Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

Perhaps the most delightful friendships are those in which there is much agreement, much disputation, and yet more personal liking.

--George Eliot

**

It wasn't often that Hermione Granger was unable to read a book. Some even claimed that it was impossible; whenever the written word was flashed in front of her eager eyes, she always succumbed to the urge to lose herself in knowledge. But on some rare occasions, even Hermione would stare blankly at a page, unable to process a single thing she was reading. Usually it was due to some dire thing that had just happened to her, Harry, or Ron--or sometimes, she had to admit, she lost the will to read due to Ron-induced ruminations--but today was different. On this bright, cheerful summer day, Hermione couldn't read for one simple reason: she was tired.

Lately, Hermione had taken to tossing and turning most of the night away. It seemed that in the blanket of the dark, silent night, she would worry about everything. That bridge that had collapsed in London was no accident. Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance's deaths had not been natural by any stretch of the imagination. The West Country had never had a hurricane plough viciously through it in the entire history of England. Herbert Chorley had lost his mind due to a poorly performed curse. She had no idea how Harry was coping with Sirius' death. Ron hadn't sent her an invitation to go to the Burrow. She herself no longer knew how much longer she would be safe in this house...

These thoughts would whirl round and round in her head, so fast and furiously that she hardly knew which concern was the most pressing. She would kick the covers off in irritation when she became overheated from worry. She would punch her pillow repeatedly to get it situated in the perfect position. She would squish her eyes shut and sternly tell herself that no matter what, she wouldn't open them, because if she kept them closed long enough, eventually, she had to drift off. But then she would hear the branches of the vine tree outside her window swish in the wind, or hear a drip of water splashing loudly into the sink of the nearby bathroom, and then all hope of comforting slumber would vanish. Hermione would spring up, grab her wand, hold her breath, and pray. Eventually, she would reassure herself that all was safe, and she'd look at the clock, telling herself that if she fell asleep within the next few minutes she would get five hours of sleep...four hours of sleep...three and a half...two...half an hour...

Now, after six nights, it finally seemed to be taking a toll on her. Hermione didn't think she had been this exhausted since third-year. She had tried to read out in the sunshine like she always did, but had quickly retreated back into the shelter of her house. There was a voice in her head--it sounded like a mixture of Harry and Moody--telling her that she shouldn't be out in the open like that. The Death Eaters had finally taken to attacking Muggles; they could very well be in her entirely-Muggle town next. Hermione had set up on the living room sofa; she was lying on her back, her legs bent so that Hogwarts: A History could be propped up against her thighs. She had positioned her pillows perfectly so she didn't have to crane her neck to read the words. It should have been a perfectly lovely way to pass the afternoon, but Hermione couldn't even finish the chapter about the love triangle between Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, and a Muggle boy from Rowena's hometown.

The swirl of problems had returned to her sleep-deprived mind, so all Hermione could do was stare blankly at the page. This time, however, she was able to pick out a particular problem: she missed her friends. She missed Ron and Harry a lot. Although they had only been separated for a week and she had desperately missed her parents last term, Hermione couldn't help wishing that she was already at the Burrow. Ron had promised to write as soon as he thought she could come, but there was no word yet. Last year, he had written to her almost immediately. But now, there was only silence.

A soft padding of paws, a quick agile pounce, and a dull thud, however, soon broke that silence, as something large and fluffy landed hard on Hermione's chest. "Ouch!" Hermione moaned irritably. "Crookshanks!" She pushed her cat roughly away from her for the first time ever as her beloved book tumbled to the floor. Her slightly overweight cat's pounce had caused her injury from the Ministry to flare up in full force. Madame Pomfrey had warned her that might happen if she received external pressure to the injured area or if she was subjected to a particularly stressful situation. She had yet to have an attack yet, but now her chest was throbbing just as excruciatingly as it had the morning she woke up after the Ministry attack. "Ouch," she repeated, straining desperately for breath. She sat up, hand on her chest, closing her eyes, and fighting for oxygen. It seemed like this stupid Ministry injury was going to plague her for the rest of her life.

"Hermione? Hermione, dear, what's wrong?"

Oh no. Hermione opened her eyes, dropped her hand, and plastered on a bemused, innocent smile. "Nothing," she lied. "Crookshanks jumped up on me and startled me, that's all."

Helen Granger folded her arms over her chest and fixed her daughter with a look that said, "Don't you dare lie to me young lady." Hermione could only put up with it for so long, especially with her aching ribs. Hermione returned her hand to her chest. It didn't help much, but it was better than nothing.

"Dear, this is not nothing," Mrs. Granger contradicted. She sat down next to her daughter and smoothed her hair out of her face reassuringly while she waited for her to catch her breath. The pain subsided, and Hermione leaned back into the sofa with a sigh. "William?" Mrs. Granger called, still stroking her daughter's hair. "William, could you come here?"

Hermione's eyes closed again. She knew that voice. She used that voice with Ron, and she knew what it meant: she was in trouble.

"Yes?" Mr. Granger asked pleasantly as he emerged from his study. He frowned when he saw Hermione on the couch. "Is everything all right?"

"No," Helen Granger replied with flat frustration. "Crookshanks leapt up on Hermione, and she screamed like she was being murdered and started clutching her chest. Now she won't tell me why."

Hermione had never seen her father panic. He was the levelheaded one in the family from whom Hermione had learned to have patience. She tried to be more like him; she knew she was a bit emotional and had a tendency to lose her temper from time to time. She wished she could stay calm when things went wrong. It could have helped her in certain stressful situations she had endured over the past few years. But the expression on her father's face was anything but calm. In fact, he looked a little like Ron had when he found her in the Ministry.

"Are you having chest pains?" Dr. Granger asked with alarm. "Has this been happening often? Do you need to go to hospital?"

"No, no, I'm fine, I swear." Hermione sat up, hoping to convince her parents that she was all right. As doctors--well, dentists--they had a tendency to overreact about health issues. She knew they wouldn't let up until she told them something. They were probably already suspicious because she was obviously not sleeping well; they had to suspect that something was wrong. She also couldn't very well tell them the truth. If they found out that she had followed her best friends to London only to be chased by known killers and eventually cursed so badly that she had to spend a week in the hospital, not only would she be pulled from Hogwarts, but they would forbid her from seeing Harry and Ron ever again. Knowing her mum, she would blame her two best friends for putting her in that situation. There was no possible way she could leave school or her friends now, so there was no other way to get out of this situation: she had to tell them yet another lie.

