Friends Forever

**

Chapter One - The Seventh Year

Accurate and precise calculations should be made on each point of the rune chart to make it valid for use. To attain the proper balance between each rune and its relative proportion...

Hermione let out a groan of defeat and dropped her head on the open Arithmancy book before her. How many times had she read that certain paragraph? Five? Ten?

Way less than a hundred, that was for sure.

She absently ran her hand through her light brown hair, watching the silky, magically-straightened strands slide between her fingers. It had already been two years since she'd gotten her usual bushy hair straightened to sleek, shiny finish, but it never failed to amaze her how different it was from the curly hairstyle she'd held on to for five long years.

And it was that amount of time she was going to take studying if she didn't stop brooding.

A wave of regret washed over her. It had seemed like such a good idea to take up the most advance course of Arithmancy Hogwarts had to offer for her final year, but to put it alongside Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts and Advanced Transfiguration was slowly becoming like a living hell. She teetering at the edge of messing up big time, and Hermione Granger just didn't mess up. Under normal circumstances, that is.

However, the situation at hand was far from normal.

Oh, her seventh year had started off pretty well, she had to admit. She was appointed Head Girl, and, to her utter delight and uneasiness, Harry had been appointed Head Boy. There wasn't anything wrong with him, really - he'd gotten a lot more serious with his schoolwork and had obviously matured over the past several years - but being the two lead students of the school meant they had to spend quite a lot of time with each other. Both of them knew better, so they swore to keep their relationship as Head Boy and Girl strictly professional.

Supposedly, anyway.

It wasn't until the time that Hermione noticed how Harry always took time out to walk her to her extra classes, accompany her on trips to Hogsmeade, and manage to hold her hand every single day that Hermione had started becoming exceedingly uncomfortable.

Then Harry dropped the bomb and confessed to Hermione after their weekly meeting with Professor McGonagall. His words still ran through her mind despite all of the work she was desperately trying to bury herself in. "I know we've promised to keep this under professional terms, Hermione, but if there's still a chance for us, I'm all for taking it..."

Taken by shock, Hermione's mouth had acquired a mind of its own and blurted out that she'd give him her decision by Friday night. Just two days away. Why hadn't I just simply put my foot down and said that I'm not interested? she wailed inwardly. Now I'm punishing myself by wallowing in gloom when I'm supposed to be studying... dammit.

Because you are interested, Granger, responded that snide little voice at the back of her head before she could clamp it down with her usual stubbornness and grit.

Even if she was, there was one thing she could be sure of - her heart already belonged to someone else.

Ron.

Her feelings were evidently clear, and the memories she had with Ron were definitely not worth throwing away for any price. Temporarily forgetting the voluminous Arithmancy book staring up at her, she smiled for what seemed the first time in days, recalling as times spent with Ron flooded her mind. Sneaking into Hogsmeade in the middle of the night to steal their last stash of Hogsmeade's best chocolate, tampering with Draco Malfoy's speech so that he'd lose against Harry in the presidential elections, spending hours without sleep worrying about Harry every time he'd disappear to who-knows-where to face Voldemort... the list was endless, actually.

To make a long story short, she had Ron Weasley to thank for letting her see her school life through another angle other than the typically serious, black-and-white "Hermione Granger" way.

But it wasn't Ron, the boy she'd spent practically her entire life at Hogwarts with, who was falling all over her feet. It was Harry. A part of Hermione was flattered at his courage and honesty to tell her directly, another was wishing that it was Ron instead.

And the last part was wondering what the hell was she doing thinking about her unresolved love life when she had three more long chapters to read.

Damn, why couldn't Ron just drop his stupid chess board for once in his life and talk to her, so that this matter could be fixed?

Thanks a lot, Weasley, she thought bitterly.

The caustic voice spoke up again, to Hermione's annoyance. Isn't it so obvious? it sneered. Hermione could almost see it with its hands on its hips, glaring at her with about as much warmth as an ice cube. She suppressed a chuckle. It reminded her so much of herself.

