Carcer Lamentatio Anima is… a prison for the damned.”


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“Bellatrix,” Rodolphus decided to interrupt his wife’s contemplations, “the sealing spell… it won’t last for much…”

“I know that!” she turned around to face him, furious, “Don’t ruin this for me!” Outstretching her hand toward her brother-in-law, she called “Rabastan!”

Her follower reached into the pocket of his black robes and pulled out a dark knife made out of obsidian stone.

Eyeing the knife that appeared on the periphery of his vision, Harry said, “I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“I’m will not,” Bellatrix said, looking at him with glee, “but I can’t answer for my guests”


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“But… how? Why?” Ginny groaned.

“And what is she going to do to Harry with it?” Neville added.

Not so surprisingly, it was Hermione who answered. “They say the souls answer to the call of blood. If they are summoned and blood is shed, then they will swallow their victim… ending with the sacrificed becoming wraiths too.”

“I thought it was a myth,” Neville said, shaking his head as if to clear his head from the insanity around him.

“You thought wrong,” said Hermione before she turned to Ron and added, “We have to act now!”

Ron was thinking along the same lines, “Okay, here’s what we’ll do… Ginny, Hermione, you take Malfoy. Neville, Luna… Crabbe… I’ll take Goyle. Wait for my signal.”


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Bellatrix raised the knife over her head. Harry watched with a mixture of fear and detachment how the tip of the blade touched the hovering orb. To his amazement, the material of the sphere gave in slightly, and he absently realized it was not made of crystal, but of an organic membrane, like the wings of a bat. It began to pulse as Bellatrix lowered the blade.

It was only then that he realized that that thing was alive.

“How does it feel, little Harry?” Bellatrix whispered with that smile that could send shivers down a dead man’s spine, “How does it feel that… after 17 years of miserable existence… you will finally reunite with your mummy and daddy?”

Grabbing the knife with one bony hand, she reached down and violently tore open his jacket and dress shirt, exposing his chest and stomach to her assailing eyes. A look that could only be described as filled with lustful perversion appeared on her face.

“My my… what a shame this went all to waste on a half-blood,” she whispered, letting one of her hands rest on his stomach and raking her nails over his muscles.

Somewhere in the back of his awareness he made the connection to Hermione, and how her nails had felt on his skin. The sensations were complete opposites, for what had once consumed him with desire and longing, now sickened and repulsed him.

He wanted to make Bellatrix feel as defiled as he did.

So he spit directly to her face; the gooey spit landing just above her right eyebrow. Her obscene smile twisted into a sneer worthy of her nephew.

“You fool,” she hissed, “I’ll show you what happens to naughty little boys.”

And with that, the knife started to come down.


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Bellatrix and her knife had captured Malfoy and his companions’ undivided attention, and there was no better time for an offensive than the present.

“NOW!”

It all happened in a flash. Before the Death Eaters knew what was going on, Neville had grabbed Crabbe in a painful headlock, allowing Luna to punch him in the stomach before yanking his wand out of his hand. Ron did the same with Goyle, hitting the young man squarely on the back of his head and sending him face first to the floor, unconscious.

By now, Malfoy turned toward them and was pointing his wand straight at Hermione, but a vicious tackle coming from Ginny knocked him down. Hermione kicked the wand out of his hand and lunged for it, quickly grabbing it before twisting on the floor and pointing it at the stage.

“INCARCEROUS!”

“STUPEFY!”

“PETRIFICUS TOTALLUS!”

Three different spells shot out of their wands and traveled in an instant toward the stage. Ron’s ray hit Rabastan, who was soon tightly wrapped in ropes. The Death Eater lost his balance, and fell to the floor with a muffled thud. Rodolphus was luckier, for he ducked behind a set of drums. The musical instrument was obliterated by Luna’s hex, but Lestrange remained unscathed.

Of the three followers of Voldemort, it was Bellatrix that reacted as only the Dark Lord’s favorite child could. Before Hermione’s spell could hit her, she yelled “Protego!” and a blue magical shield appeared in front of her. The Gryffindor’s spell hit the shield, and just as soon Bellatrix countered with a Crucio.

Harry screamed as he watched the spell hit his girl on the chest. She fell on her knees on the floor, screaming and writhing in pain, the wand she had clutched tightly in her hand now sliding to the floor, forgotten. “NO! STOP!” he screamed, feeling more useless than ever before as he watched Malfoy reclaim his wand.

