Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

Ann Margaret

Story Summary:
Did you expect anything less from me? Sixth-year from Hermione's POV--primarily following her troubled relationship with Ron Weasley. Did anything happen over the summer? Had they started something when Lavender commenced sticking her tongue down Ron's throat? Did she really stop talking to him completely? What did she do during that time? Was there something going on with McLaggen? How did she and Ron reconcile? Why was she the one sent down to Snape instead of fighting alongside Ron and Ginny?...So many questions so come find some answers!

Chapter 03 - Chapter 2

Chapter Summary:
Harry arrives at the Burrow and the summer passes by quite pleasantly...or does it?
Posted:
01/31/2006
Hits:
5,666


And I would not leave you

In times of trouble

We never could have come this far

I took the good times

I'll take the bad times

I'll take you just the way you are...

"The Way You Are" Billy Joel

**

Hermione understood Ginny's persistence the very next morning. Ron was an idiot. Leaning against a stack of boxes, she idly rolled a lost Gobstone back and forth underneath her fingertips. There was probably a great deal of dust settling in her hair, but she found she really didn't care. Even if her hair were as long, silky, and perfect as it was at the Yule Ball, Ron still wouldn't notice. He only had eyes for Fleur.

Picturing Fleur's haughty face on a box on the opposite side of the room, Hermione flicked the Gobstone far away from her and it bounced angrily against the surface before becoming lost in the darkness of the attic. Hermione had never come up to the Weasley's attic before, but it seemed like the only place she could go to get some peace and quiet. The living room and kitchen were being patrolled under Mrs. Weasley's eagle eye, Ginny was writing Dean a letter in their room, Fleur was lounging in her and Bill's--formally Percy's--room, Ron was probably in his, she wasn't allowed in Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's, and there was no amount of money in the world that could convince her to go into Fred and George's old room--she couldn't imagine what sort of tricks they had left behind. Normally, whenever Hermione wanted to get away, she would go outside, but Mrs. Weasley had sternly informed her that under no circumstances was anyone allowed to go outside by themselves--they could go in small groups, but never alone. This was the only place she could go.

Despite the ghoul that was presently attempting to aggravate her by banging around miscellaneous objects, it was a rather peaceful place. At least she could be alone for a few minutes. She needed some time to get her head on straight. Ron's antics at breakfast this morning had been so irritating that Hermione had been ready to let him discover exactly why Draco Malfoy was afraid of her right hook. Hermione rubbed her hands on her jeans in annoyance. She hated that she could so easily become jealous of Fleur. She tried to deny it all during fourth-year, but she honestly couldn't deny it. Every time she looked at Fleur, all sorts of spiteful images popped up in her head: cutting off Fleur's beautiful long blonde hair, spilling pumpkin juice all over Fleur's wedding dress, sticking out her foot so Fleur would stop spinning like a ballerina around the house and instead fall flat on her face, perhaps squashing that stupidly cute button nose of hers in the process--

Hermione clapped her hands over her eyes and sternly told herself to stop. She wasn't supposed to be like this. She was not an openly spiteful person. She shouldn't be having horrible thoughts like this. Ron couldn't really be blamed for his atrocious actions; Fleur did have innate magical abilities that lured men into stupefied adoration. Ron was so openly receptive of other people's feelings that it was understandable that he would be more prone to Fleur's charms than others. Besides, it wasn't as though Ron was acting on his lustful instincts; not even a pure veela could tempt Ron into betraying his big brother. Ron worshiped Bill--he would never do anything to hurt him. And from the way Fleur had looked at Ron, like he was a disgusting foreign object she scraped off the bottom of her shoe, Hermione had a fairly good idea that Fleur had no interest in seducing him, either.

BANG

Hermione flinched at the loud noise and automatically sat up straight, hand on her wand. From the security procedures Mr. Weasley had outlined last night, she didn't think the Burrow could succumb to Death Eater attacks so quickly. Ministry officials were also arriving at some point today to enhance the protective spells in preparation for Harry's arrival sometime tomorrow morning. Perhaps they were making the noise.

"Oi! Keep it down up there!"