It was right. The choice was leering right in front of her, scolding her for not noticing it sooner.

With a long-suffering sigh, she reopened her book and started shifting the glossy pages for the right chapter.

The next day was definitely not one of Hermione's best ones.

"Miss Granger, this has been the third time I've called your attention," Professor Vector, a rather small witch who was her Arithmancy teacher, reprimanded her in a surprisingly patient voice for someone who had to bear with a student inattentively staring off to space. "Is there something so important that it ranks first in your priorities before your studies?"

Hermione, who had been distraught from the beginning of the lesson and had been listlessly doodling on a blank page of her notebook, looked up both with surprise and guilt. So far, she'd managed to catch on with the lesson, no thanks to the hours she'd spent poring over chapter after chapter of Numerology and Grammatica Volume Six, but the usual page after page of notes that she, as a rule, had always kept were reduced to five or six phrases.

Merlin's beard, this was not good.

Composing her features to a studious, interested expression, Hermione held her quill poised over a clean page, trying to avoid the dubious looks her classmates were aiming at her direction. Ron and Harry in particular. "I beg your pardon, Professor. It won't happen again."

Professor Vector wasn't ready to let her off the hook so easily, however. "That's the third time you've told me that as well," she pointed out.

"I know, Professor, but it will be the last, I assure you," Hermione insisted.

Her hold on her quill relaxed with relief as Professor Vector picked up her wand to resume the lesson. "I certainly hope so, Miss Granger. You should be lucky that you are fortunate enough to still have my trust. Had it been otherwise, I would have immediately deducted ten points from Gryffindor."

The last sentence drew a few titters from the students. Hermione resisted the urge to smirk right back at their faces. "Thank you, Professor. You can count on it, I promise."

"Good. Now, getting back to what we were discussing..."

But it wasn't long before Hermione's mind tuned out her teacher's voice and started drifting to other things. Such as the expression on Harry's face as he looked at her from her right. He hadn't been overtly concerned, but there was a strange worry in his eyes that hadn't been on the other students'. Geez, the last thing she needed was for him to worry about her bizarre behavior! Especially if he found out that it was because of him...

Life is so unfair, she almost cried out resentfully. Why do all of these things have to come, and now, of all times? Didn't she have enough burdens to shoulder already?

"I need a break," she muttered to herself, setting down her quill after trying unsuccessfully to take down what Professor Vector was saying. Dropping her chin on her hands, she let her eyes close for a second. Arithmancy was never boring, but she was just so, so tired... All-night studying was not doing her any good...

Wake up and start moving, Granger! she commanded herself, but she couldn't find enough energy to pick herself up and get into gear.

"Just a minute," she told herself drowsily. There's no way I'm falling asleep, she thought sternly.

No way... I'm falling... asleep...

The wind was howling a terrible hurricane, the waves savagely crashing against the coast. Far out into the sea, Hermione was stranded, curled up helplessly on top of an... Arithmancy book? Well, whatever it was, it wasn't much help. The water was tossing it about like a beach ball.

"Somebody help!" she tried to scream, but her calls were drowned by an ear-splitting crash of thunder. She blinked through the rain splattering her cheeks, mingling in with her tears. The rain was steadily pouring heavier and heavier, and any sort of land was miles away. Sputtering as she choked on the salty water, she tried to squint through the storm for any sign of a boat, land, something, anything!

Just as she was giving up hope on ever making it to shore, a familiar voice emerged from the wind whistling in her ears. "Hermione! Over here!"

She looked up to see Harry, perched on his Firebolt, suspended above her and reaching out his hand. "Harry!" she gasped, getting to her feet. "Oh my god, thank God you came!" Shivering both from the cold and from relief, she reached out to take his outstretched hand.

Before she could pull herself onto his broomstick, another voice rang out. "Hermione! I'm here!"

