Friends Forever

Misc. disclaimers: Ghysal greens come from Final Fantasy 8... I was too lazy to think up of a new Potion ingredient. Ghysal greens are pretty rare and valuable in FF8 anyway... they must be rare and valuable to Snape too. The name Prudence Wentworth came from Charmed.

"How to choose between the sun and moon?
Which is better - May or June?
You make me dream; he makes me smile
But triangle love is not my style.
Two in love is what should be.
I never meant to be
One of three."

-- Sweet Valley High, Elizabeth's Secret Diary

Chapter Two - The Day After The Night Before

The rest of the day proved better for Hermione. The heart-to-heart talk with Dumbledore had lightened her mood considerably that she'd only thought about her dream once or twice.

Her tension started building again when she and Harry met up with Dumbledore and McGonagall for their weekly meeting. Although Dumbledore regarded Hermione as though nothing had happened, which Hermione was eternally thankful for, it was the headmistress who was constantly shooting her anxious, wary looks as though she'd sprouted a second head.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed unaware of McGonagall's blatant show of concern, to Hermione's relief.

The headmaster, sitting at the head of their table, was currently discussing the upcoming visit of one of the most prominent Aurors in the wizarding world, who was flying in from the Soviet Union. Hermione tore her eyes away from McGonagall's prying ones long enough to listen.

"I shall be heading over to London shortly to meet him and assist his journey to Hogwarts," Dumbledore informed them. "I will be away from the school for five days, during which Professor McGonagall will be taking my place as a temporary headmaster. Therefore, I am entrusting the responsibility of looking over the students' general welfare to you two. Can I trust you both?" He gestured to Harry and Hermione.

Harry nodded straight away, but Hermione had her second thoughts. Add the task of being an acting deputy headmistress to her increasing amount of schoolwork and her present, um, problem equals...

She clenched her fists. Nothing I can't handle, she decided flatly, before nodding at Dumbledore.

Unfortunately, the slight tremble of her jaw as she nodded didn't escape McGonagall's eyes, which were watching her like a hawk.

Damn her.

To Hermione's horror, McGonagall faced Dumbledore. "I don't know if Miss Granger will be up to it," she said brusquely.

Hermione looked as though the wind had been completely knocked out of her, and Harry was staring at the head of Gryffindor as if she'd announced that she was going to rob Gringotts. Only Dumbledore seemed calm enough to raise an eyebrow. "Hasn't Miss Granger proven her skills enough to you yet, Minerva?" he asked softly, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm not questioning her competence," McGonagall said almost defensively, noticing the incensed look in Harry's face. "I am simply taking to hand the incident this morning."

Flecks of red and yellow sparked before Hermione's eyes. It was bad enough that McGonagall had raised that topic in the hospital wing, but mentioning it in front of Harry was a thousand times worse! Did the woman live to broadcast Hermione's personal issues 24/7? She was almost as bad as Rita Skeeter and that pen of hers! Fighting to keep her tone neutral, Hermione raised her chin. "What happened this morning has nothing to do with whether I can handle my duties or not," she said firmly. And if this doesn't shut you up... she threatened silently.

McGonagall didn't seem the least bit abashed. "Your personal problems were clearly interfering during the morning's incident," she responded simply.

She had obviously struck a nerve. Hermione felt as though she was hit by a ton of bricks. She didn't know what was the worst - her professor seriously doubting her capabilities for the first time in her life, having the headmaster hear that, or Harry finding out that she was distracted by... certain things. Struggling to control her seething temper, Hermione rose from her chair and looked McGonagall directly in the eye.

"I will not be disrespectful by telling you exactly how your sentiments make me feel, Professor, but this I will tell you. The cause of my distress this morning is my own affair, and will never get in the way of my responsibilities. I'm very sorry if you think otherwise, and apparently I can't do anything to change your mind."

McGonagall was rendered speechless, clearly taken aback.

Ignoring the look on Harry's face, Hermione pushed her chair back and made to leave the room. Before she left, she glanced over her shoulder. "I always believed that you trusted me," she said bitterly, her words unmistakably directed at McGonagall. "I don't understand why what happened this morning should change all that. Please excuse me, Professor Dumbledore." With that, she closed the door behind her, leaving everyone in the room stunned, McGonagall looking particularly guilty.

