Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

Welcome to the fire

Welcome to existence

The tension is here

The tension is here

Losing who you are and who you could be

Between how it is and how it should be

Dare you to move

I dare you to move

Dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

Dare you to move

I dare you to move

Like today never happened

Today never happened...

"I Dare You to Move" Switchfoot

**

Hermione half-ran out into the balmy night, looking wildly about. Despite the beauty of the evening, she did not think it was a good idea for Ron to come out onto the grounds alone, especially now that the war had just begun. She spotted his shocking red hair disappearing over the crest of a hill, and hastily she jogged after him. She couldn't believe that she had missed his quiet exit out of the Great Hall, and she was more than a little worried. It wasn't like Ron to walk out of a meal.

She also couldn't believe that she had found him so quickly. Of course, when she had realized Ron was missing, she had instantly left the feast, but somehow she just knew that he would be outdoors. Perhaps it was because that's where she would go if she wanted to think over matters or be alone, or perhaps it was because for once she had followed her gut instinct. Whatever the reason, there he was, sitting on the edge of the lake, under the beech tree where they had spent many an afternoon studying. Hermione recalled off-handedly that the last time she had sat under that tree was the day after the Quidditch final. They had sat there for almost an hour before they were able to tell Ron they had missed the match. Ron had been so upset until they had explained themselves. Then, of course, he was good old Ron once again: loyal and understanding as ever. He had also been sweeping his hair in that irritating way, Hermione remembered with a slight frown. It was as if he wanted to keep it mussed up because he thought it looked cool or something. Prat.

It was funny, Hermione thought as she silently sat down next to Ron. So much had changed since the last time she had been under this tree. The night at the Ministry had changed them all irrevocably, and it had changed the entire course of the war, too. Thank goodness there were still some things that would never change, like Ron's being a prat, or her feelings for him. Some things were just too perfect, too right to change.

Ron had not acknowledged her presence, and continued to stare out over the placid waters of the lake. His fingers were digging into the ground, and he was absently extracting chunks of dirt and flicking them toward the lake. It reminded Hermione of the way Harry had violently dug his fingers into the edge of her mattress the first time she had seen him after her accident. Ron's fingers were now caked in dust and dirt, and Hermione couldn't restrain herself from closing her fist around his wrist in a silent plea to stop. She didn't think it was right if she spoke just yet; something told her to maintain the silence until Ron felt ready to break it. Ron stiffened at her touch, and after a long moment of staring down at her fingers on his wrist, he tugged free, but he did not burrow his fingers into the dirt again.

"It's really starting, isn't it?" Ron finally spoke.

"Yes," Hermione returned softly.

"I mean, I knew it was, obviously," Ron continued, "but I...." He trailed off helplessly and looked at her. "You know?"

"Yes," Hermione repeated.

Ron gazed out into the dusk, his jaw clenched tightly. Hermione wanted to lean against him as she had often done on the nights they had stayed up late in the hospital wing or whenever he had stumbled out of his bed to sit on the edge of hers during the day so they could have a normal conversation and be able to look at each other; shouting over the curtain that divided them annoyed them both to no end. But she couldn't; all that had occurred in the hospital wing had seemed almost like a dream. It wasn't real because the whole situation had been so horrific and surreal. It fit into their unwritten rulebook that she should just sit silently by him and be a good, supportive friend. So, that's what she did.

Ron eventually relaxed a bit. "We're going to win it, right?" His voice was so filled with hopeful optimism that Hermione almost didn't have the heart to shatter it. At the same time, however, she couldn't lie to him. "I mean, we've got Harry and the Order and everything, and we'll be fine and win this thing, right?" Hermione bit the inside of her lip and looked down at her lap. "We'll win, won't we?" Ron repeated desperately. Hermione finally had the courage to look up, but the earnest, pleading expression he wore caused her to forget what she was about to say. All she could do was sit there silently opening and closing her mouth. "Tell me we're going to win it," Ron ordered.

"I can't," Hermione finally spoke reluctantly. "I don't know if we will--"

"We have to!" Ron's interjection burst from him with so much force that Hermione was more than a little taken aback. Instantly, he looked rather disappointed with himself, and resumed grinding his hands into the earth.