“Hermione!” Ron yelled, readying his wand to attack Bellatrix. He didn’t noticed that Rodolphus had already pointed his wand at Luna, until he yelled “Accio wand!” and Luna’s wand and he caught it in his hand.

Bellatrix proved to be faster than Ron, for she yelled “INCARCEROUS!” and hit Ron before he could attack her. Like Rabastan before him, thick tendrils of rope covered from feet to neck, like an artificial cocoon. Neville and Goyle made a simultaneous run for Ron’s discarded wand, but Crabbe thwarted Neville’s plan when he met him halfway, delivering a nasty kick to his knee.

“You stupid, stupid children!” Bellatrix hissed, glaring at the students in the hall with such malice that it was enough to make them all fall back toward the doors while Rodolphus freed his brother from the binding spell. “I told you to behave!” she shrilled, “Why couldn’t you just be good for once? You need to be punished! DRACO!”

“Yes?” Malfoy answered in a low voice, his wand trained on the kneeling Hermione. His voice sounded detached, even for him, as if he had decided to emotionally distance himself from the events around him.

“You know… you are the first one that deserves to be punished… you were told to keep the students away, and you failed… The Dark Lord will be very unhappy with your performance… I’ll leave your punishment to Him,” said Bellatrix, sounding criminally joyous about the prospect of Malfoy’s punishment. “Now, let’s move on… that little dog at your feet… is that Potter’s friend? The mudblood?” she asked of him.

Draco nodded in reply. His expression was twisted with obvious rage, but at whom he was angry at was not something that was evident at the moment. Luna tried to get closer to the moaning Hermione, until Goyle pointed his wand at her, and she backtracked, choosing to kneel next to Ron. She trade glances with Ginny, who was struggling to help Neville to his feet.

Bellatrix now turned her attention back to her captive.

“Do you care about her?” she asked Harry. He tried to keep his expression blank, his eyes unemotional as he attempted to recall all he had learned from Snape’s Occlumency lessons. He knew that it would be a mistake to show this woman how much he really cared about his best friend.

“Oh!” Voldemort’s right-hand gal blurted, the corners of her mouth twisting in a sardonic smile, “Don’t bother to answer… I can see it in your eyes. You don’t care about her…” Her eyebrow arched with incredulity as she finished, “You love her.”

As if things couldn’t have gotten any worst.

“And we all know what happens to the people you love, little Potter.” Bellatrix added. With that, she trade knowing glances with Rodolphus and Rabastan, and simultaneously, the three of them raised their wands and pointed them straight at Hermione.

“LEAVE HER AL…!”

“CRUCIO!”

“CRUCIO!”

“CRUCIO!”

One after another, Hermione was hit by the cruel spells of the trio of Death Eaters. She screamed from the sheer agony, but her cries were mixed with the screaming of Harry, Ron and her friends, who were unable to do anything but watch in horror as Hermione fell on the floor, twisting and turning, trying to fight against the unbearable pain that was now cursing through every limb and every organ and every cell of her body.

“STOP IT! STOP IT! YOU ARE GOING TO KILL HER!”

Harry screamed over and over again, but no one seemed to hear him. He struggled against his bindings, feeling as the material cut through the skin in his wrists and his legs. Blood trailed from his wounds as tears trailed down his cheeks. He felt like he had felt on his dream, as if he was drowning, and the earth was swallowing his screams and cries for help. He called for anyone and everyone: Dumbledore, Remus, Sirius, Buddah, Jesus, God… but none of them intervened.

“STOP IT! I’LL DO ANYTHING!”

“Do anything?” Bellatrix spat, the ray of energy emanating from her wand still connected to Hermione’s body, “There’s nothing you can do! You are over! Finished! This is your last night and is going to be a night to remember.”

And in that state of hopeless despair, a thought suddenly occurred to Harry; he knew something the Dark Lord was dying to find out.

“I’LL GIVE YOU THE PROPHECY!”

The Death Eaters’ heads snapped in Harry’s direction as Rabastan yelled, “You lie!”

“I’M NOT! I’LL GIVE IT TO YOU! JUST LET HER GO!”

It worked.