She relaxed. Ron was in his room. He must have finally became fed up with all of the noise the family ghoul was making--he had taken to playing a samba on the water pipes--and thrown something at the ceiling. Staring down at the dim entrance to the attic, Hermione made an abrupt decision and got to her feet. She wasn't going to hide from him anymore, especially when they had important matters to discuss.

Ron's door was open, and she was able to peek in and watch him before he noticed. He was sprawled out on his vividly orange bed, dressed in jeans and a Chudley Cannons T-shirt, idly tossing a Quaffle up in the air. Ron probably couldn't wait for Harry to come so he could finally play a good round of Quidditch. Ginny had told Hermione that she and Ron had been practicing every day, but it was hard to train properly with only two people. Ron had even gone so far as try to beg Hermione for help last night, but she had flat out refused. She wasn't ready to get on a broom again after nearly falling off of one that disastrous night she had tried to be rebellious and fly on her own amid Fred and George's fireworks. Luckily, Harry would be arriving tomorrow, so Ron wouldn't bother her for too much longer.

Speaking of Harry, that was exactly why she needed to speak to Ron. Hermione knocked lightly on the open door. "Hi," she greeted as Ron caught the Quaffle and lifted his head and shoulders off the bed to look at her.

"There you are," he returned with an easy smile. "I was wondering where you went." Abruptly, he tossed the Quaffle at her. By some stroke of pure luck, Hermione managed to catch it. "Sure you don't want to play Quidditch?"

Hermione made a face. "I'll pass." Stepping into the room and throwing the ball underhanded to him, she sat down at his desk. As always, she got straight to the point. "I think we should talk about what we're going to do about Harry."

Begrudgingly, Ron set the Quaffle to the side. "What about Harry?" he said tiredly.

"I assume you've been reading the Daily Prophet?"

"Yeah," Ron confirmed. "Every day."

"So you read about Harry being the 'Chosen One?'"

"Yeah, what about--" Ron sat upright, abruptly looking much more interested in the conversation. "You reckon he is?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. She leaned avidly in Ron's direction. She had been thinking about this a lot over the last week and was anxious to share her theory with someone. "It all seems to fit, doesn't it? This mysterious prophecy that has something to do with Harry and Voldemort--oh, don't flinch--and we never found out just why Voldemort--Ron, don't-- tried to kill Harry when he was a baby. Maybe it was because this prophecy had been revealed and Voldemort wanted to make sure all threats against him were taken care of. And you said that before Harry comes here, Dumbledore will personally collect him and take him somewhere, that there's something they have to do--what if it is to track down the prophecy?"

"You think?" Ron looked as though he'd swallowed a vat of extra-squirmy flobberworms. "I dunno...." Hermione looked at him sharply, and he elaborated. "Well, if the prophecy was destroyed at the Ministry, how can Harry listen to it? And if there's another record of it, why didn't You-Know-Who go after it instead of the one in the Department of Mysteries? It would have been loads easier."

She blinked in surprise. Ron had found a flaw in her logic. He was thinking. He was growing up. "Well, maybe You-Know-Who doesn't know about the other record. Or maybe Dumbledore knows the Seer who made the original prophecy and is taking Harry to see him or her." Ron still looked doubtful, but Hermione forged on, certain that she was right. It was the only answer that made any sense. "Come on, Ron, I know this 'Chosen One' business sounds like a load of rubbish, but it just makes sense. It just seems to fit Harry, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. His face echoed Hermione's thoughts: he didn't want Harry to be the Chosen One. If either he or Hermione had their way, Harry would be blessed with a life far, far away from the sorcerer who had so cruelly ripped his parents away from him. Harry deserved some peace and quiet in his life, and now it seemed that he was destined to endure his greatest, most deadly challenge yet. Ron leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. There was a shallow dent from where the Quaffle had rammed into the ceiling earlier. "Harry Potter, the 'Chosen One,'" he stated, savoring each word as though testing how it tasted in his mouth. A lopsided smile had returned to Ron's face. "Loads better than 'The Boy Who Lived,' don't you think?"

She nodded with a small smile of her own. "I think," she confirmed.