She fought a smile. With that desperate outburst, Ron had told her more than he knew he had. She suspected that even he didn't know what he had just revealed. The tone of his voice had told her that deep down inside he knew they would win this war. He just needed to hear it from her.

Hermione didn't share his confidence, however, so she would have to reassure him in another way. Scooting an inch closer, she took a moment to phrase her words very carefully. "Ron, I'm not going to lie to you. I don't know if we will end up winning this. I can't tell you that we're going to win. But I also can't believe that we'll fail. I've seen what we're up against, and I don't think it holds a candle to what we've got going for us. We have Harry, we have Dumbledore, we have the Order, and we have people like you and me who are willing to stick through this until the very end. As long as we have those things, and hope and faith, and as long as we can just believe in ourselves, then logically, we should win. Voldemort won't stand a chance." She paused. "That is what I believe will happen."

"But you don't know for sure," Ron said dully. His eyes were riveted on the lulling ripples of the lake lapping against the shore.

"Well, no one knows these sort of things for certain, silly," Hermione said teasingly. "I'm not a Seer, am I?"

"Guess not," Ron conceded. He took a deep breath and lapsed back into silence. Hermione remained by his side, a bit unnerved. It wasn't often that Ron became so unhinged. It was interesting that he was viewed as the emotional, hotheaded one, because in a crisis he was always the one who kept it together enough to take care of everyone else. Or rather, he always ended up taking care of her. Hermione glanced over at his profile as she thought about the way he had held her close at the Ministry. She would never ever forget how wonderful he had been that night. No one had ever taken care of her like that before. In some way, Hermione reckoned that he had even saved her life that night; she didn't know how she could have coped with the agonizing process of waking up without Ron's arms around her. It was amazing how beautifully Ron took care of his friends and family. Honestly, it was about time someone returned the favor.

His fingers were positively coated with dirt, so Hermione tentatively took out her wand and then gathered up the hand closest to her. She felt him start slightly, but he didn't pull away. Keeping her head down, she waved her wand and muttered a charm that left his hand spotless. She let go of his right hand and crooked her finger to indicate that he should give her the left. He complied, and with another skillful swish, both of his hands were clean.

"Thanks," Ron said in a slightly hoarse voice.

"You're welcome," Hermione returned easily. She finally lifted her head and blinked some stray hair out of her eyes. His eyes jumped downward, but Hermione could tell that he had been looking directly at her face. From the glow of his ears, Hermione could also tell that he rather liked looking at her. Something hot spurted fiercely through her. "Just don't be getting them dirty again," she warned lightly to cover the sudden deluge of warmth.

Ron nodded blankly. He didn't seem to have any idea about what she had just said. They both realized at the same time that their fingers were loosely entwined, and, also at the same time, they automatically yanked their hands away. Her heart thudded in hormonal overdrive. It didn't make any sense that he could stir up something deep inside of her by not only touching her, but also by pulling away. It didn't seem like there was anything he couldn't do to her.

"So. This summer, you'll come stay with us again, right?" Ron asked in a painfully obvious attempt to change the subject. "Mum reckons we could get Harry earlier this year."

"Of course," Hermione replied immediately. Although she had only stayed at the Burrow once, the pleasant memories of the cramped but cozy house and the sprawling backyard always made her think of warm, summer days. It wouldn't be summer if she didn't visit Ron. She had missed the house dreadfully last summer, almost as much if it had been her own home.

"I don't know why Harry has to go with those bloody Muggles," Ron continued angrily. "They treat him like dragon dung, and he's got enough going on."

Hermione wondered if Harry had any idea just how often Ron worried about him. She shrugged reassuringly. "Dumbledore said he had to. He must have his reasons and if--"

"I know, I know, if we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anybody," Ron finished for her, unintentionally mimicking her voice. "Even Dumbledore can make mistakes, though. I don't think he knows just how badly they treat him there."