Everyone except Dumbledore. To Harry and McGonagall's surprise, he was smiling. "I suppose this meeting is considered adjourned," he said pleasantly. "Harry, you may go."

Wordless, Harry nodded, scrambled up and quickly left the room.

Once there were only two left, McGonagall spoke up. "Was I too hard on her?" she asked anxiously.

"That certainly was the way she took it."

"I - I seriously didn't intend it that way," McGonagall said quietly.

"I'm sure you didn't," Dumbledore said agreeably, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "We just have to leave her to deal with it on her own."

"True. But, Albus, I don't understand how you're being so calm about this!"

"I wouldn't say calm, Minerva," Dumbledore corrected, looking infinitely unperturbed as ever. "Frankly, I was impressed."

Blinded by tears, Hermione rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over the last step in her haste. She didn't care where she was heading; all she wanted was to get far, far away from McGonagall, from Harry, from everybody - and be alone. Nurse her wounds some place else where people wouldn't question her every move. Who was she supposed to be, Miss Perfect? Sure, every professor who ever had the chance to teach her found her to be the perfect model student - responsible, hardworking, and respectful. And she'd lived up to that reputation pretty well, too. Why should a little slip-up like the one she had this morning suddenly reverse everything?

I have to take my mind off it, she finally decided. A study session in the library should do the trick. The library was seemed to be the only place in Hogwarts where people minded their own business unless they wanted themselves thrown out by Madame Pince.

The library, and the Potions dungeon, maybe.

It wasn't easy forgetting it. Every bit of the meeting was practically etched into her mind - McGonagall's doubt, Harry's confusion, and - Dumbledore. He was the only one who said a word in her defense, for which Hermione was truly touched. But McGonagall's words still echoed in her ears, stinging her with each step she took.

Your personal problems were clearly interfering...

She skidded to a stop, suddenly aware of her surroundings. Somehow, she'd not only ran herself to the library like a bat out of hell, but she'd actually reached the section covering the thesis she was planning to work on. Researching on the rudiments of the Imperius Curse and on a possible way to distinguish a cursed person from a sane one was not the best remedy for her problem, but it would do. She selected a thick volume and brought it to an empty desk.

Seeing the rolls of parchments of notes that she had already collected made Hermione feel a little better, knowing that despite everything else, she was still focused and a slight misunderstanding with her professor wasn't enough to break her down. With renewed strength, she scoured the book for a likely-looking page, stopping at a chapter titled "Miscellaneous Effects of the Imperius Curse."

The chapter itself was pretty interesting - according to the few who have been affected and were luckily aware that they had been cursed, there were more effects other than complete mind control, such as dilated eyes, abnormally slow, sluggish movements, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem, and, most importantly, no memory that they had been placed under total control if the curse had lasted for more than seven hours. Otherwise, it would take a complex Memory Recovering Charm to regain whatever was lost.

If this is true, then the Imperius Curse couldn't have been used as an excuse not to have done things consciously, Hermione figured out, reaching for a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. However, the fact that it would be impossible for the victim to know that he was cursed was only discovered almost a decade ago, years after the Dark Times, when saying that they were put under the Imperius Curse against their will had been a popular alibi. Unless someone told them that they were cursed, the victim was supposed to be completely clueless.

"Should have known sooner that that bastard Lucius Malfoy was lying about not being involved with You-Know-Who," Hermione muttered, flipping to the next page.

All of a sudden, her ink bottle tipped over, spilling ink onto the parchment.

"Bloody hell - damn!" she swore under her breath as the ink seeped into the thin paper, spreading rapidly like ripples in a dark black puddle. How in the world...? She wasn't clumsy nor foolish enough to tip ink bottles over her work. Not usually, anyway.

Righting the half-full ink bottle, Hermione wadded up the soaked parchment and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Her hands came away looking like they were dipped in tar. Carefully, she reached for her wand and magicked the ink away with a cleaning charm.

Dammit, I must be losing my touch.

Disgruntled, she dug into her bag for a second piece of parchment. She was running empty, considering all notes she'd been making, and running to Hogsmeade for a new batch required energy that she just didn't have right now. Finally, her fingers groped a stray piece and she pulled it out. Any sort of blank paper would do at this moment... really, of all the times to run out of parchment...!