Bellatrix slowly lowered her wand, and her husband and brother-in-law followed her lead. Harry watched as Hermione’s body stopped its violent convulsing. Ginny ran to her, crouching next to her friend’s body and touching her face with gentleness. Hermione remained unresponsive. Neville limped toward them while Luna struggled to help Ron reach his fallen friend. Ginny stifled a sob, fearing the worst, but decided to lower her head and whisper God-knows-what next to Hermione’s ear.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as her golden brown eyes slowly fluttered open, a glaze expression on her sweat-covered face.

“WELL?” Bellatrix impatiently called his attention back to her. Harry knew he was now holding the upper hand, but conflicting thoughts about the wisdom of this action popped into his head.

“You have to give me your word,” Harry hissed, “that you will leave my friends… and every person in this hall… alone. You will do what you came to do to me, and leave… is that clear?”

“Draco, keep an eye on the welps. And this time, make sure they don’t cause any trouble,” Bellatrix ordered with poisonous sweetness. Turning to Harry once more, she asked, “And you… you would believe my word?” She seemed to be amusedly surprised that he would be so gullible.

And she was right, for he didn’t trust her. However, he knew of something these three trespassers were running out of: time. If he could keep them distracted long enough, maybe the room sealing spell will be broken, and help would finally arrive.

“I don’t have a choice now, do I?”

“You don’t,” said Bellatrix as she slowly walked toward him, “But I was in that room two years ago, Potter… I know the orb with the Prophecy was destroyed.”

“I know what it said,” Harry simply stated. Forcing himself to smile tauntingly, he added, “Come on, Bellatrix. It’s something that involves your boss… something that will make Voldemort extremely pleased to know. So… do we have a deal?”

“Oh, just spit it out!”

Harry had barely opened his mouth to reply before he heard a faint “No” coming from the middle of the hall. His eyes were drawn to Hermione, who had assumed a sitting position thanks to help of Ginny and Luna. She was shaking her head gently, muttering “No” again and again.

‘Sorry, Mione. I can’t let her hurt you.’

Somewhere in the back of his head he registered that to tell Voldemort about the secret of the Prophecy would be to tell him that the only way the Dark Lord could insure his survival was to see Harry dead. But then, he was in no better position right now. Sooner or later he was going to die, and damned if he let anybody else take the fall for him.

“The one with the Power to vanquish the Dark Lord –”

“HARRY! NO!”

Everyone was stunned that the one who screamed such a forceful order was not Harry’s best friend, Ron, nor his girlfriend, Hermione, but the gentle and soft-spoken boy known as Neville. Bellatrix turned her head slowly to face the intruder, and for the first time that night, really looked at him.

“Neville,” Harry pleaded, not liking one bit the smile on Bellatrix face at the sight of the boy, “stay out of this.”

“Ah,” she interrupted, “I see… Round-face, not-quite-there gaze… trembling voice… and obvious lack of spine… you must a Longbottom!”

“Harry, you can’t do this… you can’t let You-know-who know about the Prophecy!”

“You know, I knew your mummy and daddy… how are they, by the way?”

“If you do that, then the world is as good as over.”

“Neville, just shut up!” Harry screamed at the same time that Ginny tugged at Neville’s hand, pleading for him to sit back down.

“You should have seen Alice screaming, “Not my boy! Not my baby boy!” over and over again as she writhed in pain on the floor of that flea-infested house they were hiding in,” Bellatrix continued, “And Frank… poor deluded Frank… he thought that he could fight us all out of the pureness of his heart.”

“We prefer to die now than to let him win! You hear me, Harry?” Neville screamed, his body trembling with determination, “We choose to die if it means he’ll be stopped!”

“The Potters had it easy… but not your parents. We took our sweet time… talking… to them…”

“My parents gave their lives to protect the secret, Harry. Don’t let their sacrifice be in vain…”

“Maybe I should go to St. Mungo’s and pay them a visit… you know? Reminisce on the good old days.”

“FUCK YOU, BITCH!

If people had been surprised before, it was nothing compared to the shock that they felt now as they stared at Neville and Bellatrix. Even she seemed to have been stunned into silence. A deafening hush fell on the room, until it was broken by the Death Eater, “What did you say?

“You heard me,” Neville replied coolly, “you are nothing but Voldemort’s whore.”