"I fell off a broom at school," Hermione invented. "A few days before term ended. The nurse said it made take a little time for the injury to fully heal, even with magic."

The color drained out of her mother's face. "You fell off a what?"

"A broom," Hermione repeated. "We use them to fly, remember?"

"How high up were you?" William Granger demanded. "Why were you even flying? I thought you didn't play any sports."

"I don't--and I wasn't that high--well," Hermione faltered slightly. Why would she be flying? Her dad remembered more about the magical world than her mum; he recalled quite clearly the time she had told them that she didn't particularly fancy the idea of flying on broomstick. He had certainly been quite relieved to hear that, so it was understandable that he was gaping at her in shock. Whatever she thought up, she had to do it fast and it had to be very good. Just think, she ordered herself, why would I fly for a non-Voldemort-related reason?

"I was helping Ron."

"Ron?" Helen Granger repeated. "Your friend Ron?"

"He plays Quidditch--I told you about Quidditch. It's that sport that Harry plays? Basketball on broomsticks?" Both her parents nodded warily. "Ron just made the team this year and needed a lot of practice. He doesn't have a lot of confidence in himself, so he asked Harry and I to help him with extra practices. I agreed, but I slipped and--" Hermione hesitated briefly. If she had to concoct a clever story, she might as well be a little imaginative, not to mention slip in a secret fantasy of hers. "And Ron caught me."

Her mum blinked in surprise. "I thought you said you fell."

"I did," Hermione answered. "I fell, but he caught me before I hit the ground. He had to position his broomstick under me, and he got me around the waist, but not before I slammed into the handle of the broom. I ended up bruising my sternum."

Hermione could see that her mum was trying to envision the sight in her mind to see if that slightly far-fetched story was physically possible. Her father, however, just continued to frown. If she was going to convince them, Hermione was going to have to keep up the lies. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you straightaway. I just didn't want to worry you. Madame Pomfrey said I had completely recovered. It's only if I receive any external pressure on the injury that it flares up again. Crookshanks jumped up and scared me, that's all. There's absolutely nothing to worry about." She looked back and forth between them. "I'm fine," she insisted earnestly.

Her parents exchanged a concerned look, making Hermione suspect that they were anything but appeased. But her dad just sighed. "If you say so," he said reluctantly. He gestured to the stairs. "Why don't you lie down for a while--plenty of rest should help alleviate those side effects."

Normally, Hermione might have declined the offer; she personally hated to take naps--she always felt drowsy and headachy when she woke up. But in light of the circumstances, Hermione just smiled and nodded. Crookshanks, still a little miffed at her harsh shove, stalked ahead of her while Hermione retrieved the book and clamored up the stairs. Before she could close the door to her room, she could hear her parents speaking in low, worried voices. She sighed. She was right--they had yet to be placated. Hermione didn't think they would ever be properly placated, even when they did discover the whole truth. Telling the truth was supposed to make things better, but it certainly wouldn't in this case. It would just make things decidedly worse.

Hermione couldn't imagine how hurt and upset her parents were going to be when they finally found out about Voldemort. When she had come home for Christmas holidays in first-year, she had excitedly relayed to her parents all about her new friends, Ron Weasley, who at first appeared to be a common prat but really was the funniest, most loyal boy she had ever met, and Harry Potter who was the kindest person Hermione had ever known even though he had a horrible childhood and was a bit of a celebrity. Her parents had asked her to explain why Harry was so famous, and when she had, they were horribly appalled. Hermione would never forget the look on her mother's face when she heard her young daughter list the heinous crimes and acts that had been committed during Voldemort's reign. Her parents were good, decent people; they didn't understand how anyone could be so evil. Then Hermione had made the mistake of telling them that she had a rather nasty experience with a troll in the bathroom, and that had led to a long lecture about being much, much more careful while at school. She had agreed, but then she had returned to Hogwarts and had learned all about the Philosopher's Stone. When Harry had told her and Ron that Voldemort had to be the one after the Stone, Hermione had taken one look at Harry's wild, frightened eyes and knew she would be breaking her promise. Harry's life had depended on it.

So when Hermione had come home that summer, she only told her parents about her exams. They knew nothing about the Philosopher's Stone or the danger Hermione had put herself in to protect it. Besides, how do you explain to someone who has no concept of magic about the Philosopher's Stone and the disturbing fact that they had to protect it from a wizard who should technically be dead? Her parents just wouldn't understand. So she stayed silent.

When second-year had started and the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, Hermione knew she needed to be quiet once again. If they knew that Muggle-borns were being targeted, she would have been pulled out of school in a heartbeat. Her letters home had therefore been full of cheery news about classes and were utterly devoid of any of the bigotry she had been exposed to. But then she had been Petrified and had spent months in the hospital. A letter had been sent home saying that she had been hospitalized for an indefinite period of time. The letter had assured that she would be cured as soon as the proper potion had been brewed, but until then she would be unable to communicate with them. If they had any questions, her parents were to contact Professor McGonagall for further information or to set up a visit. They were so confused they didn't know what to do; they finally decided to visit her and were horrified to see their daughter practically turned to stone. Madame Pomfrey had been vague on the details, so Mr. and Mrs. Granger had to wait until Hermione recovered and returned home to demand an explanation.

The last thing she wanted to tell them was that a sixty-foot monster had frozen her into stone simply because of her blood heritage, so she had invented a story about attempting to perform a particularly complicated spell that went wrong during Transfiguration class. Hermione had hoped that would appease them, but she hadn't known about her parents visit to the castle. They had seen Colin, Justin, and Penelope languishing in the same state and had assumed that the same accident had happened to them. Therefore, Hermione's parents had drawn the conclusion that magical classes simply were not safe. They had tried to convince Hermione that perhaps Hogwarts was not the most suitable environment for her, but Hermione had flat out refused. Since she was no longer in any danger, her parents had little basis for their argument. They had agreed to allow Hermione to return to school and were blissfully unaware that the Sirius Black that was always on the Muggle telly was really hunting Hermione's best friend, putting her in more danger than ever.

Since she hadn't informed them about Sirius in the beginning, Hermione had kept quiet about the events at the end of third-year, too. She had told them all about using the Time-Turner for classes, and as expected, they were shocked that their daughter was blatantly dabbling in magical areas that not even adult, fully-trained wizards dared to tread. It was clear that Hermione was developing powers and talents that her own family couldn't understand. William and Helen Granger no longer had any idea who their daughter was. In some ways, Hermione wondered if her parents were a bit afraid of her. They didn't understand her anymore, and whenever a Granger didn't understand something, he or she became quite terrified.