"He'll be all right," Hermione said unconvincingly. In fact, she didn't know if Harry would be. He had been in such a foul mood all year and now that Sirius was dead that Hermione feared he would sink even deeper into the kaleidoscope of fury, hurt and depression he had been wrestling with all year. "I'm sure Dumbledore will let him come as soon as he can."

"He better," Ron said stubbornly. From the set of his jaw, Hermione could tell that if Dumbledore didn't let Harry come to the Burrow soon, Ron himself was going to get personally involved. Hermione just hoped that didn't mean somehow tracking down Mr. Weasley's flying Ford Anglia and taking another late-night flight to Little Whinging.

With a long exhale Hermione turned her attention from Ron. It was now her turn to stare pensively out onto the glassy surface of the lake. She had always been rather sad to leave Hogwarts, but at the same time, she would already be more than a little excited for the term to come. The start of a new term meant new possibilities, a fresh start, and a chance to attain even higher academic achievements. The possibilities were endless, and Hermione could never wait to begin to take advantage of them. But now, that anticipation was sullied by the worrisome fear of what was to come. That fear had arrived last summer, but she had gone to Grimmauld Place so quickly, where Ron and Harry had distracted her from that plague of troubles. This summer, however, Hermione couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't be so lucky. The war was really starting now; there was no possible way she could distract herself. Besides, she had a sinking feeling that after spending most of last summer and Christmas away from home, her parents would be less likely to agree to let her leave so quickly. It wasn't as though she didn't want to spend time with them--she missed her parents desperately and worried about them more than she could possibly articulate. She just couldn't help thinking that it would be better for them if she stayed away. If she was far from home, there was little chance that the Death Eaters would target them. She was the one they wanted. If she were gone, they would be safe. If she stayed home, she would just worry about them more than ever which would only add to the concern she'd already have for Ron and Harry. Hermione sighed. Even Trelawney could have predicted that it wouldn't be a good summer for her.

And then what would the year hold for her? She would be getting her O.W.L. results in a few weeks. Hermione still couldn't believe that she had made such a serious translation error in her Ancient Runes exam; she was certain she would be heavily penalized for it. She had hoped to take N.E.W.T. level Ancient Runes--would that even be a possibility? Then there was Arithmancy, the most difficult subject taught at Hogwarts. How had she done in that? What about all of her other subjects? Would she be able to study everything like she'd been hoping to?

Then, of course, there was the war. What was Voldemort planning? How many people would join up with him? Would the giants join the fight? What would Dumbledore and the Order do to protect everyone? What would the Ministry do--if anything? How would the war affect Hogwarts? How would it affect Harry? Would he ever find out what that prophecy in the Department of Mysteries foretold? Would her friends be safe? Would her friends survive? Would she survive?

There were so many questions. Her future was so murky at the moment. Hermione knew that she was at a crossroads in her life. The next year ahead would probably be extremely influential in determining what the rest of her life would be like. Depending on how her classes went, she would decide what her future profession would be. Depending on the war, she would decide what her contribution to the fight would be. Depending on the fate of her friends, she would decide the course of the rest of her life. It all came down to the decisions she would make in the next several months. It would undoubtedly be a wild, scary, bumpy ride, but Hermione honestly didn't know how she could be more prepared for it. She was determined, talented, and resourceful, and if that wasn't enough, she had her two best friends in the world to watch her back if necessary.

She snuck a peek over at Ron. His presence alone stirred up another slew of questions. What was going to happen to them? Would they try to be more than friends? Would they keep pretending that nothing had ever happened between them? Or were they destined for each other? As promised, neither of them had ever brought up that snog they had 'faked' for Malfoy's benefit the night D.A. had been raided by the Inquisitorial Squad. However, they hadn't sworn to not think about it. Hermione actually thought about it a fair bit of the time and secretly wondered if they would ever get the chance for a repeat performance, one that would hopefully be uninterrupted this time. Then there was that bloody book she had written for him; he still had said absolutely nothing to her about its contents. That either meant that Ron was dumber than Hermione thought or he completely understood what she had written but didn't want to discuss it. If it was the latter, then that meant either he didn't return her feelings and wanted to avoid a row, or he did return her feelings but wasn't ready to admit them freely. Which reason was it?

