Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

It seemed very apropos that Tuesday was rainy, chilly, and bleak-- perfect funeral weather. Classes for the day had been canceled, so that any students who wished to attend Dean Thomas' funeral could travel to his hometown of Potsdam. Dumbledore arranged for Portkeys to transport the students to the church and cemetery, but only a handful of students--besides all of the seventh-year Gryffindors--opted to attend. Some had better reasons than others, like Ginny Weasley who was still in the hospital, but most people were either too afraid, too apathetic, or too caught up in their own problems to attend.

Hermione hadn't been to a funeral in years--not since her mother's father had passed away when she had been nine years old. She had barely remembered that service, and was afraid that the same thing had occurred after attending Dean's. She wished that she could recall precisely what the minister had said during the service, or the words Dean's mother had used to eloquently describe her son during the eulogy. She wished Seamus's speech had been burned into her memory, because it had been one of the most sincere, touching orations on the value of friendship that she had ever heard. But Hermione Granger's typically razor-sharp memory was decidedly vague on the entire service; the details had become blurred with the cascade of grief and heartache that surrounded her. Everyone around her was in mourning, and the intensity of that grief made her quite unable to remember--perhaps because she didn't want to remember that awful day.

Despite this, Hermione knew that she would never forget the awful sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when the sleek casket had been lowered into the cold earth and she had realized that a person who had been living and breathing only a few days earlier would never ever rise from the dirt again. Just like that, his life was over--he was finished; there were no obstacles to overcome, no tests to take, no girls to pursue, no life to lead, nothing. He was not yet eighteen years old, and he was already finished forever. He had been in the prime of his life with countless opportunities open to him, but he would never be able to seize them. It just wasn't fair.

With a dull thud, the casket hit the mud below and Hermione flinched instinctively as if she had been the one about to be buried six feet under. The wind picked up and blew the chilly rain into Hermione's face, the cold stinging her cheeks and preventing her from crying. Hermione was sick of tears--it felt like she had cried everyday since Voldemort came back, and she was tired of giving him that satisfaction. Voldemort thrived on spreading fear and misery into the hearts of the witches and wizards who defied him, and Hermione wished that she could be strong enough to be one of the few who could defiantly shake her hair out of her face, look him dead in the eye, and tell him face to face that she was not going to let him rule her life. She was the only one who would be dictating her actions, thank you very much, and she wasn't going to live her life in fear. That's what Hermione wanted to do, but while one of her friends was being buried, it was quite difficult to maintain that sort of fortitude.

Her hair was flying out of the neat bun she had painstakingly twisted her hair into earlier that morning, but Hermione only cared when the strands began to whip painfully into the corners of her eyes. Blinking in annoyance, she lowered her head, only to catch more of the bitter rain on her cheeks, so she stepped closer to Harry in order to burrow further underneath the umbrella that they were sharing. However, she couldn't stay under the sanctity of the umbrella for too long--Dean's friends and family were lining up to pay their respects to his final resting place. His mother went first and had to be supported by her brother as she dropped one of the long-stemmed roses down onto the smooth cedar wood below. Hermione couldn't help wondering how her parents would react if something ever happened to her--she hadn't written to them in ages, and the last letter she had received from them was in the summer, save for the impersonal birthday and Christmas gifts that came with the requisite store-bought card signed simply, "Love from, Mum and Dad." She really hated that she wasn't getting along with her parents, especially at a time like this. However, at the same time, she knew that she shouldn't even attempt to try to rebuild their relationship as long as she remained at Hogwarts. Her parents were just as stubborn as she was, and as long as she was still at the school, the problem would still be there unless someone changed their viewpoint, and Hermione didn't foresee this happening anytime in the near future. She would just have to wait until school ended before taking the first step. Logically, she knew that this was the best course to take, but at a time like this, Hermione couldn't help wanting to have her father give her a reassuring embrace, her mother to smooth her hair, and for them both to explain just how and why everything would be all right again.

Seamus had just finished his moment with Dean and fled from the site with Lavender close behind, crying sympathetic tears of her own. Seamus really wasn't taking the death of his best friend well. Neither Ron nor Harry could stand spending extended periods of time in the dormitory, so Harry had been going off by himself or visiting Ginny in the hospital wing. Ron had been either in the infirmary, with his family, or with Daphne. However, late at night, it was Hermione that Ron had been turning to for the past few nights. He hadn't asked her to, but when Hermione had been jostled awake by a scared first-year who had heard funny noises in the common room and found Ron snoring away on the sofa, Hermione had agreed to let Ron stay with her for more than that one night. They had only technically slept in the same bed the first night; the other two nights Ron had either dozed off on the window seat or the plush armchair that Hermione enjoyed curling up in with a good book. It reminded her of the time that they had spent in Grimmauld Place when they would stay up late at night talking, and although it comforted her more than she'd care to admit to have Ron close by, it was keeping her a bit ill at ease. They were sneaking back to the way they'd been--they were back in the danger zone where Hermione had to employ constant surveillance whenever they were alone together, so that she wouldn't slip up again. It reminded her forcibly of how she would act before the whole truth had come out that day by the lake in fifth-year, and what scared and thrilled her at the same time was that it was almost exactly the same; Ron was acting as he did when he was trying to hide how he felt from her.

She knew that it could very well be due to the tragedy that had struck them very close to home that had reminded them both that life, especially now, was fleeting, short, and once lost, was gone forever. Deaths and near-deaths always put life into a new perspective for those who were left behind, and Hermione couldn't help wondering if Dean's death and Ginny's assault were causing Ron to reevaluate his feelings for her. The wrinkle in this idea was that this fresh outlook could be temporary, and Hermione would end up having her heart broken again. She wasn't sure she could ever go through the process of getting over Ron again--she'd barely managed to do it once. She had to admit that even if Ron did ever happen to suggest getting back together, she would be more than a little apprehensive. Ron was the only person who had the real power to seriously hurt her, and Hermione planned on protecting herself from experiencing that sort of pain ever again.

Harry's turn was next at the gravesite, and he stood for a long moment, staring down at the coffin, before opening his hand and releasing a flower of his own. Hermione watched her friend, wondering what the hell he was thinking. Harry hadn't even mentioned Dean's name since it had happened; he'd been focusing all of his attention on doing whatever he could to get Ginny back to full health again. Ginny was improving steadily, although she still couldn't remain awake for more than an hour, and she spoke very little, or at least, she spoke very little when Hermione had seen her. One of the few things that Ginny had mercifully relayed was that Riddle hadn't touched her in the way that they had all feared. Hermione had never seen Harry look as relieved as he had when he'd first heard the news.

Now it was her turn at the foot of the grave. She walked as steadily as she could over to the humongous arrangement of roses that were available to throw into the grave, but once there found that her fingers were trembling so much that she couldn't get a firm grasp on the stem. When she finally did manage to wrap her fingers around the flower, she was jabbed by a sharp thorn, and as she tried to pull the flower free of the arrangement, the stem became ensnared on some unseen obstacle. She frowned as she tugged, poked, and yanked with very little success. Just when she was starting to get rather flustered, one of his hands lightly touched her waist so that she wouldn't be startled, and the other hand freed the flower for her. Ron was standing so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body against hers, and it warmed the coldness that she had felt ever since finding Dean's body. After handing her the flower, his fingers shifted slightly to the small of her back to guide her over to the grave. He stood behind her patiently, and Hermione fiddled with the rose as she contemplated Dean's grave. Seeing Dean's name carved into the marble slab was so awful, and so final, that Hermione was very thankful that she did not come to more funerals. Good-bye Dean, she thought, as she tossed the rose. The flower hit the lid of the coffin, and once again Hermione flinched, feeling very cold. Ron came up behind her, and again his presence shot out flames of warmth that soothed her troubled soul. She swallowed hard. Don't lean against him, don't lean against him, don't lean against him...

Hermione's head fell backwards to rest against Ron's chest. You're leaning against him, the logical part of her brain chided, but it felt so good and right that Hermione didn't care. That had been one of the many, many amazing things about her and Ron--no matter which way she would touch him or lean against him, it would always just fit. Her head would always rest perfectly in the spot between his shoulder and neck, and his shoulder always offered the ideal amount of support and strength. His chest made a perfect pillow, and his arms were perfect for wrapping around her. Her back positioned itself perfectly against him--it was always just perfect. She was always perfectly comfortable with Ron, and damn it, during a funeral, you needed comfort more than anything--so why shouldn't she lean on him?