Then, after fourth-year, for the first time Hermione considered telling her parents everything. A war would be starting at any moment; her parents deserved to know the truth about the situation. It was one thing to keep secrets that pertained to her own safety--she could take care of herself--it was a hippogriff of a different color to hide from her parents the precarious situation they were now in. Every Muggle in the world was in immediate danger from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and they deserved to know the truth so they could protect themselves.

But when Hermione returned home, she couldn't do it. Her parents had spotted her magically reduced front teeth in King's Cross, but waited to scold her for it until they returned home. She had received the longest lecture of her life that night. It was the first time Hermione had directly disobeyed her parents' orders, and they were furious at her. Hermione had managed to look somewhat abashed for her transgression, but personally, she wasn't sorry at all. For fifteen years, she had been teased and mocked for her large buckteeth. Braces would have taken at least two years to rectify the situation, while Madame Pomfrey had fixed the problem in less than five minutes--why shouldn't she have taken advantage of the opportunity she had been given?

When the tirade had finally ended, Hermione had had a golden opportunity to inform them about everything that was going on with the war, but she had only faked another apology and retreated up to her room. If her parents had become so upset about her teeth, there was no way to imagine how furious they would be when she told them about the war. Instead, the lies had continued, and Hermione had no intention of telling them the truth any time soon. The Order had put up protective spells and wards, so they were safer than most Muggles. The only thing that was placing them in immediate danger was--well, her. Hermione swallowed hard. Her presence here in Winterbourne was like hanging signs around her parents' necks, proclaiming, 'Hi, I'm the proud parents of a Muggle-born witch who happens to be best buddies with the Boy-Who-Lived. Come kill me now!'

Crookshanks leapt up onto her bed and settled down to take his mid-afternoon nap. Although he was still in his foul-temper, the cat was still courteous enough to leave enough room for Hermione to lie down next to him, but instead she crossed over to her roll-top desk and took a seat. She picked up a quill and twirled it in her fingers, lost in thought. She needed to write a letter to somebody who understood what was going on. Hermione was certain that part of her perpetual anxiety was due to the fact that nobody here understood just how difficult being shut up away from the magical world was right now. The Daily Prophet arrived every morning to reassure her that no one she knew had been killed or injured, but other than that, Hermione knew nothing. She understood that owls could easily be intercepted, so the letters she received from her friends had to be devoid of anything particularly revealing or illuminating. That didn't make things any easier. Now she was starting to understand just how frustrated Harry must have been last summer. No wonder he had blown up at her and Ron the second he had arrived at Grimmauld Place--she was about to burst after only a week!

Her leg was jiggling with nervous energy, so Hermione knew that she couldn't write anything just yet. Edgily, she bolted up from the chair and pushed aside the curtains, scanning the street. She knew it was silly, but she had to constantly reassure herself that one of those Death Eaters from the Ministry hadn't escaped and was now lurking outside her house. Her stomach sagged with relief when she saw only old Mrs. Winchester walking her dog. It didn't look like there would be any Death Eater attacks today. And, as she had just reminded herself, it wasn't as though her house wasn't protected. If any wizard came onto her property, Hermione didn't know what would happen, but she didn't intend on finding out. She anxiously fingered the blue curtain. The longer she stayed in this house, the more likely it was that she would find out. As much as she hated the idea, she had to leave. Even if the house was protected, that didn't mean it was invulnerable to attacks. Her parents would be safest if she left Winterbourne.

The curtains swished slowly back into their proper place while Hermione crossed the room to pick up the quill again. She finally knew to whom she would write and what she needed to say.

Dear Ron,

I think it's time for me to come for a visit...

**

"Is this it?" William Granger asked as he leaned over the steering wheel, squinting myopically at the sign ahead of them.

Hermione leaned against the restraints of her seat belt so she could read the sign through the mist that was presently obscuring her vision. "Yes," she confirmed, glancing down at the handwritten directions she had received from Mr. Weasley. "Take a left after we get off, and Ottery St. Catchpole should be five kilometers down the road."

"They live in the village?"

"No, they're a few miles outside of town--it's a Muggle settlement."

Mr. Granger looked down at the clock on the dashboard. "I hoped to get back before dark," he commented with slight impatience. It was now mid-afternoon, so there was no chance of him attaining that goal. They hadn't realized Ron lived so far from Winterbourne. "Why couldn't they pick you up in London again?"

Uh oh. Hermione shrugged casually. "Mr. Weasley sealed off the Floo Network in the house. There's been a rash of crimes, so he wanted to make sure no unwelcome guests could enter." That wasn't exactly a lie--Mr. Weasley had sealed off the Burrow's fireplace for protection; her father just didn't know from what Mr. Weasley was protecting his family. She briefly looked over her shoulder to check the cars behind them and then turned her attention to the directions. This road should take them straight through the center of town. There would be a fork in the road once they reached the outskirts, and if they took the path to the right, it should lead them straight to the Burrow.

"Not that I mind spending time with you," Mr. Granger continued. He smiled fondly over at his daughter. He risked taking his hand off the wheel to ruffle Hermione's hair. "We don't get to see you enough." Hermione let out a quiet sigh; her father was notorious for his ability to quietly make one feel guilty. Her mum, on the other hand, just liked to shout. She found it easier to deal with yelling after putting up with five years of Ron Weasley, so she never quite knew what to say whenever her dad looked at her so sadly. He really did miss his little girl. He leaned toward her conspiringly. "So, who do you think is following us?"

"What?" Hermione asked sharply, twisting around to look behind her yet again. The two cars behind them didn't appear to be suspicious in the slightest, but with that dreaded dementor mist obscuring everything, she couldn't be so sure.

William Granger looked quite taken aback and accidentally caused the car to veer slightly. He quickly steered it back on track. "I just meant that you keep looking behind you like you expect the bogeyman to jump out at you. You--you don't have a bogeyman in the magical world, do you?"

"No, no," Hermione reassured with an uncomfortable laugh. She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "I was just seeing if Ron or anyone was behind us. They sometimes use Ministry cars to get around."

"Oh." Mr. Granger drove silently for a few minutes as both of them watched the stores lining the High Street whiz by them. His fists tightened and loosened spastically around the steering wheel. "Hermione, we know you're keeping something from us."

It felt as though a Bludger had just whacked her in stomach. She thought she had avoided this. It had taken a great deal of effort to persuade her parents to let her come so soon. O.W.L.s were no longer a viable excuse, so she was forced to tell another variation of the truth: Harry had recently lost a close family member and needed all the help he could get. Her parents had been touched by her fierce loyalty, but it still had taken several long hours and a promise that no matter what, she would be home for Christmas before they finally relented. Hermione had thought everything was all right for now, but she should have known it wasn't. Innate, persistent curiosity was passed down to every Granger generation. She looked down at her lap. "Oh," she echoed quietly.