That scrap evidently had writing too. Mumbling incoherently, Hermione turned it over to read the back. She recognized it as the things-to-do note she'd composed last night.

For Thursday: Get Potions ingredients - dragon blood, essence of moonstone, adamantine... Bring Charms report to Flitwick's office... Submit results of survey to Professor Hecate... Hermione frowned, with a sinking feeling, as she reached the bottom of the list. Why hadn't she noticed these things before? It was impossible - no, it couldn't be -

Refusing to acknowledge the undeniable truth of what she already suspected, Hermione dropped her head in her hands, crushing the things-to-do note in her fist, the soft crackle of the crumpled paper slicing into her mind mocking her in its wake.

She had been so worried about her problems ruining her schoolwork, but she'd sabotaged it herself, thanks very much. Even if she worked herself to the brink of insanity to gather those ingredients and turn in her report and survey, the damage had already been done.

McGonagall was right - she was incompetent, negligent, and incredibly foolish. Too careless to fulfill her own responsibilities to her education, much less as Head Girl! There was no possible way to accomplish the tasks she had so dutifully noted the night before - the professors didn't accept work after class hours. Hermione stared up at the shelf in front of her, wishing that it would simply topple over and crush her away...

... and knowing in the heart of her hearts that there was no way that could possibly happen. She glared at the picture of the wizard on her book waving his wand in the aftermath of having performed the Imperius curse. "Just kill me, why don't you?" Hermione spat out.

Love is a double-edged sword, if you must know, Dumbledore's words came back to haunt her, releasing the pent-up tears she'd been holding.

She finally understood what he meant.

Just on the other side of the towering shelf stood Ron Weasley, muttering irritably to himself as he yanked down another book and added it to the teetering pile on the table. Snape had better be happy with this or I'll stick it up his bloody ass, Ron thought sourly.

His hatred for the Potions Master had lessened over the years, but was now threatening to explode again like a long-overdue volcanic eruption. Because just when he thought he'd picked the perfect topic for his thesis, Snape suddenly remembered that he still had to punish Ron for smashing his last bottle of ghysal greens.

And Ron had broken that bottle two months ago!

So, with typical Slytherin sadism, Snape demanded that Ron write his thesis in the field of Potion-making. To make matters worse, he specifically stated that it would be about the different perspectives of prominent figures in the milestones of the study of Potions. Ron would have had no problem with it if he put his heart into it, it was just that writing an argument between killing and imprisonment in Azkaban would have been tons better. And more fun to write too, knowing that he was doing this for himself and not as a punishment for breaking stupid Potion bottles.

Ron glared at the rickety pile of textbooks. He longed to take those stupid books, run into his stupid professor's office, and throw them on his stupid head. And maybe gladly trade all this for a good old detention.

The subject Snape had chosen wasn't all that bad, but every single bloody book in the history and Potions section seemed to point in that direction! Gods know he could spend the night taking book after book and there'd still be another thousand more out there about famous people on Potion study.

Well, Snape decided to have a little mercy (and that was saying something) and told him that books written by the late author Marthon Stewars generally dealt with Potion-making history. So far, despite the instruction of Madame Pince, Ron had only found one book with Stewars' name on it - his biography, written about twelve years ago.

A fat lot of help, that was for sure.

He backed up a couple of steps to search the highest shelf. First Ingredients Ever Used in Potion-Brewing, Non-Liquid Potion Ingredients - those were practically useless - Psychology and Potion-Brewing - whatever that could mean, and then -

Squinting, Ron blinked rapidly several times and pinched himself to see if he wasn't dreaming.

There it was, sandwiched between two yellowing books by some witch named Prudence Wentworth, gleaming in gold lettering on its brand-new, hard-bound cover: Famous Figures in the History of Potion Study by Sir Marthon Stewars.

Ron whipped out his wand to summon the book from the top of the shelf. "Accio book - oh, great!"

The wobbly tower of books on the table finally collapsed at the same time Ron uttered the words of the Summoning Charm. The jet of light emitted by his wand missed the Stewars' book by few inches, hit the ceiling, and bounced back off somewhere behind the shelf. A second later, Ron heard a muffled curse as his spell knocked against something.

Whoops. Ron considered checking on who or what the charm had hit, but decided against it. As long as he didn't do something like spill someone's ink bottle all over his work, it was fine, right?