"It makes him seem older," Ron continued airily, as if they were discussing a new nickname for Harry rather than his fate in the most heinous war in the history of magic. "We are growing up, you know."

"I know," Hermione agreed. Her eyes had inadvertently landed on the stronger, more defined curve of his jaw, and she wondered if he had to start shaving yet and what it would feel like to slide her hand along it. "We are growing up."

Ron quickly sobered. He always needed to break unbearable tension with a joke or wisecrack, but unlike the twins, he would always get right back on track afterward. "So what are we going to do?"

"We have to let him come to us," Hermione said immediately. "Whenever we've tried to force him to say or do anything, he just snaps at us and goes off to sulk. I don't want that to happen again." Her heart turned sickeningly at the memory of the closed-off, painfully furious expression on Harry's face. "I want him to have as good a summer as he can. He needs to heal so he can get on with his life."

She picked at the slightly frayed knee of her jeans. "I don't think Harry ever really got over Cedric's death," she revealed in a low voice. "He never forgave himself, and since he never really grieved, he never got over it. It just festers inside of him until he blows up--typically at us," she added wryly. Ron gave an agreeing, sarcastic laugh. "And now that Sirius is gone and there's this whole prophecy thing to contend with, we can't have him moping around again. He has to open up and talk to us--"

"Hang on," Ron cut in with bewilderment. "Are we supposed to just let him alone or are we going to tie him down and make him talk?"

She mentally reviewed what she had just said and shook her head dolefully. As usual, when she started ranting, she made absolutely no sense. "I don't know," she admitted. She looked at Ron appealingly. He understood Harry on a level she could never hope to reach. "What do you think?"

Momentarily taken aback that Hermione was asking for his opinion, Ron took a minute to think. "I think we have to wait," he finally said. "See what kind of a mood he's in. If he's still sulking, we'll wait. If he seems better, we'll talk."

Hermione nodded slowly and pensively. It seemed like a good plan. You could never plan a conversation ahead of time--she had tried and failed miserably each time. There was no telling what mood Harry would be in when he arrived. They would just have to wait. Still, Hermione couldn't help asking, "Do you think he'll still be sulking?"

"Well, no," Ron hedged edgily. He seemed better, didn't he? Didn't sulk once after the Ministry incident."

"He was also still in shock. He barely said a word to anybody," Hermione pointed out quietly. "Sirius was so important to him, and when he died, it--"

"--it was like he lost his mum and dad again," Ron finished dejectedly.

"Poor Harry," Hermione breathed in agreement.

The two friends sat in silence while Hermione continued to pick at her jeans and Ron resumed his nervous tossing of the Quaffle. She watched Ron furtively from the corner of her eyes. Since they were discussing something so imperative to their world's survival, Hermione didn't want to bring up something rather trivial that was nevertheless gnawing away at her: Ron hadn't been the one to tell her that Harry was coming. She had found out when Mrs. Weasley had casually mentioned it to her that morning at breakfast as though Hermione had already known. Mrs. Weasley had been as surprised as Hermione had been to find out that she hadn't been told; both had assumed that Ron would have told her straightaway. Apparently, Dumbledore had informed him of Harry's arrival the same day Hermione's letter had arrived. If Ron knew then, why hadn't he told her in the letter he had sent back, tersely informing her that she could come as soon as she could? Hermione wasn't necessarily angry that he had kept something from her. She was confused. It was unlike him to keep something that important from her. Usually, she was the first to know whenever Harry was finally freed from his Muggle relatives.

But that didn't matter. She was being selfish. She had to focus on Harry. Her eyes shot back to Ron's oddly pensive, worried face. And of course, she had to focus on Ron, as well. She had to make sure that her two best friends were taken care of. She couldn't do anything for Harry at the moment, so all of her energy would be focused on Ron. And that meant she'd need to make a great sacrifice on his behalf. Taking a deep breath, Hermione smiled over at Ron. "You know, maybe I'll give Quidditch a try."

The grin that broke out over Ron's face made the two uncomfortable hours she would be spending on a broomstick completely worthwhile. "All right!" he cheered.