Logic had thereby concluded that leaning against Ron was the rational thing to do, and Hermione Granger was never one to dispute common sense--especially when it felt so good. For one moment, all was right with the world, because Ron Weasley was once again keeping Hermione Granger from falling.

**

"It was a lovely service today, don't you think?"

"Uh-huh."

There was a long pause.

"I thought Ginny looked a bit better, what did you think?"

"Yeah, she did."

Hermione sighed. It was quite difficult to carry on a conversation with a listless and distracted Harry Potter. They had just tried to pay Ginny a visit, but since she was sound asleep, Madame Pomfrey had shooed them out. Now, they were walking back to the Gryffindor Tower. Hermione had been trying to assess Harry's current condition all day and was not succeeding as well as she usually was--the face she had learned to read so well was now written with an unknown pensive, but determined, expression that Hermione couldn't quite place. Harry must have a million thoughts racing around in his mind at the moment, and Hermione wasn't quite sure which one of the many, many issues plaguing their thoughts she should address first.

Before she could make a decision on whether or not to try asking Harry another question, they had already reached the Fat Lady and Harry was blandly giving her the password. The two friends stepped into the common room in time to catch Ron standing in front of Seamus with his arm extended as if he wanted to shake hands to indicate his sympathy. Seamus, however, was staring at Ron with a disdainful sneer and telling Ron something that was making his ears turn bright red. Lavender had both of her arms wrapped around one of Seamus' and her forehead rested against his shoulder. Hermione could see that her lips were moving slightly as if she were quietly begging Seamus for something. She knew that she probably shouldn't interfere, but Ron looked so shocked and upset by Seamus' disdain that Hermione knew she couldn't just stand aside and watch someone hurt him.

Ron was trying to walk away from the situation, but Seamus raised his voice to keep Ron from escaping, thereby attracting the attention of several bystanders. "You shouldn't have been there," Seamus shouted. "You don't even care that he's dead!"

Whoa, Hermione thought. She was more than slightly taken aback at Seamus' blatant anger at Ron. What had Ron ever done? And how could anyone accuse Ron Weasley, an extraordinary empath who absorbed and sensed the emotions of others, of not caring, especially about what had just happened. She knew better than anyone that Ron cared very, very much about Dean's death--he had been having nightmares the past few nights about finding his body. And it wasn't as though Ron was simply upset because he had had the misfortune of discovering the body; Ron really did miss Dean--they all did. Dean didn't have an overwhelming, powerful presence like Harry or Ron did, but he was always one of the level-headed, supportive, funny, and nice people that you always loved to have around. She bit her lip as she walked up quietly behind Seamus' shoulder. It was going to be very hard not to have Dean Thomas around anymore.

"Is there a problem?" Hermione asked in a soft voice that nevertheless garnered Seamus' attention.

Seamus twisted around and blinked in surprise when he found her and Harry standing there expectantly. "Ah, no, Granger," Seamus insisted forcefully. He wobbled slightly, much like he did when he was intoxicated, but this time it was even more frightening. He was having trouble remaining standing due to pure grief and anguish. A veil of moisture had spread over his pale eyes and he wiped it away unabashedly, not caring if the whole world saw him crying, because it didn't matter--his best mate was dead. He was damn well going to cry if he bloody felt like it. Lavender moved to wrap her arms around his waist, and her face was pillowed into his back as she held him close to her. Seamus' hand clamped down on Lavender's forearm, but he didn't take his eyes away from Hermione. "Just getting a few things out in the open." He sniffed hard.

"Good," Hermione said evenly, not believing him for an instant, but also not really being able to do anything about it, "but do you mind keeping your voice down? You may be disturbing some of the students trying to study."

Seamus eyed her carefully and then shook his head with disgust. "You shouldn't have been there either." His eyes rested on Harry, who was studying Seamus very critically as if trying to assess what he was going on about. "None of you lot should have been there! None of you really cared about him--you hardly even knew him! You just don't...." He choked on the words, and Lavender squeezed him as hard as she could.

The common room grew deathly quiet as Seamus gained control and rounded on Ron. "You were only there because your sister couldn't come, and you feel so bad that you couldn't save her that you can hardly see straight. And you." Seamus next turned on Hermione. "You were only there because you want to get into Weasley's pants, so you're doing whatever you can to try to convince him that you are the girl for him, which means patting his arm whenever he whines and telling him that everything is going to be all right!" There were several audible gasps at the two accusations, and Hermione took a step forward, holding out a restraining arm when she spotted Ron's fists clenching.

"And finally," Seamus said, and paused to take a breath, "Potter." He said Harry's name with as much as disdain as Draco Malfoy used whenever he uttered it. "Harry bloody Potter." Harry raised his chin slightly and met Seamus' eyes dead on, almost daring him to accuse him of not caring about Dean. But Seamus did dare, and leaned forward slightly out of Lavender's grip and lowered his voice to a frightening, low, sincere tone. "You were only there because you feel so awful that you killed someone else."

Hermione gasped at Seamus' accusation, but she didn't have time to register Harry's reaction. All too suddenly, Ron was lunging at Seamus, eyes blazing with fury. Hermione darted in between the boys, ducking to avoid the fist that Seamus had swung up to defend himself. She threw both arms out to keep them at a safe distance from each other. Her fingertips grazed Ron's chest, and just from that light touch she could feel the raw intensity brewing inside of him--she could feel him physically trembling from trying to keep a cap on his fury, frustration, and fear about all that happened in the past couple of days. She swallowed hard and forced herself not to look at him--he was going through so much now and she couldn't stand that she couldn't seem to do anything to help.

She focused on Seamus instead, jaw slightly dropped, as an echo of Seamus' accusatory voice rang in her ears. She couldn't believe that Seamus had said what he had; Harry always placed the blame upon himself for every major tragedy that had occurred in years past, but Hermione had never realized that others might blame him, too. She'd always thought that it was just Harry being Harry, and had never expected someone like Seamus to openly blame Harry for Dean's death like this. The familiar pain in her chest flared up faintly, causing her heart to squeeze for an instant. How could anyone not understand the hell that Harry went through every time something like this happened? How could anyone not realize that Harry would always do everything he could to help anyone--not because he wanted the attention, not because he got off on the thrill of adventure, but because it was simple, basic, second nature to him? He always had to help the helpless, fight the evil plaguing their society, and save the world--it was just the way he was; he didn't know how to be anyone else but a hero. Why were people like Seamus placing the blame on the hero? They should really be doing everything they could to support Harry, because he was going to be the one to save their world!

"Seamus!" Lavender hugged Seamus' arm to her chest even tighter, and dragged him back to a safer distance from Ron, her voice laden with blatant shock. Seamus' face was rather frighteningly contorted with anger and anguish, but Lavender's voice caused a flash of the old Seamus to return. "Please," she said under her breath, as she rubbed Seamus' arm with the clenched fist soothingly until his fingers relaxed and slackened. Hermione let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding, and finally felt ready to turn towards Ron. His fists were still clenched, his ears still its dangerous shade of maroon, but the fury in his eyes was dissipating, only to be replaced with pity and exhaustion.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked quietly, not ready to lower her hand just in case Ron was trying to trick her. Ron nodded slowly and he paced away from her, arms moving as though he were repressing the urge to hit something. She finally lowered her arm so she could next check on Harry, but Harry was nowhere to be seen--although the portrait hole had just banged shut. She bit her lip--poor Harry.

"All right, I'll be the first to admit it!" Hermione whirled back to Ron to find him staring at Seamus challengingly. Hermione suppressed the urge to sigh; perhaps she had been too quick to let her guard down. "Maybe I didn't know Dean as well as I should have--I wish I did, really I did, mate." Hermione blinked with surprise. Ron's voice was now low, intent, and sympathetic, but without a flicker of anger. He jabbed a thumb towards the portrait hole. "But you have no right to go about telling us how we feel, especially Harry who is risking everything to protect us all. So don't you ever go around accusing Harry of all people of not caring, because he bloody cares more than you will ever know!"

Ron barreled over to Seamus, pausing next to him for a brief moment to mutter something furiously under his breath, before barging out of the common room through the portrait hole. Seamus' face crumpled as the door banged shut, and Lavender threw her arms comfortingly around him. Hermione wanted to elaborate further on what Ron had just said, but all she could seem to manage was a shaky, "I'm so sorry, Seamus," before following Ron and Harry out of the common room.

Well, she couldn't exactly follow them if she had no idea where they were--the corridor was deserted by the time Hermione emerged from Gryffindor Tower. She first tried the hospital wing, but the overbearing nurse was still barring visitors from her patients. Hermione next traveled to the library on the off-chance that Harry or Ron decided to take their aggression out by studying, and this time her visit was more successful.

Hermione bit her lip for a moment, considering what her next course of action should be, before decisively heading over to the table of Hufflepuffs and waiting patiently for the lively conversation to quiet down enough for her to speak. "Daphne, could I have a word with you?"

"Sure." Daphne Greengrass immediately closed her Transfiguration book, and stood up to follow Hermione a few steps away from the table. "What's up?"

"It's Ron." Hermione instantly captured Daphne's attention, and the pretty Hufflepuff frowned in concern. "I don't know if you've talked to him recently..." Daphne shook her head. "Well, he's not really doing well with everything that's happened, and someone just said something horrible to him. I can tell he's really upset by it, so I was wondering if you could..."

"Where is he?" Daphne interjected.

"Well, I don't know exactly, but you might want to try the Astronomy Tower," Hermione suggested as Daphne went to collect her things. "He likes to go up there every once in a while."

"Really?" Daphne asked keenly. "I didn't know that."

"Or he might be in the Owlery," Hermione continued hastily to cover up any awkwardness. "Or maybe he went for a walk..."

"I know some other places to look," Daphne interrupted with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Hermione, I'm sure he's just fine." Hermione severely doubted this was true from the state Ron had been in for the past couple of days, but she only nodded. "Thanks for getting me, Hermione," Daphne added with an unusual seriousness underlying her peppy voice, before starting to head out of the library.

Hermione knew that it would be best to keep her mouth shut, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from calling out to Daphne again. This was quite a big step for her in the getting-over-Ron process, but she couldn't just stop cold turkey. She never let someone else take care of Ron--she was always was the one there for him. Frankly, she wasn't comfortable with simply standing aside and letting someone else take care of her Ron. But although her heart was screaming all of this to her, her head was reminding her that she couldn't always be the one to take care of him. He didn't want her to be the one to look after him like that anymore, and she had to respect that. Ron had been coming to her quite a bit, but that was most likely because he very well couldn't be crawling into Daphne's bed; she could take care of him whenever Daphne couldn't, but when Daphne could, she had to step aside. However, Hermione couldn't suppress her blush as Daphne turned expectantly toward her. "Just-just take good care of him," Hermione got out with a fairly steady voice. "He's really upset."

"I will," Daphne promised before whirling around and exiting out of the library. Hermione found herself wishing that she was following Daphne to locate Ron, but there were other important issues to contend with. With a sigh, she turned and quietly headed over to small table in the back where her other best friend was sitting behind a wobbly pile of books.

"Harry?" Harry didn't answer straight away as he continued to pore over a heavy textbook. "Harry, are you all right?"

"No," Harry said flatly as he violently turned a page and tried to ignore her once again.

Hermione bit her lip and laid a hand on his arm. "Seamus must have upset you," she attempted sympathetically.

"Yeah, well, we knew we had to keep an eye on him," Harry said matter-of-factly. "I mean, he didn't really do anything at all--they just used him, but we're still going to keep an eye on him." His decidedly blank face faltered for a moment. "Especially now."

"That's not what I mean, Harry," Hermione said softly. Harry didn't answer, and Hermione suppressed another sigh. If Harry wasn't ready to talk, he wasn't going to be telling her anything. She hated that he bottled everything up like this, but Harry was rather obstinate about how and when he opened up to other people. There was nothing she could do just yet. "Do you need any help with that?" Hermione gestured to the book Harry was reading as she sat across from him.

"No--yes--I," Harry stammered as he looked up and jabbed his glasses further up his nose, "I'm just trying to find a way to find Riddle."

Hermione's eyes widened while her stomach constricted. "Why do you want to go looking for Riddle?"

"Think about it, Hermione," Harry closed the book and leaned across the table. "Riddle is still in his sixteen-year-old form--he doesn't yet have the powers and gifts and invincibility that Voldemort has."

"Yet?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry nodded. "That's why he did it, you know--he's going to train Riddle up to be just as powerful as he is, so that in case I happen to find a way to defeat him, he has another one waiting in the wings--like-like a clone or something--a back-up plan."

"But if you find him before the process is complete," Hermione finished for him, "then he's going to be easier to defeat. He's still mortal now." As much as she hated to admit it, it made sense--she just wished that logic didn't entail Harry possibly getting himself killed by hunting down Tom Riddle. She didn't want to think about that just yet, so she quickly changed the subject. "Here's something I've wanted to ask you--how did they use the diary again? I thought you destroyed it in order to kill Riddle the last time."

Harry looked rather sheepish. "I gave it back to Lucius Malfoy."

"WHAT?" Harry quickly shushed her as the entire library turned to glance over at them, and Hermione hunkered down in her chair and lowered her voice. "Why would you do that?"

"I used it to give Dobby his socks!" Harry defended himself.

Even an avid elf-rights activist like Hermione was only slightly mollified by this reasoning. She sighed and shook her head, but all she said was, "What have you found so far?"

"Nothing," Harry admitted glumly. "All I can find is the same load of stuff we found when we tried to find--you know," he finished awkwardly. Hermione nodded to indicate that she knew what Harry was talking about; neither of them liked to mention Ron's kidnapping.

"Harry," Hermione said slowly as the wheels in her head starting turning at an alarming rate, "what if you didn't go looking for Riddle and just waited to see what happens? Think about it," she continued quickly, knowing that Harry was about to furiously interrupt her. "This is Voldemort we're talking about, and if he creates another clone of himself, yes, there will be two of them, but do you honestly think that it will last? The world is only big enough for one power-crazed sorcerer--Riddle isn't going to be content to wait in the wings; he's going to want to seize power himself--maybe if we just wait a bit, we'll be lucky enough to have one kill the other."

"I thought about that," Harry answered with that determined clench of the jaw. "But then there's Ginny."

"What about Ginny?"

"He left her alive," Harry explained. His fingers unconsciously started digging into the cover of the book with such intensity that when he lifted his hand away, permanent, crescent-shaped grooves were embedded into the leather. "We didn't scare him off, Hermione--he left. He had the chance to kill her," Harry said, his voice breaking on the word kill, "but he didn't, which means that he wants her alive for some reason," he said angrily, shoving the book away from him in frustration, "which means that he could come back for her later."

"But you don't know that," Hermione pointed out earnestly. "Harry, Riddle has used Ginny to get to you before--he knew you would go down to the Chamber of Secrets because she was there, and the Death Eaters used her last year, so how do we know they're not using her again to get to you--to lure you out of the castle?" Like with Sirius, Hermione thought. Harry must have been thinking the same thing, because his determination seemed to waver slightly. Hermione swallowed hard. She hated bringing up that night in the Ministry, but he had to be careful. He had to look out for himself, and to do that he had to consider all of the possibilities. Hermione felt that it was her job to make sure that all of the probable options were logically brought to light and properly analyzed before making an informed decision.

"I know it could be another trap," Harry said under his breath, "but I'm not taking any chances." He shot a glance toward the door as if he were expecting someone to enter the library. "Not with her," he added in a barely audible voice.

Hermione bit her lip as she reflected for a moment. Due to the rapidly accumulating evidence, she was becoming more and more convinced that Harry was starting to develop more-than-friendly feelings for Ginny. In fact, she couldn't be certain, but she was starting to believe that he might even love her. She had seen the looks he had been giving Ginny over the past couple of days. Harry had been spending a great deal of time watching over her--much more than he had ever watched over her or Ron, or anyone else for that matter. In fact, he only appeared to be really at peace with himself whenever Ginny was around to reassure him. His eyes only had that shine and sparkle to them when he was looking at Ginny--he hadn't even had that almost star-struck expression about him when looking at Cho Chang and Harry had gawked rather openly at Cho during fourth and fifth year. He could love her.

And the girl he loved had almost been raped and killed by the sixteen-year-old shadow of the man who had murdered his parents and was responsible for countless of other deaths. Now that Hermione thought about it, it was amazing that Harry hadn't rushed out of the castle with murder in his eyes and heart already. He was actually trying to formulate a plan and think things through--Hermione must have finally had a good influence over her best friend--and here she was trying to stop him from seeking retribution. Hermione couldn't help wondering how she would react if something this awful had happened with Ron. Her stomach jerked sharply up into her chest as the vivid memory of Ron's kidnapping overwhelmed her. She had been ready to do anything to get Ron back, including breaking a thousand school rules and risking her own hide in the process. Hell, she'd do it for Harry and Ginny, too, in a heartbeat, but with Ron it would be a bit different. It wasn't as though she cared more for Ron than she did for Harry or Ginny, but it was just different with Ron. And it wasn't as though Harry cared more for Ginny than her or Ron, it was just different.

If she had to sit around and wait for Ron to get well while his attacker roamed free all around Britain, Hermione was certain she'd go mad. Being Harry and Ron's friend for so long had made her become a girl of action. Usually her efforts were put into research and into formulating a plan, but if the circumstances were as awful as Ginny's were, Hermione knew she would be itching to get out there and try everything in her power to right this terrible wrong. And Harry, who also had cursed testosterone in his system, had to do something violent or vengeful to appease the burning anger that had to be raging inside of him. When she had first met Harry and Ron, she had always thought that Harry was the calm one and Ron was the hothead, but as the years went by she came to realize that both of her best friends had a rather short fuse--it was just that Harry had learned to quell his emotions from his years at the Dursley's where he couldn't fight back, while Ron had lived with a large family that was just as open with their feelings as he was. Harry had reached the end of his rope, but instead of exploding as he had become prone to do, his maturity had kicked in and instead of acting rashly, he was trying to be as logical as possible. However, all he really wanted to do was get out there and kick Riddle's ass.

She couldn't stop him--she couldn't talk him out of this. There was no way he was going to change his mind, because Hermione knew if it was Ron in the hospital wing, she would be doing the exact same thing Harry was. There was no way around it: the Boy Who Lived had to face Tom Riddle.

Since she couldn't convince him otherwise, Hermione determinedly settled for the next best option, which she had to admit that she was rather keen on--she wasn't about to let Riddle get his claws on Ginny ever again. "So," she demanded as she pushed up her sleeves and twisted her hair up out of her face, "which of these books haven't you looked through yet?"

**

It was rather late when Hermione finally gave the password along with a yawn to the Fat Lady and stepped into the darkened and quiet common room. Harry had insisted on stopping by the hospital wing one final time before returning to bed, but Hermione had been too exhausted to follow; besides, she had a feeling that Harry would rather see Ginny alone. Her eyes ached after spending several hours pouring over books, first in the library and after the library had closed, in a deserted classroom. If they were going to find a way to not only find Tom Riddle, but also to defeat him, it was going to take a lot of time, effort, and concentration. The noisy common room would not suffice, so therefore she and Harry had hunkered down in the Charms classroom down the hall. They had not found anything of use just yet, and unfortunately they didn't have a lot of time to find a viable solution. There was always Harry's Occlumency, as he was becoming rather skilled at Legilimency as well, but they weren't sure if he could connect to Riddle, although there was the possibility that wherever Voldemort was, Riddle was, too. Hermione hadn't been too keen on that idea, and fortunately Harry had agreed--he had mentioned something about taking things one battle at a time, and it wasn't time to take on Voldemort just yet. He spoke with such sagacity and wisdom on that subject that Hermione started to wonder just what else Harry was learning in those weekly Occulmency lessons with Snape and Dumbledore.

She halfway expected to find him waiting up for her, so she wasn't surprised in the least when she spotted Ron Weasley snoring away in one of the armchairs. The back of his head was propped up between the corner of the back and the side of the plush chair, his body angled slightly so his long feet could comfortably rest on the nearby coffee table. His mouth had dropped open with just a trace of drool slowly sliding down his chin, while quiet snores rasped in his chest. It wasn't the most attractive side of Ron Weasley, but it made Hermione smile all the same. Instinctively, she crossed over to him so she could shake him awake, but she stopped herself before her hand could make contact with his shoulder.

They couldn't go on like this. She couldn't allow him to sleep in her room every night when they were nothing more than friends. Yes, they were best friends and all that, but it wasn't right--especially since Ron was seeing someone else. Hermione sighed quietly as her arm dropped back down to her side. It just wasn't fair. She knew she could give him the sort of love he deserved, but at the same time, she couldn't. It wasn't her place, and although she very much wanted it to be her place and her place alone, he didn't.

But he does, her heart screamed fiercely, I know he does. No one could make you feel the way you do around him and not care for you back!

But it doesn't matter how he makes you feel, Hermione's mind spoke up sternly, what matters is what you know, what he says, how he acts--that's all you can go on--you have no idea how he feels, so you must judge by his actions and words.

But he has acted in that way, the heart countered triumphantly. What about all the times he's looked at you in that way that makes your toes curl? Or how he still takes care of you every single day? Or how he came to you last Saturday night over everyone one else--his entire family was here to give their support, but he still went to you.

Needing someone is different than wanting them, logic argued. Yes, he needs you, but does he want to need you?

I don't want to need him, the heart shot back furiously, I hate that I need him so much when he doesn't...

No, you don't, the mind interrupted. You love that you need him, and you know it. The heart quieted and didn't respond. He said he doesn't love you, the mind continued, and even if he for some insane reason didn't mean it, that's all you can go on. You can't act on anything unless he takes it back, if even then.

IF EVEN THEN? If Ron says he loves me again, why wouldn't I take him back?!

Because if he takes it back, that means he lied to you then, and who's to say he's not lying now? Or that he'll lie to you again, about something as important as whether or not he loves you?

A loud snore jolted Hermione away from her internal debate and she swallowed hard to dislodge a lump in her throat. She wanted to listen to her heart about this--she really, truly, and honestly did--but she couldn't. She had listened to her heart last time when she allowed herself to recklessly, utterly, and completely succumb to her feelings for Ron and she had ended up tumbling down a spiral of despair and shattering her heart in the process. It felt so wrong to push Ron away like this, but logically it was the only thing to do. It was what she had decided in the library when she had opted to remain with Harry rather than find Ron, and it was what she was deciding now: Ron Weasley would no longer be allowed in her bedroom.

Logic had won the debate but it couldn't stop her from leaning forward, pausing slightly to whisper an apology before pressing her lips against his cheek for a moment. She hadn't kissed him since the break-up, and the familiarity of his skin against her lips sent deep, powerful bolts of warm comfort mixed with the sort of pleasurable sensations that only Ron Weasley had been able to elicit from her, down to the very tips of her toes. She found herself only able to move her lips two centimeters away from him before her heart started shouting at her once again to move those lips straight back on him, because that's where they belonged. It was so tempting especially since her nose was still brushing the faint facial hair that had started to adorn his face, and although it shouldn't feel that good, it really did. Merlin, Hermione even thought that he smelled good right now, and she wasn't even sure that he had taken a shower yet.

It took a great deal of willpower for Hermione to draw away from him. She moved with more abruptness than normal and the sensation caused Ron to stir slightly. Hermione held her breath for a moment, biting her still burning lip. If he woke up and looked at her with those eyes, there was no way she would be able to refuse him--and god damn it, it wasn't fair that she was so stupid when it came to the boy who had broken her heart. It wasn't fair that he could still after over a year still have this effect on her: he could still make her heart pound, her skin turn hot and cold at the same time. For Merlin's sake, her lips were still burning pleasantly from a simple peck on the cheek! Why couldn't someone else feel for her this way, someone whom she cared for as well?

Someone does, a voice inside her quietly reassured, but she couldn't tell where it had come from. Her mind was busy sarcastically laughing at that statement--the only boy who had ever showed real interest in her with no ulterior motives besides Ron was Viktor Krum, and he was not only four years older than her and off in Bulgaria, but she hadn't received a letter from him in ages. Boys asked her out, yes, but Hermione knew that they could tell in about five seconds that her heart wasn't for sale, and they weren't going to take the time and effort to coax her stubborn heart away from the man who had broken it. Her heart was too busy still pounding away like mad at the small, sleepy grin that had wandered across Ron's face when he had stirred so Hermione wasn't sure which part of her was so convinced that someone out there loved her the way she loved Ron. Nevertheless, her mind, or her heart, didn't argue the point, and Hermione couldn't help wondering that maybe, perhaps, it was true. There had to be someone out there for her, right? The question was who, and where the hell was he?

Right in front of you.

Hermione swallowed hard again, wishing desperately that it were true, but all she did was turn on her heel and retreat up to her dormitory to pass the night in her infinitely colder room, now absent of Ron Weasley's warm glow.