Shaking his head, he Banished all the books on the floor back onto their vacated shelves and raised his wand to summon Stewars' book again. The heavy hardback flew off the shelf and landed in his hands. The front cover showed a simmering cauldron, and on the outside of the cauldron, faces of wizards flashed one after the other.

He had finished skimming the brief foreword when he heard a very familiar voice bark out from behind the shelf. "Just kill me, why don't you?"

Hermione, he thought, recognizing the voice instantly. He rolled his eyes. What could it possibly be this time, besides another test score of only one hundred and one percent, or seeing that the dove she had worked herself hoarse to transform into still had feathers of the same material as her Hogwarts robes? For Pete's sake, even the best wizards still have problems with Animagus transformations!

But imagine trying to tell Hermione that.

Slamming the book shut, Ron peered around the shelf to see Hermione's head buried in her arms, and she was apparently crying. Now that was something you didn't see everyday. The Hermione he knew wasn't one for melodrama, much less tears.

Everything vanished from his mind except the fact that one of his best friends was sobbing as though it were the day the Titanic sank. He set the book aside and pulled up a chair next to Hermione. "Hey, Herms, it's me."

"Ron?"

"Yeah." He took the packet of tissues sticking out of one of the pockets of Hermione's bag and offered it to her. "And since asking if there's something wrong would be a pretty dumb question - d'you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe... I don't know..."

Ron was about to ask why, but the folder in front of her marked with her name and Thesis Notes across the top provided the answer. He patted Hermione's trembling arm. "All right, so maybe not here," he amended. "Want to talk it over butterbeer? I'm paying."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, which Ron interpreted perfectly. He snorted. "Don't give me that 'what-if-you-run-out-of-money' crap," he scolded her, his own eyebrows twitching in amusement. "We're not in fourth year anymore, and Dad was promoted, remember?"

That's true, he reflected. Ever since Arthur Weasley was given the position as head of the Muggle Relations office, Ron's life had completely revolved three-hundred and sixty degrees - for the better. The family had acquired a new home, a new lifestyle, and a new name in the wizarding world that could have rivaled Lucius Malfoy's. Though it had taken the best of nearly two months for Ron to get used to the change, it did have its benefits - such as new robes and school materials instead of second-hand ones, and a higher allowance.

And the best one yet was that Malfoy had little - if not none - left to tease him about. The only bit of communication left between them were the brief exchange of looks whenever they passed each other, and they weren't usually that pleasant either.

That drew a small smile from Hermione. "I remember," she said, smiling through the remnants of her tears. "I didn't think Malfoy could last more than a day without saying something mean to you."

Ron grinned back, admiring how much Hermione's face changed with only a smile. Her eyes lit up, her cheeks were flushed, and the slight hints of red under her eyes and nose paled next to them. Even her hair seemed to shine more radiantly under the last rays of the setting sun filtering through the library windows.

She was incredibly beautiful. More so than he could ever imagine. He may have the money to please her and his friendship, but he still wouldn't have done anything to deserve - this angel. Almost involuntarily, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. It was an innocent gesture, yet Ron was almost certain he felt Hermione flinch slightly.

But what if - she doesn't feel the same way? a tiny voice piped up.

That's why you're marching right over to the Three Broomsticks to find out, a more positive one answered.

"So... are we going or what?" Ron asked as an excuse to silence the argument in his head.

"We are? Oh, right, I guess." Hermione gathered her notes to a neat file and stuffed it into her bag.

Ron nodded, frowning slightly at her hesitation. Was she trying deliberately not to meet his eyes? He had no idea if this was a bad sign or not. "I'll meet you outside," he said instead as she hurried over to Madame Pince's desk to check out her book.

She's just tired, that's all, he reassured himself. And stressed.

Yup, that must be it. It could not have been anything else, right? He hadn't been doing anything overt a while ago... if touching her hair hadn't been.

His heart was pounding unnecessarily faster, though, as he and Hermione left the library and headed for the exit of the school. Wasn't he forgetting something?

The book! he suddenly remembered. Had Hermione not been there, he would have smacked himself on the forehead for his stupidity. Marthon Stewars' Potions History book - how could he have forgotten? He'd spent ages looking for it! Snape's menacing face loomed in his mind, telling him off for neglecting his studies for -

Not just anybody, for that matter. A discreet glance at Hermione and fears of his Potions Master quickly faded away. No amount of schoolwork - or a certain crummy teacher - would be worth passing up a chance with the woman he'd always dreamt of.