Harry had never heard Neville called the Dark Lord by his name before, but it sent chills down his spine with such anger. It had never occurred to Harry that, if there was anyone who might hate Voldemort and Bellatrix as much as he did, it was Neville.

“You pathetic fool!” Bellatrix shrilled, “I’ll show you manners! CRUCIO!”

The other two yelled the same hex and Neville, like Hermione, was hit with the Unforgivable curse with such force that he was literarily knocked off his feet. He flew back over the heads of the students for at least eight meters, until he impacted the oak doors and fell on the floor with a loud thud.

Harry’s friends screamed.

Neville didn’t.


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“Help him!” Ron screamed to his stunned companions. Luna helped the now hysterical Ginny to her feet, and the two of them made their way through the students towards Neville.

“Did you see that?” Goyle said with childish excitement.

“He looked like a puppet!” Crabbe joined in.

“Shut up!” Malfoy hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes going from Ron and Hermione toward the stage, biting his lip with uncharacteristic anxiety, finding the only comfort in the knowledge that this will soon be all over.


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“Now, where were we?” said Bellatrix to Harry as casually as if she had just slapped an annoying fly with out of the way.

Harry was breathing hard; first Roger, then Hermione, and now Neville. How many more will be hurt before she got to him?


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“Mione,” Ron said, wriggling his way on the floor to get closer to his friend, “tell me you have a plan…”

Hermione forced her eyes to focus on the Boy-She-Loved. Yes, she could see it behind those green eyes; he was lost. Neville’s words had left a mark in him. At that same moment, his eyes turned to her and their gazes crossed, and she realized that the thought that another one of them might be hurt because of him was consuming him.

He would rather let the deaths that came before be in vain than to add one more soul to that wretched sum.

It was a burden that shouldn’t have fallen on the trembling shoulders of a 17-year-old.

“What are we going to do?” Ron pressed.

It was then that she saw it… just a few feet away from her hand. The smooth silvery surface glinted with the light that came from the orb, like a beacon in a stormy night.

“Mione, talk to me… what are we …”

She ignored her friend as she forced her body to roll over, and started to move on all fours toward the shiny object. Draco and his consorts were once again distracted by the happenings in the stage, and Hermione found herself without any obstacle to reach her goal, as if The-Powers-That-Be agreed with her.

She had a single thought in mind: many years ago, she had sworn she would protect Harry at all costs.

At.

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel scared, or hesitant, or insecure. The only thing she truly felt was regret; regret that the happiness Harry and she had shared was so short lived.

She just hoped that her beloved would forgive her for once again taking the choice away for him.


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“Love, we have to hurry,” Rodolphus said, “The room-sealing spell… it’s going to vanish in a few minutes. We have to act now!”

“It’s not my fault Potter’s friends keep sticking their noses in where they don’t belong!” she spat at her husband, sending him a look that could sent grown men home to their mothers.

Turning her attention back to Harry, she hissed, “You have one more chance… make it quick!”

Harry opened his mouth to speak when a loud boom came from the direction of the doors. They concurrently looked back to find that the doors were bending slightly before returning to their closed positions. It did this once, twice, three times before Rabastan yelled, “Someone is trying to break through!”


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As he watched Hermione sliding on the floor, Ron didn’t know what to do anymore; here they were in an increasingly hopeless situation, his best friend was tied to a chair and being threatened by the right hand of his archenemy, his other best friend was non-responsive, his dorm-mate was seriously injured, maybe even dead, and he was tied in such a way that he couldn’t even stand up and assess the situation.

The loud booming sound that came from the doors reached his ears as the last glimmer of hope had started to fade from his mind. That sound and the expression of terror on the Death Eater’s face could only mean one thing.

The Calvary had arrived.

‘Hang on, Harry… just hang on’

He turned his head and searched for the injured Hermione, “They’re here! They’re…”

A very unexpected sight greeted him.

Hermione had managed to stand up, her shaky legs barely supporting her. Her arms were locked over her head and, clenched tightly in her hands, was Malfoy’s knife.

But what was she going to do with it? Malfoy and his gorillas were too far from her, and anyway, he doubted Bellatrix would care if Hermione took one of them as hostage and tried to bargain for Harry’s life. The demoness would kill her own nephew before letting his The-Boy-Who-Lived slipped through her fingers again.

It was then that something clicked in the back of Ron’s head; the blade was pointing downwards.

And it was only then that Ron realized what Hermione intended to do.