Stunned, she whirled around. There was Ron, driving what looked like a chess board transformed into a small dinghy. He was paddling furiously towards her, totally oblivious to the angry waves and the heavy rain.

Harry was almost hanging by his legs as he tried to reach her. "Hermione, come on!" he yelled. His broomstick was wavering in the air, fighting desperately against the wind.

"Don't, please, no!" Hermione screamed, thrashing back and forth on her seat, her hair in a total disarray. She would have fallen off her seat hadn't it been for Harry taking her by the shoulders and shaking her awake.

"Hermione! Hey, it's just a dream, wake up!"

Hermione's eyes popped open, meeting Harry's with a frightened gaze. The terrified look on those beautiful orbs tugged at his heart. He'd never seen Hermione look so vulnerable, so exhausted and withdrawn. She was staring right at him as though he was a transparent piece of glass, her watery stare seemingly going through him. Her fingers clutched the sleeves of his robes, almost as if fearing that he'd vanish if she let go.

"A dream?" she repeated, her eyes widening with disbelief before she broke down again.

Hastily, Harry broke the eye contact. Seeing her like this, so defenseless and fatigued, made him want so badly to simply take her in his arms and let her cry. Let her do anything, just as long as he could stay by her side and hold time still for eternity. Instead, he gently loosened her grip on his sleeve and brushed her tears away, the tender caress of his fingers holding the same intimacy as a lover.

It took Harry exactly 2.4 seconds to realize the enormity of what he'd done. He cringed inwardly as Hermione recoiled at his touch, gaping at Harry as though he had stung her.

I deserved that, he admitted, wanting to Disapparate right at that moment. Gods, what was I thinking?

He smiled to himself ruefully. I guess that's the price to pay when you fall in love with someone...

That smile vanished the instant Professor Vector appeared at Hermione's side, consoling the crying girl. There wasn't anything he wanted more than to take Hermione's hand and apologize for acting like an idiot, for staging some stupid sort of parody of a love story with the whole of Gryffindor watching. His bravado crumbling, he sank back onto his seat, averting his eyes carefully.

His notebook was open to the page where he'd scribbled Hermione's name about a thousand times and enclosed it in numerous hearts. It was futile trying not to think of her, especially of her condition just a few minutes ago. She looked so ready to bury her face in his robes and needed so much to be held.

Stop it! he ordered himself. Mechanically, he ripped off the page bearing the sea of Hermione's, crumpled it in his fist, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Finally, Hermione's sobs subsided, and Harry heard the professor speak to her softly yet sternly. As though in a trance, Hermione nodded mutely and began gathering her things into her bag.

The whole affair had taken less than two minutes, yet the class was all eyes for it. Professor Vector had to let loose a shower of fireworks for them to pay attention. But Harry was too tense to listen as Hermione swept away, the cold, unbelieving look in her eyes when he had touched her painfully etched into his mind.

The white ceiling of the hospital wing spun crazily until it slowed into focus. Hermione groaned, massaging her aching head. It hadn't stopped throbbing ever since she'd entered the hospital wing to have the sleep Professor Vector had told her to take. The Sleeping Potion renewed her energy, but her mind was still occupied with the dream she had, and Harry's gestures. The storm was so vivid, playing out in her head as though she'd actually been there.

What could have happened if I didn't wake up? Who would I have chosen? she asked herself silently.

Then she remembered Harry waking her, telling her soothingly that it was just a dream, that everything was all right. The temptation to succumb to his embrace was so strong that Hermione had nearly relented, the only thing stopping her was her pride. The Hermione she knew never cried in public, much less sobbed into someone's arms.

He was so kind... so warm... Hermione couldn't help thinking as she recalled the tender way he comforted her - and wiped her tears away, like - like -

Like some kind of potential boyfriend!

"Who did he think he was?" Hermione cried out loud, bolting up like a jackknife.

The curtain separating her bed from the rest of the hospital wing parted, revealing Madame Pomfrey. Standing in her shadow was the head of Gryffindor house. Hermione suddenly felt very small under their penetrating gazes. Oh, boy, did she have a lot of explaining to do.