"Is it--are you--" Mr. Granger looked horribly revolted, but he swallowed hard and carried on. "Are you involved with Ron?"

"What?" God, she wished that her problems were as simple as worrying about her parents' approval over the boy she loved.

"Is that why you keep coming to stay with him?" he continued. "Because it's okay, Hermione, you can tell us, we knew you'd date one day--"

"No." Hermione knew she could just lie again; it would be a plausible reason for her coming to stay with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer. It would erase all of their suspicions, and at least one problem would be solved. But this lie would be about Ron. She couldn't tell her parents that she was dating Ron when she really wasn't, because she really did want to. She wanted to be with that boy so badly that it actually caused something deep in the pit of her stomach to ache with longing. If she lied about it, it would just make matters worse. Her parents would ask her how it was going with Ron, she would have to make up stories about what was happening between her and Ron, she would daydream about making those fantasies come true, and--no, it couldn't happen. She had to be patient. She wouldn't tell her parents about how she felt for Ron until it finally, mercifully happened. It was as simple as that.

Mr. Granger, however, was not appeased. He tried again. "I know you may be reluctant to tell us because of the Bateman boy--"

Hermione couldn't help laughing. "Jeremy has nothing to do with this," she assured her father. She hadn't thought about Jeremy Bateman, the son of her parents' dear friends, in ages. Her mother especially expressed a desire to see Hermione and Jeremy as a couple, but Hermione definitely did not return those sentiments. Jeremy was a very nice boy--he had been her best friend before she had come to Hogwarts--but he just couldn't hold a candle to Ron. She had had to fend off Jeremy's unwanted affections the summer before fourth-year, but she hadn't seen him since, thanks to the lack of time she had spent at home. Hermione honestly wondered if she ever would see Jeremy again, and as grateful as she was to have him as a friend in her childhood, she wouldn't mind if she didn't. She had outgrown Jeremy ages ago.

"Okay," Mr. Granger skeptically replied. "If you say so." He nodded to the upcoming fork in the road. "Which way?"

"Right."

The car jarred and bounced as it turned onto the older, unpaved road. William winced, probably thinking about how the bumpy terrain was going to murder the shocks. It took him a minute to get used to it, but once he did, he stubbornly returned to the previous conversation. "Your mother thought it was a boy, but I didn't." He nodded to Hermione's back pocket. "A boy wouldn't make you carry around your wand all the time. You never did that before until last summer." Hermione's hand jumped automatically to her wand. She had thought she'd successfully hidden it by wearing a T-shirt that was a size too large. She had been wearing clothes that were a bit too big so her parents wouldn't notice the bulge in her back pocket, but apparently she wasn't as clever and sly as she had thought. "So what's going on?" He risked looking away from the road to peer at his daughter. "Because I know that something is wrong, Hermione. You can't hide things from me."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip. Little did he know...

"So what is it? Is there anything I can do?"

"No," Hermione answered honestly. She stared straight out of the window, waiting with bated breath to see the uppermost stories of the Burrow rising out of the fog. "It's--it's something I need to work out on my own," she continued. That was true enough too; her parents couldn't very well help with a magical war. She had to face this alone. Her parents had raised her to be independent and self-sufficient--she could only hope they would understand. She leaned against her head against the back of the passenger seat and turned her head to look at her dad's profile. "I'll tell you when I'm ready, I swear."

Mr. Granger returned his daughter's gaze, perhaps trying to read her mind and see if she was lying, just like a skilled Occlumens might. Hermione was telling the truth, however. She fully intended on telling her parents everything--after September 19^th. By then she would be of age and could legally make her own decisions. Even if they forbade her to return to Hogwarts, Hermione could go anyway. She knew it was a cheap trick, but it was the only way she could stay at Hogwarts. That castle was her real home; she couldn't leave it now when it needed her more than ever. If she came home for Christmas, she would tell them everything. If she didn't, they would definitely be told next summer. This wasn't something she could put in an owl. When she told her parents the truth, she would have to do it in person. It was bound to be an ugly confrontation, yes, but it had to be done--just not this summer.

Her dad returned his eyes to the road. "All right," he relented. "Just tell me this--are you being careful?"

"As careful as I can possibly be," Hermione answered promptly and truthfully.

"That's all I can ask for," William Granger said with a sigh. The road curved sharply to the left, and as they rounded the turn, through the thicket of trees lining the street, Hermione caught a glimpse of a red chimney peeking merrily out of the fog and branches.

"There!" she pointed excitedly. "We're almost there!"

Quite surprised to see his daughter abruptly more animated than she had been this entire summer, Mr. Granger stepped on the gas so Hermione could get to her final destination a little faster. After a few more turns, they were finally greeted with the lopsided sign proclaiming the soaring, crooked home as 'The Burrow'.

Hermione's dad whistled under his breath. "Wow." He quickly veered to avoid the flock of chickens that waddled hastily across their path. He appeared to be amazed by the unbalanced architecture of the former pigpen. "How is that held up--magic?" he asked almost eagerly.

"Yes," Hermione answered with a small smile. She had a feeling that if her dad ever had a long chat with Ron's father, they would find they had a lot in common. Her father had always been much more interested in the magical world than her mum. He stepped on the brakes and placed the car into park. Hermione was already unbuckling her seatbelt and was out of the car before he had turned off the ignition. She squinted up at one of the highest windows, knowing it was Ron's. Was he watching for her? In fourth-year, when she had Flooed from London, he had been waiting in the kitchen expectantly for her. She wondered if she could expect the same treatment.

The front door opened halfway, but then quickly slammed shut. Her dad, who had just stepped out of the car, looked about, trying to find the source of the loud noise. "Did you hear that?"

"Must have been the chickens," Hermione lied. She knew what had really just happened. Ron, or perhaps Ginny, had tried to run out to greet them but had been stopped in adherence to the stringent guidelines issued in the purple leaflet distributed by the Ministry. Hermione had hidden her copy from her parents, so she was going to have to do some tricky maneuvering in order to avoid any more suspicion. Her dad was already much too wary for Hermione's taste.