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“Sorry, Potter… we’ll have to cut our conversation short.”

Not an ounce of fear remained in Harry’s spirit; at least, with help just outside the door, the students were safe. His friends were safe.

Hermione was safe.

He didn’t know what Bellatrix had in store for him, but he knew it would be nothing compared to the guilt he would feel if one more life was wasted on his name.

Bellatrix once again raised her arms over her head and, looking up at the orb that hovered above them, started to chant.

“Audiete me, aeternum decessus,
gustoare animae sanguinarium,
caedesis tu nomen!”

The orb started to howl. A thunderous chorus of voices screeched so loudly that most of the students being kept hostage covered their ears and dropped on their knees, trying to get closer together as if that would offer any protection.

“Adesdum adsertoris
miserabilis anima,”

The look on Bellatrix’s face was one of pure and unadulterated madness. Yes, she was finally getting her wish for the last sixteen years: to take down The One who threatened her Lord.

“Concedere tu tenebra
devorare homo integrare!”

The blade came down, it’s intended target the spot just over Harry’s heart.

But it never reached its goal.

Instead, Harry heard someone scream something that sounded like “NO! STOP!” over the voices from the orb before a blinding flash of white light inundated the hall.

It took a few seconds before he could open his eyes again. He blinked erratically, trying to focus, absently wondering why the blade hadn’t struck yet.

To his surprise, he found Bellatrix and her companions in the same state of confusion that he was as they stared up at the orb with frightened expressions. The sphere pulsed again and again as a gray and formless mist started to trickle from its surface toward the floor.

“THEY ARE COMING!” Rodolphus yelled.

“BUT POTTER’S BLOOD! IT HASN’T BEEN SHED!” Rabastan screamed, his gaze alternating between the orb and the blade on Bellatrix’s hand.

“I don’t understand,” Harry barely heard the witch mutter, “the spell… it wasn’t supposed to be triggered until… until…”

“No… why…” someone cried. There was unadulterated pain in that voice, barely contained tears, and anguish ready to explode.

And more horribly still was that the voice sounded an awful lot like Ron’s.

“The mudblood…” Rodolphus pointed an accusatory finger at the dance floor, “THE MUDBLOOD! IT WAS SHE! LOOK!” Rodolphus pointed at the dance floor.

‘Hermione’

Harry’s eyes immediately shifted to the middle of the hall, where a lonely figure stood just a few feet away from Draco and Ron and the rest of the students. It was Hermione, a grimace on her face as she looked up defiantly at Bellatrix. Her hands were over her stomach, her legs were barely holding her up, but her eyes were burning with determination.

Fearless.

And then, her eyes shifted from Bellatrix to his. And her expression softened. Such devotion. Such love. Oh, why had he not noticed before? So much time wasted.

Her lips move ever so slowly as she mouthed a message meant only for him.

I’m.sorry.

“Hermione… Hermione…” Ron continued to mumble.

The gray mist had reached the floor, and now, like water from a cascade, was pouring down the edge of the stage and into dance floor.

Towards her.

And it was only then that Harry finally understood what had gone so very wrong this time.

The ground shifted below him, and he felt as if he was being swallowed by an all-encompassing darkness he would never be free of.

This could not be happening. Not this. Never this.

Hermione finally turned her attention toward her beloved’s tormentor before speaking.

“They are here… for me.”

And before Harry could yell, she sliced the blade she had stuck to the side of her stomach all the way to the opposite side. Blood cascaded from her wound, down her dress and onto the floor, but she kept on going, even when Harry screamed for her to stop, even when Ron begged her to cease, even when Ginny and Luna cried out to a god that seemed to have turned his back on them.

Until… finally… she pulled the blade out of her stomach, spraying Ron and the shocked Malfoy and anybody nearby with her life essence. Her knees finally gave in, and she collapsed on the floor just as the mist reached her, encircling her as the voices roared around her.

The doors once again budged, a white flash coming from underneath it. But the seal was not broken yet.

The students screamed and cowered away from the mist as translucent hands started to appear and clawed at Hermione, tearing her dress, grabbing her hair, circling closer and closer until Harry could barely see her.

And she didn’t fight back. She just let herself be touched and mistreated and punished, taking it all without a complaint. She never once screamed, she never once pleaded, she never once begged. She just knelt there, her eyes barely opened, the rise and fall of her chest becoming more erratic with every breath she took, blood trickling down the side of her mouth and into her hands.

The same hands he had held for countless of times since they had met. The same hands that had protected him, comforted him, held him, stopped him, hurt him, and caress him.

Now stained with blood… her blood.

Struggling to remain awake, Hermione looked for him. And when her eyes finally found him, she whispered what was an unmistakable “I love you” before succumbing to the dark.

And he knew that, no matter how the night ends, he would be joining her.

“no… No… NO! TAKE HARRY! TAKE THE BOY!” Bellatrix screamed at the wraiths, raging with anger. But the voices didn’t hear her, and took Hermione in their hands and raised her over them. The mist carried her as it slowly made its way back to its home.

That’s when IT happened.

Harry felt a burst of energy, a power like he had never felt before, originating from the pit of his stomach and traveling throughout every limb in his body until it finally exploded from within.

Before anybody realized what was happening, the binds that held Harry to the chair caught fire, instantaneously becoming nothing but ash. He stood up with a roar just as Rabastan, who had been standing behind the chair, noticed that he was free. Harry turned around and snatched Rabastan’s hand right out of his hand before landing a nasty punch right to the Death Eater’s face that rendered him unconscious.

Bellatrix raised her wand and screamed “AVAD…” before Harry turned to her and used Rabastan’s wand to release a stunning spell that sent her flying through the air and crashing against the chairs of the orchestra.

“TARANTALLEGRA,” Harry screamed, his wand turned toward Rodolphus, whose legs immediately started flailing wildly. He collapsed on the floor, convulsing like a cockroach that had been sprayed with venom.

Harry’s eyes came back to Hermione. The mist was still carrying her, her legs held together, her arms perpendicular to her body. He thought it looked like one of those scenes from period movies where the Queen of Sheba would step into Solomon’s hall in the shoulders of her Ethiopian slaves.

She was beautiful. So pale… so tranquil… so perfect.

And dead.

It was not the time to cry. It was the time to reclaim what was his. It was the time force himself to think about the happiest moment in his short life.

It was easy to find it. It had been less than half an hour ago.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Hermione closing the distance that separated them, tearing down the last barrier in their friendship as she pulled off the mask from his face. He felt her fingers as they softly caressed his face, tracing the edge of his scar, his nose, his eyelids… he felt her hands weaving into his hair and pulling him down… and he felt the ghost of her lips on his, raising every hair in the back of his neck, sending divine chills to every part of his body.

Making him feel loved.

Making him feel alive.

Yes. This was a memory to hold on to.

He opened his eyes, raised his wand and screamed at the top of his lungs.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The silver stag materialized in front of him, and immediately stood its ground between Hermione and the orb. The wraiths united their hellish voices in a scream of anger that made the students cover their ears in a futile attempt to drown the sound, but it held no power over the Patronus.

With its powerful antlers, the silver stag cut his way through the mist, immune to the attacks of the wraiths. Harry could see the wailing souls were having trouble holding onto Hermione. Finally, the Patronus reached her and, as he destroyed the souls underneath her, let her gracefully fall onto his back.

The remaining souls went back to their prison. The sphere flashed once before falling onto the ground with an incongruous clink.

The stag slowly turned around, careful not to drop the girl as it walked back to Harry. Finally, it kneeled on its front legs. The body of the girl gently rolled onto the floor and landed at the boy’s feet.

Harry’s eyes never left Hermione’s face. He never noticed that Bellatrix had regained consciousness, and that she had raised his wand at him. He never heard Ron’s shout of warning. And he never heard Bellatrix’s last words.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

He never saw the flash of green light that hit him squarely on the back.

He never felt as his feet lost contact with the floor and his body flew forward across the stage and toward the dance floor.

The doors burst open. But Harry did not hear the explosion, for there was room for only one voice inside his head.

"Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and – “
And love. It took him six years to figure it out, but he finally understood.

“You solved it! You solved it!"
Not this time. This time, he had failed.

"You're going to be fine.”

He fell.

"Harry, you were brilliant! You were amazing! You really were!"

And he continued falling.

"I know you're in there! Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."

And falling.

“There is no me without you, Harry. It is not a matter of choice… I’d die without you.”

Yeah. He definitely knew what that was like.

“I love you.”

Fallen.