**

"Morning," Hermione greeted as she and Ginny trooped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was dishing out sausages from the pan, so she only managed a distracted wave. Ron, however, returned her greeting with enthusiasm as he set aside the Daily Prophet he had been scanning. Her eyes shot immediately to the front page, but Ron just shook his head reassuringly. Nobody was dead yet. She smiled in relief. Yesterday, she was the one to check the newspaper and reassure him. It was nice to know he would do the same for her.

She sat in the chair across from him and reached for the juice. Ginny sat down next to Hermione, swinging her carefully combed hair over her shoulder. They would have been down sooner if Hermione hadn't had to wait for Ginny to finish getting ready. Hermione knew that Ginny wasn't going after Harry--she did have a boyfriend--but it didn't hurt to look a bit nicer than usual.

Mrs. Weasley must have been expecting Harry for breakfast, for she had made almost double as much food as normal; she always fed Harry as much as humanly possible. Everyone was quite aware that Harry did not receive an adequate food supply while at the Dursleys. Knowing Harry, he'd probably been living on stale Cauldron Cakes and slightly mushy Chocolate Frogs for the past two weeks. "Eat up," she urged brightly as she set a plate of sausages and scrambled eggs on the table. "Bacon will be ready in a minute," she added before bustling back to the stove.

Ron happily dished up a heaping helping on his already overloaded plate. He caught Hermione's disapproving glare and obligingly gave her a good-sized serving of eggs. He was in too good of a mood to even make a snappy retort. "Eat up," he echoed cheerfully. "You'll need all the strength you can get to play Quidditch again."

"You played Quidditch?" Ginny interjected with great surprise. She smiled knowingly at Hermione. She knew perfectly well why Hermione had agreed.

Hermione simply shrugged and scooped up a hearty heap of eggs. "That she did," Ron answered for her. "You should have seen her, Gin. She actually wasn't half bad."

That was an outright lie. If there were two things in this world that Hermione was plain awful at, it was Quidditch and chess. Coincidentally, those were two things that Ron was great at. "Don't listen to him, Ginny," Hermione finally spoke. "I was awful."

"Come on," Ron egged encouragingly. He was probably only happy to see her play Quidditch because it made him feel infinitely better about his own skills. "You almost scored off of me that one time."

"You mean when you slipped on your broom when Fleur walked out into the garden and you still miraculously managed to cling on for dear life and catch the Quaffle? Yes, I was brilliant then," Hermione retorted. If Fleur hadn't been the cause of Ron's near-fall, she actually would have been quite impressed; it was the most impressive save she had ever seen him make. Of course, it was hard to play extraordinarily when your opponent was absolute rubbish

"If you were going to play, you should have told me," Ginny said grumpily. She jumped forward to retrieve a piece of the bacon Mrs. Weasley had just placed on the table before Ron could steal them all. "If I'm going to make Chaser, I need all the practice I can get."

"You can't play with an odd number," Ron reminded her. Ginny still looked put out, so Ron hastily kept on to further placate her. "Once Harry gets here, all of us can play. He'll want to fly just as much as you after that Umbridge--woman," Hermione suspected that Ron would have used a different word if his mother weren't within earshot, "kept his broom all year. Then when he finally gets it back, he has to go off with those ruddy Muggles."

Hermione frowned. She had rather hoped that yesterday had been a one-time thing. She didn't particularly fancy the idea of playing Quidditch every day. She had only done it to make that desolate look on Ron's face go away. But if Harry was as miserable as he had been after Sirius' death, and if Ron became overwhelmed by the troubles of the world again--Hermione sighed. She had a feeling she would be playing a lot of Quidditch this summer.

"Hey, Mum!" Ron protested as he reached for the bacon plate, only to find it empty. He must have forgotten that he had stuffed three-quarters of it down his throat a few seconds ago. "We're out of bacon!"

"Well, you'll just have to make do," Mrs. Weasley replied disinterestedly. "You've already eaten enough to fill a hippogriff."

Ron craned his neck to examine the stove. "You have a whole other plate full of it! Bring it over--please," he added when he caught Hermione's disapproving eyes again.