Fortunately, the two seemed to understand her predicament. Laying a hand on her forehead, Madame Pomfrey turned to Professor McGonagall. "No fever, but she's dead on her feet. I would recommend a full day's rest here."

What the - Hermione turned her pleading eyes to McGonagall. "No, I can't!" she protested, fisting the sheets so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I have a lot of work to do, and we have a meeting with..." Her voice trailed off as McGonagall took a deep breath to start speaking. Madame Pomfrey quietly slipped away.

Sober couldn't even quite cover the expression on McGonagall's face. She sat at the foot of the bed. "Miss Granger," she began. "Professor Vector reported to me a rather unlikely event during her Arithmancy class." She paused, allowing the full weight of her look to bear down on the Head Girl. "Is it true that you fell asleep in class and had quite an unfortunate dream?"

Seeing no other alibi, Hermione nodded.

"Before that, you had seemed fairly troubled as well that she had to call for your attention thrice," McGonagall went on.

Hermione hung her head. Her situation had never seemed so shameful until now.

"It's terribly out of your character to act in such a way. Is there anything wrong?"

"'Anything wrong' is an understatement," Hermione said under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?" McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Is your duty as Head Girl too strenuous for you to take, along with keeping up with your classes? Because if this is the reason, I can take the issue to your - "

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. If McGonagall even tried considering Hermione's competence, she was nuts. Clearing her throat, she lowered her voice enough to talk civilly. "I'm sorry for lashing out like that, Professor, but no, this has nothing to do with my responsibilities. Out of due respect, Professor, I know you want more of an answer, but this is as much as I can possibly give you."

McGonagall released her breath, clearly relieved. "I could request that our weekly meeting with the Headmaster be postponed, if you wish," she offered.

Hermione shook her head. "That wouldn't be necessary," she said politely but firm enough to let McGonagall know she wasn't allowing herself to lie in bed like a weakling the whole day. "I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore myself."

As though sleepwalking, Hermione walked through the hallways of Hogwarts. Sunlight filtered through the paned windows, bathing the halls with a warm, golden glow. Everything seemed more alive in the castle every morning. It's so beautiful... so comfortable...

Then she laughed to herself bitterly. "Wish I could say the same for me," she grumbled.

If talking to McGonagall had her that fidgety, then she had nothing to say for Dumbledore. Although she trusted him to a length that she wouldn't give anyone else, the image of wisdom and power perpetually instilled in those blue eyes of his was not a little overwhelming. Almost automatically, she turned into the hallway that would lead up the stairs towards the North Wing, where Dumbledore's office was located...

... and almost ran smack into Harry, who was hurrying along the corridor as well. His emerald green eyes widened at the sight of her. Hermione returned his look coolly, not nearly forgetting that he was a major cause of her breakdown in Arithmancy class.

Neither had Harry forgotten. "Hermione, I - I want to ask your forgiveness, for the way I acted during Arithmancy," he said sincerely. The genuineness of his apology was almost tangible that Hermione's expression softened.

"I acted out of line," he continued, his eyes filled with guilt. "And I promise that nothing like that would ever happen again. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Hermione's anger evaporated almost immediately. She looked at him earnestly, rekindling the friendly affection she'd always felt for him. "Just having this settled is enough."

"I can't thank you enough," Harry said, obviously reprieved. "Anyway, I've got to go, I've got McGonagall next." He reached for her hand and squeezed it, and this time, Hermione felt the warmth of their friendship instead of the uneasiness that had always lingered when they were alone. Hermione smiled and made to leave, her spirits lifted slightly.

Just slightly, though. Even though that was done, she still had the unavoidable rendezvous with him on Friday night. Forcing it out of her mind, she ascended the stairs and stopped in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's door.

"Maraschino cherry," she deadpanned. Honestly, what was it with Dumbledore and Muggle passwords? Not that she would object, though, she thought, as the gargoyle sprang to life and moved aside for her to enter. She knocked softly on the closed door.

"Enter."

Hermione entered the room quietly and approached the Headmaster's table where he was in the middle of writing a letter. He put down his quill and turned to her, light glinting off his half-moon spectacles. "I have been expecting to see you, Miss Granger."

Hermione suddenly had the impression of ice blue lasers searing through herself like needle through cloth. Steeling her nerves, she seated herself on one of the chairs. "I'm sorry, Professor, if I've disturbed you or anything - "

"Not at all," he said dismissively. "Significant matters - such as those concerning my Head Boy or Head Girl - are not to be taken lightly."

That McGonagall has one hell of mouth, really, spreading news like wildfire, remarked her mental voice dryly. And for once Hermione had to agree.

"Assuming that you know what I speak of," Dumbledore said, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "I'd like to believe that the early morning incident is something personal."

If Dumbledore had the ability to read minds, then he was doing a very good demonstration of it right now. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. "It is," she admitted.

"Well, if you would want someone to talk to, you can tell me."

Someone to talk to. What Hermione wouldn't give for someone to confide in, to have someone listen! Throwing caution to the winds, she simply told Dumbledore everything. At first, her feelings, her frustrations from the past week came so fast and furious that she could hardly make sense of them, and she didn't think Dumbledore could, either. But he remained silent until she finished telling him about the stress of taking a lot of classes, working with Harry after his confession, and, reluctantly, her feelings for Ron.

For a minute, silence hung like a mist, and Dumbledore just sat quietly, as though trying to digest everything Hermione had said.

Good for you, proud one. You've actually confided in someone, praised the little voice in her head sardonically. Hermione's lips quirked at that one, but at the same time, the voice gave her a strange sense of security, as though talking to Dumbledore would make everything all right.

When he did speak, his question completely caught her off-guard. He met her eyes directly.

"How much do you believe in your heart, Miss Granger?"

Hermione flinched visibly. She hadn't been expecting the impact the question would have on her. "N-not much, really," she managed to say.

"Well, I can't dictate where your loyalties lie," Dumbledore said, his voice hinting at wisdom over the ages. "But this I can tell you - there isn't a logical, rational way to look at love. If you are making a decision, thinking about it will not help entirely. Love is a double-edged sword, if you must know."

"I don't quite understand - what you mean, sir."

"Try to look at it this way," Dumbledore suggested. "Who do you think would be better as a friend," he paused, emphasizing the word "friend". " - and who do you thing would be better as someone to love?"

The truth of Dumbledore's words was slowly dawning on her. He was right, she realized with a sinking feeling. All the hours she'd spent trying to decide who she was right for was partly time wasted - she'd totally forgotten to think of who was right for her. The little voice that she'd always pushed aside had been right after all - she'd been so very proud and self-centered.

The feeling was something to swallow. All those six years she'd spent at Hogwarts, and the memories that came along were always, somehow, pushed to one side. She could only quite remember their adventures with the Sorcerer's Stone, the countless visits to Hogsmeade, and the number of times they snuck around Hogwarts under Harry's Invisibility cloak. She'd allowed herself to let go of them over the years... to compete with everyone else and be the best for all of them to see.

Almost guiltily, she eyed the Headmaster's room, recalling the times she, Ron, and Harry had sat there, talking to Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore, once, had been a friend. Now, he was just her Headmaster, and she his student.

Funny how it was so difficult for her to understand a concept that most seventeen-year-olds would normally take to hand easily. Was love really that complicated, or was she just so far behind?

So many questions needed answering, but Hermione knew that the discussion - and her own inner demons - were finally resolved. And she'd won.

"I - I think I understand," she said slowly before saying gratefully, "Thank you very much, Professor," as she rose to her feet. "Your advice has been invaluable, and I thank you for listening."

"It has been a long time, Miss Granger."

A long time. He was right. Six years was quite a lot, now that she thought about it.