He had gone to the trunk to retrieve her belongings, so Hermione looked anxiously back up at the Burrow, gesturing for anyone who happened to be watching to come help. Much to her relief, after a few minutes the door opened wide enough to allow Mr. Weasley to slide out. He walked purposely toward them with his wand at his side, ready to spring up at any moment. Hermione looked back to make sure that her dad was still occupied with her trunk before stepping toward him, hands raised slightly to show that she wasn't armed, but close enough so she could spring her hand back just in case something awful happened. "Hi, Mr. Weasley," she greeted steadily. "It's me," she added reassuringly.

Mr. Weasley looked her carefully up and down. He wasn't going to take any chances with his family's safety. His wand rose up ever so slightly. "What score did you get on your Charms exam in first-year?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. She knew the answer to that question, of course, but she was amazed that Ron did, too. Mr. Weasley must have quickly asked Ron something about her that only she would know, and Ron, who couldn't remember his reading assignments thirty minutes after he'd read them was able to recall a grade she had received four years ago? "One hundred and twelve percent," she answered promptly. Mr. Weasley started to lower his wand, but Hermione quickly spoke up again. They hadn't completed the Ministry-condoned transaction. "What's a Muggle method for healing cuts?"

Her best friend's father smiled ruefully and instinctively touched the arm that a snake had ruthlessly sunk its fangs into. "Stitches," he replied. He lowered his hand and smiled warmly at Hermione, pleased that she had so attentively read the pamphlet on safety precautions. "Good to see you, Hermione." His eyes went over to Hermione's dad, who was dragging her trunk and Crookshanks' carrier toward them. "Are you certain that's your dad?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes," Hermione reassured. "He hasn't been out of my sight since we left home." She nodded toward her cat's gleaming, yet serene yellow eyes. "And if that wasn't him, Crookshanks would be going mad by now."

"Right." Arthur Weasley pocketed his wand so he could stick out his hand to shake Mr. Granger's. Her father's hands, however, were full of luggage, so he couldn't return the gesture. Mr. Weasley chuckled. "Can I give you a hand, William?"

"Yes, thank you." Hermione could tell her dad was secretly pleased that Mr. Weasley had remembered his name even though they hadn't seen each other since the summer before second-year. Mr. Weasley took Hermione's trunk for her while Hermione grabbed Crookshanks' cage. "That's all, isn't it, dear?"

Hermione nodded. Mr. Weasley gestured up the house. "Would you like some tea before you head back?"

"Oh, no, thanks. I'd like to get back before dark with this damn fog," Mr. Granger replied. He frowned at the silvery cold mist that seemed to have gripped the entire country this summer.

"That's very wise," Mr. Weasley agreed, pleased to see a Muggle following the Ministry's guidelines. He opened his mouth to continue, perhaps to either assure Mr. Granger that his daughter would be safe here, or explain that the unseasonable mist would not be vanishing any time soon because of the hoards of dementors swooping across England, but he stopped when Hermione quickly stepped back under the pretense of setting down Crookshanks' cage and shook her head at him. Her eyes were wide and anxious, clearly pleading with her best friend's father not to say another incriminating word.

Arthur's eyes also widened as he abruptly realized what was going on. Grimly, he pressed his mouth shut and stepped back to allow the father and daughter to say good-bye. Hermione knew that Mr. Weasley was probably going to have a little talk with her very soon, but she didn't care. She was certain she had made the right decision. Instead, she just focused on throwing her arms around her dad and saying a sincere good-bye. For all she knew, this could be the last time--don't even finish that thought, she scolded herself.

William Granger held his little girl close for a long time before dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Well, good-bye Hermione, have a good term. Call or owl if you need anything at all." Keeping one arm wrapped around his daughter's shoulders, he reached out to shake Mr. Weasley's hand one more time. "Thank you, Arthur, for having her. I know how much she loves it here."

"Our pleasure," Mr. Weasley returned. The two dads exchanged a look of mutual fatherly understanding. "We'll take good care of her."

"I know." Mr. Granger hugged Hermione close one final time before releasing her. "Well, I'd better get back."

"Okay," Hermione agreed, suddenly very edgy. She had been dying to come here ever since she had gotten home, but now that she was here she was only reminded of just how much she was going to miss her dad and mum. In spite of all their problems and the lies she had told, Hermione really did love them very much. Being separated from them for so long was always difficult, and although it was for the best, the little girl inside of her really wanted to hop back in the car and go back home where she could hide in the shelter of her parents' care for as long as humanly possible. It may not solve any of the world's dire problems, but at least she would feel warm, cozy, and totally safe for a little while.

However, that was simply not an option. Hermione was past the age where she could just sit back and let others solve the problems of the world for her. She had to take action; she had to make her contribution to the war, and she couldn't do that from the unstable sanctity of her parents' home. "Okay," Hermione repeated again as she followed her dad to the car. "Kiss Mum again for me and tell good-bye again." Her mum had to stay in Winterbourne to tend to a few patients, so Hermione had had to say good-bye to her mother early that morning. "And I'll send Pig or Errol tonight--write a reply and send it back to let me know you got home safely."

"I will." Mr. Granger opened the driver's side door and started to climb in. He paused with one foot in the car and leaned close to Hermione. "Be careful," he urged quietly.

"I will," Hermione promised, feeling a little sick to her stomach. She hadn't fooled her father a single bit; he definitely knew that something was seriously wrong. Her dad smiled tersely before climbing into the car. Hermione closed the door for him and stepped back to wave good-bye as he carefully put the car into reverse, backed down the driveway, waved a final good-bye, and disappeared into the mist. Hermione inhaled slowly and deeply as she allowed the air to dissipate the knots in her stomach. The air here felt much cleaner and purer; there was magic in the air. She smiled at the glorious sensation. She was finally back where she belonged.

She turned to retrieve Crookshanks' cage. Mr. Weasley was waiting, staring sternly at her as though she was his own daughter who had snuck in after curfew. "You didn't tell them," he said flatly.

"No," Hermione replied honestly. "They don't know a thing."

Mr. Weasley sighed wearily as he began to drag her trunk up to the front door. "Muggle ignorance never aided the cause, Hermione."

"If they knew everything, I would be sent to a Muggle school," Hermione said tersely. Crookshanks let out a yowl of agreement. "I'm going to tell them when I'm of age," she added to let Mr. Weasley know she wasn't completely heartless. Hermione had to admit sometimes that she really did feel guilty about keeping such a huge secret from her parents. Mr. Weasley's concern, while appreciated, wasn't helping the situation.

"Hermione--"

Hermione had reached the top step of the front porch and she stopped, set down Crookshanks' trunk, and whirled around to look at her best friend's father. Her eyes flashed defiantly, as they did whenever Ron said something rude, vulgar, or stupid. "There are protective wards on my house, right?"