"That's not for you--it's for Harry. I'm making him a tray. He looks dreadfully underfed, as usual--"

"You can make him some more when he gets here! That's not going to keep--" Ron spoke over his mother, but he cut himself off when his mind finally caught up with his mouth. "Hang on--what do you mean 'underfed as usual?' Have you seen him?"

"Now, Ron, don't get excited, but Harry arrived late last night. I didn't tell you because he needs his rest--Ron!" Mrs. Weasley scolded as Ron jumped to his feet. "Ron!" she tried again feebly, but it was no use. Ron was already bounding up the stairs.

Hermione quickly pushed her chair back. If Ron could burst into Harry's room, she certainly could, too. "Coming, Ginny?"

"No, I'll be up in a minute," Ginny answered as she swallowed another mouthful of eggs. She quickly dropped her fork so she could run her fingers through her hair. Hermione smiled in gratitude; as much as Ginny wanted to see Harry, she knew that the three of them needed a minute alone. Wasting no more time, Hermione took three stairs at a time to catch up with Ron.

"Ron," she hissed warningly as she turned the corner and saw him at the door to Fred and George's room. She and Ron had helped Mrs. Weasley set it up for Harry yesterday, so both knew he would be in there. She hurried up the stairs after him. "Ron, be quiet, he could still be asleep--"

As usual, Ron paid no attention to her. He banged the door open with the strength and gracelessness of a Graphorn, and Hermione winced. If Harry wasn't awake before, he certainly was now. By the time she reached the doorway, Ron had already torn across the room and had opened the closed curtains around Fred's old bed. Harry was already sitting bolt upright, probably alerted by the slamming of the door. His eyes screwed up to block the dazzling sunlight that was blinding him. Shielding the light with one hand, he groped hopelessly for his glasses with the other. "Wuzzgoinon?" he mumbled drowsily.

Hermione could only grin. Oh Harry. It was so good to see him again. Even sitting down, she could see that he had grown even more than Ron over the past fortnight. Despite what Mrs. Weasley had said downstairs, Hermione didn't think he looked underfed in the slightest. In fact, he looked better than ever. He had finally lost that hard, pinched, unhealthy look he had had over the past year: Harry had finally grown into himself. Hermione could only hope that he had grown mentally as well. He was going to need all of the maturity he could get if he was going to work through the loss of Sirius and deal with the rapid surge of Death Eater activity.

Ron, however, decided to show his fondness for Harry in another way. "We didn't know you were here already!" Unable to contain himself any longer, Ron affectionately swatted Harry on top of his head. He looked as though it was raining Galleons and Chocolate Frogs.

"Ron, don't hit him!" Hermione chided reproachfully when she saw Harry wince. Ron rolled his eyes at her while Harry finally found his glasses and shoved them on. It took several moments of rapid blinking before Harry could finally focus. A grin lit up his face, which Ron promptly returned.

"All right?"

"Never been better," said Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto his pillows. "You?"

"Not bad," said Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. "When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!"

Hermione watched the interchange with a small, slightly melancholic smile. Sometimes, in a dark corner of her mind, she was secretly jealous of Harry and Ron's relationship. She had had to earn their friendship, while those two had chosen each other within the blink of an eye. Ron had walked into a compartment, and that had been that. Except for their row in fourth-year, they had been inseparable ever since. She, on the other hand, had frequent clashes with both of them--well, with Ron much, much more so than Harry--and sometimes even felt like a bit of an outsider, especially when they fervently discussed Quidditch or gaped at girls. Sometimes it was hard being the only girl in a close-knit friendship like the one she shared with Harry and Ron. She wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, of course, but those two certainly didn't make things easy for her.

Folding her arms over her chest, Hermione slowly perched herself on the edge of Harry's bed. She didn't have time to analyze her friendship with Harry and Ron, and it didn't matter, anyway. She would stick with them until the very end, no matter what. What she should be doing is trying to find out just what Harry needed right now. At the end of last term, Ron had vehemently insisted that she shouldn't approach Harry about Sirius, but he seemed to be much more collected now. There was no trace of the moody, angst-ridden boy Harry had morphed into last year. This Harry was ready to talk rationally about what had happened. She just had to find the best way to approach it.

"--how're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione carefully, trying to read Harry's face. Typically, