If Not for the Courage of the Fearless Crew

Harry Potter was sitting in his usual chair in the Gryffindor common room, wondering whether it might cheer him up if he visited Moaning Myrtle. Voldemort was getting stronger. Death Eaters were breaking into the school every third week. Dementors were appearing in the unlikeliest of places. And whenever he thought about the girl he loved--and when didn't he think of her?--he felt so queasy it made facing Voldemort seem like a light game of chess with Ron Weasley.

Except that light games of chess with Ron weren't so light anymore, either, because Harry was afraid Ron wanted the same girl he did.

He had to laugh. It didn't help, but he had to laugh. There he was, the Boy Who Lived, a real hero (just ask Ginny or Colin), and he couldn't face a girl. Even a girl he would trust--had trusted--with his life.

He walked toward the portrait hole. Next stop, the haunted bathroom.

Ron Weasley, his first and best friend, caught him on his way out. "Hey, Harry--fancy--mate--I mean, would you mind--can we talk?"

Harry's heart fell, but he tried to keep it out of his voice. He'd had all too much practice at that.

"Sure."

The two bold Gryffindors made their way to the couch. "Harry, there's something I need to ask you."

"OK."

"This has to be secret, OK?"

"Of course, Ron, what's up?"

"Harry, I think I'm in love with one of my closest friends."

Maybe it was their five and a half years of friendship that did it--they gulped in unison. "And, well, mate, I don't like the idea of doing anything. I don't want to ruin our friendship if it doesn't work out."

Harry lifted his eyes off the floor and forced them, almost at wandpoint, to meet Ron's. This was confirmation, he thought with dread: Ron was in love with Hermione. Just for a moment, it occurred to Harry that he could try to persuade Ron not to make his move--but he was disgusted at the thought. He was not going to urge Ron to be a coward just because he, Harry, was being one. If Ron had come to him for advice, he'd give Ron the best advice he could--even if it meant that Ron got to date Hermione while Harry got to look on in longing.

"Go for it, Ron. Do you really think a good friend is going to drop you, even if she doesn't fancy you? She'll be flattered. And if she doesn't think anything good can come of a date, she'll help you get over her. She'll probably even respect you for asking."

His words echoed in his mind. What about me? Why don't I do this? Go for it, Harry!

"And what about you?"

Harry swallowed again and gave Ron his best supportive look. "I haven't asked Hermione out yet. If she'd be happier with you than with me, that's up to her--and I know you'll feel the same way if . . . if she chooses me. Either way, we're all friends, right?" Without waiting for an answer, he clasped Ron on the shoulder and walked off to look for Hermione. It was now or never. Ron would have his shot--but Harry wanted to ask first.

***

Hermione returned to the common room well after midnight. She'd been busy patrolling the halls.

"Sometimes, Harry, I think you are very lucky not to be a prefect." She flopped into her usual chair, too tired to sleep. With a wave of her wand, she summoned her knitting needles and started in on an elf hat. Ron was already upstairs.

"Listen, Hermione, there's something I really need to tell you." She looked up, anxious. "You've been one of my best friends for more than five years. I want you to be my best friend forever, whatever else happens. But . . ."

"But nothing, Harry."

"I have to say this. I love you, Hermione. I love you as the best friend I've ever had. You've inspired me and guided me, and you've been a truer partner than anyone has a right to ask." He looked at her face. "But I love you as more than that, too. You are, in every way, the most beautiful woman I've ever met. I've been lucky to have you by my side through everything, and I'm afraid as anything to risk that . . . but I'm afraid even more that Voldemort will kill me and I'll never have told you how I feel."

Why was it, Harry thought, that whenever he started to get this way with a girl, she cried?

Hermione got up and walked over to Harry. She scooped him out of his chair and pulled him into a hug that answered everything he had said. The crushing pressure of her arms against his back told him she would never be less than his best friend, but the angle of her distant hips told him she would never be more. Her sobs told him how much it hurt her to think of his possible fate and to feel she was letting him down, and a strange tension in her muscles told him how angry she was that he had been afraid to trust her with the truth. He placed his hands gently on her back. "I love you, Harry," she said. "Don't you dare doubt me. We'll get through this."

Harry choked on his words, but he forced them out. "It's OK. We'll manage. It's OK. I love you. It's OK. . . . Listen--I really hope this cheers you up. Don't tell him I warned you, but I think Ron is going to come tell you he feels the same way I do."

"What?" She pulled back, her face glowing even though her eyes were still wet. Then she hugged Harry again, but this time it was different. This time, she was hugging him to share her joy.

Harry was very proud, when he hugged her back, that he actually felt happy for her. He wished her a good night and managed to climb the stairs with a smile on his face.

When he entered the dormitory, he found Ron waiting up, looking anxious.

"You told Hermione how you feel, didn't you."

"Yes, Ron, I did. It's your turn now."

Ron took a deep breath. "Now? Right this moment?"

"Why not? She's still awake. I'll even wait here for you." Ron shook his head. "No, go on. You waited for me. And if she says yes, I want to try to be happy for you. I'm serious. It'll cheer me up." Ron was still shaking his head.

"Really, Ron. Just do it. It'll be OK."

"You know, I don't really think I need to do this."

"Do it, Ron. There's no need to torture yourself. We have Death Eaters for that."

"Erm, Harry . . . I think I'm in love with you."

"WHAT?!"

"Don't wake the others, I'm not ready for them to know. I think I'm in love with you. "

This was not happening. Harry was in love with Hermione. Hermione only wanted Ron. And Ron . . . Ronald Bilius Weasley had decided he didn't want Hermione after all. He wanted . . . Harry.

"Voldemort," Harry said under his breath. "Come here. Now. I know what to do with you. I don't know what to do with . . . this mess." Then he looked at Ron, inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. "Let's go downstairs and talk to Hermione. We'll manage--all three of us--somehow. We always do . . . right?"

"It'll be OK, Harry. It'll be OK."