"Yes--"

"--and there's very little chance that the Death Eaters would target them if I'm not there, right? Death Eaters may attack the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, but it's not customary to target the parents of the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, right?"

"That's what we think, yes--"

"Then they should be just fine for now," Hermione concluded emphatically. They had to be fine. If anything happened to her parents, she would never forgive herself. She might even be driven to leave the magical world forever. But if she told the truth and had to leave Hogwarts, she couldn't help Harry with the war. Although she had no idea what Harry's contribution would be, she had a feeling that he would make a sizable one and that she would have to help him. Whether it would be by fighting by his side, spending hours combing the library for whatever information he needed, or just sitting by him in the common room and reminding him that he wasn't alone in the world, Hermione had to do it. She had to help Harry face Voldemort. And if that meant lying to her parents in the process, so be it.

Mr. Weasley looked at Hermione long and hard, probably trying to think of some way to change her mind. But there was nothing he could possibly say. Hermione knew way down deep inside of her that this was where she belonged--right in the thick of things. Hermione looked uncannily like Mrs. Weasley at this moment, so Mr. Weasley just nodded in reluctant resignation. "Let's get inside," he said quietly. "It's not too safe these days."

He stepped up to the door and knocked softly. "Is that you, Dad?" Ron's disembodied voice immediately echoed from behind the heavy front door.

"Yes, Ron, but what have we talked about?" Mr. Weasley shouted wearily to him. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at Hermione. "Ron has trouble remembering security measures," he told her under his breath.

"I do not!" Ron yelled. "But I just saw you go outside!"

"Where someone could have put me under the Imperius curse without you noticing," Mr. Weasley reminded him.

"I watched you the whole time!" Ron disagreed. "I would have seen if Hermione or someone cursed you. Even she's not that good!"

"Hey!"

"No offense," Ron said offhandedly. Hermione could practically see him rolling his eyes at her from behind the door.

"Ron," Mr. Weasley cut in, sounding sterner than Hermione had ever heard him before. "Do you want Harry to come and stay?" Hermione perked up considerably; Ron hadn't mentioned that possibility in his last letter.

"Dad--"

"He will not be coming here if my family cannot follow the simplest of safety regulations. The Minister himself made me promise that we would invoke the highest of precautions. We cannot be too careful." Mr. Weasley sighed heavily. "Now, ask the question."

"What is your secret ambition?" Ron asked tonelessly. Hermione wondered how many times he had had to follow this procedure. It certainly sounded as if it were old hat by now.

"To discover how Muggle airplanes stay in the air," Mr. Weasley answered. He kept his hand tight around the doorknob so Ron couldn't allow them entrance just yet. "And what was the name of your teddy bear?"

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth so Ron wouldn't hear her muffled snicker. So that was why he was so vehemently trying to avoid following the procedure.

"Shut it, Hermione--it was Bilius the Belligerent," Ron said hastily. He hoped she wouldn't hear the incriminating name if he said as fast as he could, but Hermione caught every delicious syllable anyway. She grinned. Excellent.

Amused, Mr. Weasley let go of the doorknob. "Well, aren't you going to let us in, son?"

The door wrenched open, revealing a maroon-eared, thoroughly annoyed Ronald Weasley. "Consider yourself in," Ron bit out in aggravation. Mr. Weasley just smiled benignly as he passed Ron with Hermione's trunk. Ron scowled angrily at his dad's back and then turned back to Hermione. "Hermione, I swear, don't--"

Hermione didn't say a word, although she was absolutely dying to ask a few more questions about Bilius the Belligerent. As much as she loved to tease and banter with him, there was something else she loved more. Standing on her tiptoes so she could wrap her arms around his neck, she silently hugged him close, closer than she had ever hugged him before. It was just so good to see him again. He must have already grown at least three inches since they had parted at King's Cross--it was getting more and more difficult to balance while hugging him like this. She may have to start holding him around the chest. She rested her forehead against him so she could hear the reassuring thump-thump of his steady heartbeat and smiled. Maybe hugging him like that wouldn't be such a bad thing. She would have to try it sometime soon.

They stood in the open doorway probably far longer than the Ministry-approved timeframe. Hermione finally released him and lowered her heels back to the floor, surreptitiously breathing him in one more time--he always smelled wonderfully like pepper and the summer wind. Ron's ears were still bright red, and he looked as pleasantly shocked as he had when she had hugged him like that at King's Cross two weeks earlier. She smiled up at him; Ron was just going to have to get used to it. Ever since last year--especially after the infamous snog--Hermione knew that they were closer than ever to achieving something so beautifully perfect that she had to tell herself everyday not to dream about it too much in case it didn't come true. She had to keep letting him know she was very interested in achieving that perfection. Also, Hermione couldn't deny that it felt really, really good to act on the instincts she'd been having around him for over two years now.

"How have you been?" Hermione asked casually, as if she hugged him like that every day. Who knew--maybe it could become an every day occurrence for them. She just hoped that he had no idea that her heart was pounding away like a kettledrum.

"Good." Ron scratched the back of his head as he stepped back to let Hermione enter the Burrow. He shut the door behind her and securely locked it with several flicks of his wand. "You?"

"Fine." She looked anxiously around to see if there was any sign of a Death Eater fray. "And your family? There hasn't--?"

"No, no, we've been fine," Ron assured her. Gesturing toward the narrow stairway, Ron let her go ahead, and he followed her up to Ginny's room. "You too?"

"Us, too," Hermione replied. She paused on the step and turned around, anxiously looking directly at him. It would be just like Ron to hide some serious injury one of his brothers had received in an attempt to not worry her. But she had to know--his family was her family now. It would also help lead her into the next topic she wished to discuss. "And everyone here is okay?"

"Yes," Ron repeated emphatically.

"Including Bilius the Belligerent?"

"Including--" Ron cut himself off and just scowled. "Oh." Hermione clamped down her lips to bite back a chuckle. She just couldn't help herself. Ron was standing a few stairs down from where she was, so he took a step up so he'd be taller than her again, hoping to intimidate her with his height. But Hermione Granger never backed down from Ron Weasley, and she just stared straight back at him. "Were you always this cheeky?" he demanded.

"It's an acquired skill," Hermione retorted with a lighthearted smile. "From years of watching the master." It wasn't often that she was so openly teasing and playful, but seeing Ron again had evoked such a warm, golden glow from the pit of her stomach that she only wanted to smile, banter, and bask in his eyes for the rest of her life.