"Hey, Ron, is there anything wrong?" Hermione touched his hand, her lips quirking slightly. Her mere touch sent high-voltage electricity tingling up his arm, erasing all thoughts of Snape and his thesis in his mind. He took a sharp intake of breath.

He shook his head forcefully, not knowing whether to answer her or to knock her against the wall in a passionate kiss. Instead, he settled for quipping, "No, nothing at all."

I'll return for that book - later.

Hermione was mildly surprised when Ron offered her a drink at the Three Broomsticks, but recovered at once, recalling that two bottles of butterbeer were little compared to what Mr. Weasley had earned the family after his promotion. She had been inclined to refuse, but then what could it hurt? She was out of parchment - it wasn't like staying in the library to wallow in her misery would help.

After all, it had been ages since she and Ron went to Hogsmeade - without Harry. And, although she would never admit to anyone, she liked the materialistic benefits of having not just one, but two friends who were sons of high-society or pureblood families.

She smiled at Ron's mock-stern expression. "I remember," she told him. "I didn't think Malfoy could last more than a day without saying something mean to you." Without her knowing, her heart fluttered as Ron returned her smile. Already she felt less weighed down, and her troubles with McGonagall and Harry seemed faraway. She glanced up to look him in the eye, which Ron met warmly.

However, there was something lacking in that smile. When his eyes bore into hers, she felt content and comforted, surrounded and protected by a brotherly sort of love.

But when Harry's eyes had locked with hers, she felt as though a blazing fire had been lit inside her, like a deep mutual understanding established just by his mere gaze. His touch was gentle when he had brushed away her tears, and his concern was genuine. He felt good. He felt... right?

Oh, no. That can't be possible - no way...

"So... are we going or what?" Ron cut in.

"We are? Oh, right, I guess." Ruthlessly pushing her terrifying discovery aside, Hermione jumped up from her seat and hastily crammed everything back into her bag. A lock of her hair fell across her face in her rush, and before she could move to sweep it aside, Ron did the job for her. She tensed for a second, before straightening up and bringing her book to be checked out. She didn't know why she was so rattled about Ron touching her hair - it was a simply friendly gesture, is all - but, without her knowing why, she felt guilty. Guilty that she was unconsciously leading Ron on, and guilty that she was undoubtedly fooling him.

But she knew the truth - she wasn't fooling anyone but herself. Mixed feelings of regret, irritation, and betrayal for the one she truly wanted. Yet that person was not the one who was now taking her to the Three Broomsticks.

Uncomfortably, she sneaked a glance at Ron, who looked just as awkward as she felt. Was her discomfort showing? She nudged his hand lightly. "Hey, Ron, is there anything wrong?"

A sharp hiss escaped his lips as their fingers made contact. Staring straight ahead, he shook his head, although the movement looked a little too - forced. "No, nothing at all."

There is definitely something wrong here, Hermione thought, frowning. The Ron she knew didn't thrive on silence - in fact, he could hardly exist for a minute without his usual wisecracks. And the way he was uneasily fidgeting with his fingers did not do anything to ease her suspicions.

The entrance to the Three Broomsticks loomed before them. Ron grinned at her, before sinking into a perfect half bow with a flourish. "After you, my lady."

Despite the exaggerated formality, Hermione chuckled at his attempt to lighten things up. Meeting him halfway, she waltzed into the pub and performed a little curtsy. "Thank you, kind sir," she replied, taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead her into a vacant table. By the time they were seated, both of them had cracked up.

"You certainly weren't that gentlemanly during the Yule Ball three years ago," Hermione remarked between laughs.

"Why should I be if the girl I was dancing with then wasn't you?" Ron winked at her before getting up to order for the both of them.

Hermione managed to smile weakly at his less-than-subtle compliment while waiting for him to return. Minutes later, he sat down and set two bottles of butterbeer. They drank noiselessly, until Ron finally broke the silence. His eyes were unusually somber. Hermione just looked back blankly, unaware that her suspicions were about his strange behavior in the library was soon to be confirmed.

"Hermione - there's something I have to tell you."