Hermione shook her head, momentarily dizzy from the surge of questions buzzing around her head. She was a girl who loved having all of the answers, and now she didn't have a single one. All she could do was wait and see what happened. By this time next year, Hermione had a feeling that many of these questions would finally be answered. She just had to be patient.

"We better get in," Hermione finally spoke up, feeling that she had been thinking about her uncertain future for long enough. It was getting darker and darker by the second; the feast had to have ended ages ago. Harry probably would be wondering where they were.

"Yeah," Ron agreed pensively. He, too, had taken the time to continue to mull over the pressing problems of his life. Slowly, he stood up and held out his hand to help Hermione to her feet. She didn't mind it a single bit when he clutched her hand for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. In fact, she rather enjoyed it; however, she was lucky that the darkness hid the flush that sprang up on her cheeks. It seemed as though Ron could sense her embarrassed pleasure, though, for he chuckled slightly, looking very satisfied with himself.

Prat, she thought fondly at him. He probably thought he was so smooth and suave. Ron might be the best bloke in the world for her, but he still had a bit of growing up to do. He was getting there, though--the way he took care of her at the Ministry was a true testament to that. Ron had come a long way from the cheeky git with dirt on his nose she had met on the Hogwarts Express four years ago. She had all the faith in him in the world; she knew he could be the knight in shining armor she had dreamed of as a little girl. She had glimpsed that potential in him the first moment she'd spotted him. It really had been love at first sight; it had just taken her mind a bit of time to catch up.

She had finally made that discovery after a few years, but now it was Ron's turn. It was his turn to see her as the girl of his dreams. It was his turn to grow up. When would he finally be able to do it? Hermione suppressed another soft sigh; she didn't need yet another question whirling around in her already crowded mind. So, as she followed Ron back up to the castle, she reminded herself that this newest question, which quickly had become the most burning of them all, would be answered in time. Like with everything else, Hermione just had to wait patiently for whatever horrible or wonderful things were waiting for her.

They reentered the castle and silently made their way to the common room. Both of them preferred to be alone with their thoughts. Ron gave the Fat Lady the password and stepped inside ahead of Hermione. He paused momentarily, turning back to look somewhere over Hermione's shoulder and murmur a quiet but genuine 'thanks.' Hermione smiled warmly to let him know that it was not a problem; anytime he needed her, she would be there. A faint prickle of déjà vu pervaded the atmosphere as Hermione vividly remembered the time she had waited at the portrait hole for Ron and Harry when they had saved her from the troll. Her stomach fluttered with hope. Once again she was reminded about how far the two of them had come in the last four years. They were going to make it, she was certain of it.

"Oh, hi, Ron!" Lavender Brown waved merrily from her seat in front of the fire. She strategically tossed her hair over her shoulder to show off the long, flowing locks that were glinting like pure gold in the firelight.

The encouraging flutters in Hermione's stomach shuddered to a wrenching halt. She had heard Lavender gossiping to Parvati about how brave Ron must have been to go all the way to the Ministry, how funny he always was, how it was such a shame he had been so badly hurt. Lavender even had gone so far as to visit Ron in the hospital one afternoon. It appeared that she had suddenly developed a bit of a crush on her Ron and was doing whatever she could to get his attention. Hermione looked over Lavender's pretty appearance, augmented by the soft firelight, and in her mind vindictively called Lavender a name that she didn't dare speak aloud.

She then looked at Ron and, much to her consternation, saw him staring at Lavender with surprise and interest. He stretched himself up to his full height and raked his hand through his hair so it attained that ridiculous windswept look he thought was so cool. Prat, she thought again, but this time there was not a trace of affection in her thoughts. He had just reminded her why she sometimes hated that she fancied Ron Weasley; he could be such a stupid prat. With a great deal of self-control, Hermione managed to restrain herself from smacking Ron on the side of the head. Instead, she gritted her teeth, said a terse goodnight, stalked off to her dormitory, and grimly foresaw that when it came to Ron Weasley, she would have to be very, very patient.