Ron's face brightened by the sudden compliment, but he never got the chance to reply. Something petite and slim with a long, thick mane of auburn hair suddenly flung itself at Hermione, seizing her in a quick but heartfelt hug. Not hearing Ginny's arrival, Hermione was quite unprepared for the sudden attack and would have pitched headfirst down the stairs had it not been for Ron's quick Keeper skills. With one hand steadying her, he grabbed Crookshanks' cage with the other. "Ginny!" he bellowed irritably. "Watch it!"

As usual, Ginny ignored her big brother. "Hi, Hermione! It's so good to see you--oh, good, Ron, you took her luggage for her. Finally decided to start being a gentleman, did you? Come on!" She tugged on Hermione's arm to urge her the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving behind a still baffled Ron clutching the cat carrier that held a now foul-tempered Crookshanks. The cat was yowling impatiently to be let out of his prison. "I didn't know you were here yet, but Dad just brought up your trunk and told me. Ron," she called over her shoulder accusingly, "was supposed to call me when you arrived, but he must have forgot."

"I had to watch Dad," Ron shot after her. He had resumed his clomping up the stairs to catch up with the two girls. "For security reasons."

Ginny gave him a quick, disdainful look of disbelief. "Yeah. Right. And by the way, I think of all of us know who the real master of cheekiness is." She pointed her finger in the air, twirled it aimlessly around as if seriously deliberating the decision, and then aimed it directly at herself.

"And modesty," Ron added dryly. They had finally reached Ginny's room, and he dropped Crookshanks' cage to the floor. Hermione quickly bent down to unlock the catch, and Crookshanks bounded free of the wire mesh, hurtling down the stairs, hoping to escape the house and chase the gnomes like he had two summers ago. Ron had to leap over the orangey-red cat to plop down onto the cot that had already been set up with pillows and blankets opposite Ginny's twin bed.

"Thank you," Ginny said serenely as she plopped down onto her bed. She sat cross-legged, holding a pillow to her stomach. "So, Hermione, how's your summer been?"

"All right," Hermione replied. She crossed over to join Ron on her bed. Her cheeks automatically flushed at the thought: Ron on her bed. It was a rather glorious thought. She couldn't dwell on it for very long however; Ginny looked positively ready to burst. She was rocking slightly back and forth, holding the pillow even closer to herself. She looked a lot like Dobby did whenever he was trying to hold information in. Hermione cocked her head curiously, silently asking Ginny what the matter was. Ginny just looked over at Ron and raised an eyebrow. Oh. Whatever Ginny had to say, she didn't want to say it in front of Ron. Hermione didn't particularly fancy leaving Ron so soon, but if what Ginny had to say was really important, she would just have to think of a way to get Ron leave the room--

"Ron, get out."

Hermione suppressed a sigh. Every little sister in the world knew that that trick never worked; goodness, she wasn't even a little sister and Hermione knew that it wouldn't work, especially with Ron. Sure enough, Ron swelled up slightly in annoyance. "What?"

"I have to talk to Hermione about something private. It's a girl thing. Leave," Ginny ordered, pointing to the door. She so easily assumed an authoritarian personality that Hermione wondered if this trick often worked with Ron. Perhaps he was just putting up a fuss because he didn't want to seem like a prat in front of her.

Ron opened his mouth to retaliate, but Hermione was two steps ahead of both of them. She laid a hand reassuringly on Ron's arm. "No, Ginny, Ron should stay," she said. Hermione turned to Ron, once again biting back a smile. "Now, where did you get the name Bilius?"

"I'm leaving," Ron said promptly.

"Oh, but Ron," Hermione protested mercilessly as she half-heartedly tried to stop him as he rose to make a quick exit, "I wanted to meet him! Do you think I could?"

Ginny exploded with mirth before Ron could snap out a response. "Oh--oh-Bilius the Belligerent!" she squealed. She pounded a gleeful hand on the mattress.

Ron glared at her. Ginny had been the one to suggest that particularly incriminating inquiry as Ron's security question. "Well, you just wait and see what question you're getting. I can't wait to see Ha--"

Ginny sat up so suddenly and quickly Hermione wondered if she had somehow been lit on fire. "What?" But Ron was already hastily shutting the door to shield himself from the pillow that was being chucked at him and muttering something that sounded a lot like an exasperated 'Women!' Once the door was closed, Ginny just as abruptly smiled at Hermione, the fury melting away from her face. "Well, that worked really well. Thanks Hermione."

At first, Hermione thought Ginny was being sarcastic, but Ginny's earnest smile convinced her otherwise. "You're not really mad about Ron changing your question?"

Ginny snorted. "Please--only I can change the question. I just happened to suggest Ron's in front of him and Dad. Dad thought it was a really good one, and he's been so worried lately that Ron agreed to use it until he can think of a better one." She grinned slyly. "It doesn't help that Bilius is a really, really good one--only we know about that teddy bear."

"Where did he come up with that name?" Hermione asked with honest curiosity. She leaned comfortably against the wall. "I've never heard the name Bilius before."

"It was one of our uncles," Ginny explained. "He died ages ago." Hermione nodded with sudden understanding; she had heard the name before. Ron had mentioned his uncle who died after seeing a Grim in third-year. "It's also Ron's middle name."

"Really?" Hermione said without thinking. She never knew that before. Quite against her will, she imagined herself in some fierce row with Ron, yelling his name at the top her lungs: Ronald Bilius Weasley! A smile tugged at her lips. Yes, she could definitely see that scenario playing out sometime in the future.

"Anyway, Fred and George picked on Ron for ages for getting that bear--he picked it out himself in the toy store, you see," Ginny explained. "They told him he was too old to have a stuffed animal, so Ron thought if he named it something really tough-sounding, they'd leave him alone. The best he could come up with was Bilius the Belligerent." Ginny grinned at the memory. "The twins were so amused that they waited months before they tried to have him get rid of it again."

"How'd they do that?"

"They turned it into a spider," Ginny answered as she reached for a bag of Every-Flavor Beans she kept on the nightstand.

Hermione finally exploded with laughter. Ginny grinned as she watched her friend bent forward, arm around her stomach, laughing wildly. "Oh--I'm-sorry," Hermione gasped out, "I--know-I-shouldn't--laugh--but--" Another trail of giggles escaped out of her. She never forgot the nauseated, panicked look on Ron's face when he had told her and Harry that story in second-year. It had been so cute.

"Well, it is funny," Ginny agreed, a bit bewildered by Hermione's state. She swallowed the handful of beans she had bravely tossed into her mouth without closely examining them first. "I don't think it's that funny, but--" She couldn't help giggling a little at Hermione's laughter. It felt really good to laugh these days; they needed all the laughter they could get. "But-but--anyway." Ginny grabbed another pillow to hold in her lap. "I really do have something to talk to you about."

Hermione sobered quickly and sat up. She wondered if this had something to do with Dean. At the Ending Feast last year, Ginny had told her that she had just started to date Dean after a long flirtation that had cropped up after her breakup with Michael Corner. They had gotten together a few times before term had ended, but now they had to continue their relationship with owls. Hermione just hoped that nothing awful had happened; Ginny had been a lot more miserable about her breakup with Michael than she let on. It wouldn't help matters if Ginny had her heart broken again. "Go on," she urged.

"It's Bill," Ginny relayed sourly. Her face was crinkled with the utmost repugnance and disdain. "He's engaged."

"What?" Hermione said with surprise. "But that's great, isn't it? I mean--"

"To Fleur."

"Oh." Hermione's face mirrored Ginny's. She didn't particularly like Fleur, either. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. She really didn't like Fleur. Fleur Delacour was an uptight, haughty, egotistical, empty-headed little twit who didn't deserve the honor of being a Triwizard champion. Bill had started seeing Fleur about a year ago, but Hermione didn't think they would actually get married. Fleur didn't seem like the marrying type, and from what Ron and Ginny had told her about Bill, she had thought he was far too smart to fall for a girl like Fleur. "And you want to break them up?"

Ginny leaned forward conspiringly. "She's here all the time," she revealed. "I can't stand it. She treats me like I'm some little girl who doesn't know any better and should just be patted on the head like some stupid puppy. And the way she fawns over Bill like he's Merlin's gift to women. I mean, don't get me wrong," Ginny corrected, "Bill is always popular with girls, but he's not that great."

Hermione suddenly felt as though she was back in fourth-year and Ron was ogling at the part-veela from across the room with his tongue revoltingly hanging out of his mouth. She squirmed uncomfortably. "Wait. Fleur is here?"

"I know," Ginny said miserably. "She's staying with us since Bill is either out for the Order or at Gringotts so often. Mum's ready to kill her--I keep telling her to give in to that instinct, but she won't--"

"Fleur is here?" Hermione repeated again. She had the sudden urge to tear down the stairs and make sure that Ron wasn't anywhere near her. "Here?" she repeated needlessly, her voice creaking with resentment.

Ginny met Hermione's eyes sympathetically, knowing what she was about to ask. "Yes, he still acts like an idiot around her. When we came home and found her here, he slipped on his own drool."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Hermione was suddenly filled with pure, horrible envy, and she could no longer stay seated. She got to her feet and flung back the lid to her trunk. Words she didn't even know resided deep within her came spurting out her mouth uncontrolled. "Well, I should have expected it--well, not really--she's only one-quarter veela, isn't she--and Harry certainly doesn't act like a complete prat around her--and neither does Bill for that matter--why can't Ron just control himself--I would have thought he had grown up enough by now to keep a hold of himself and not act like a fool--he's ridiculous--"

"So you're still crazy about him, eh?" Ginny interrupted amicably. She had lain down on her stomach with her chin propped up in one hand and was watching Hermione violently unpack her belongings. "Viktor didn't return to steal your heart?"

Hermione pulled a face at the thought. Viktor was a very good friend, but after five snogs she had realized that she had snogged him five times too many. "Nope," she confirmed while folding and refolding the jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted for her last Christmas. "Still crazy about the prat who slips on his own drool."

There was a short silence while Hermione continued to unpack to alleviate some of the mounting tension boiling away inside of her. She found that she always had to do something whenever she was particularly worked up. Ginny just watched her in serious consideration before sitting up and speaking in a quiet, honest voice. "Did you know he sat in the living room all day, waiting for you to come?"

The now overly folded jumper fell back into her trunk. All thoughts of Ron's Fleur-induced drool vanished, and she let out a sigh. Of course he had. That's what Ron did--he was absolutely wonderful. He was the boy of her dreams for one minute, and the next he was a big, stupid prat whom Hermione couldn't help secretly adoring. It could be a bit confusing and overwhelming at times. Hermione loved Ron very, very dearly, but sometimes she just wished he could be wonderful all the time or a prat all the time. If he just picked one way to act, she could learn to accept it instead of being confused. Ron had the habit of sending out mixed signals about his feelings for her, especially when a ditzy blonde French tart sashayed in front of him.

Her uncertainty must have shown plainly on her face, for Ginny sat up on her knees. "You're not giving up on him, are you?" Ginny asked anxiously. She stared at Hermione with wide eyes, as if her worst fears would be confirmed if Hermione said yes. "I know I told you to move on last year, but I was wrong--you and Ron aren't like me and--" Ginny brushed some hair out of her eyes. "--I mean, you and Ron have definite potential, while Harry barely even looks at me--"

"That's not true," Hermione denied automatically. Sometimes, when Harry looked at Ginny, Hermione thought she detected something lurking there, something that was so buried that Harry himself didn't even recognize it. It would take a bit of time, but Hermione knew that someday it would definitely burst out of Harry, and then he and Ginny could finally have the happiness they rightfully deserved.

"It's not like I want him to," Ginny disagreed sadly. Nevertheless, she kept a brave smile on her face. "We're finally good friends now, and that's all I can ask for. Maybe one day that'll change, but until then I'm going to move on like you told me to. He's never going to feel the way I do if he doesn't get to know me. But you and Ron are so close--I can feel it--especially after everything that happened in the Ministry and him staying in the hospital to look after you--you're almost there, Hermione, I know it!" Ginny's eyes shone fervently with hope, like a little girl who's stayed up until midnight waiting for Father Christmas to come down the chimney. "Come on, Hermione, don't give up on him now--at least let me live vicariously through you. Ron may be a prat, but there are prats like Ron and then prats like Michael Corner. Ron is one of the good ones."

She really didn't have to say that. Hermione already knew Ron was one of the good ones. He was one of the best ones. "I know, Ginny," Hermione answered steadily. "I have no intention of giving up on Ron--"

"Just promise me," Ginny continued earnestly. "Promise me no matter what stupid thing my brother does, you will not give up."

"I promise," Hermione said immediately. She would never give up on Ron. She had tried to during fifth-year and had failed miserably. There was just no way to get over Ron. He was everything. And yet, Hermione couldn't help wondering just why Ginny was so insistent on this subject and what stupid thing Ron could do to make her want to forget all about him.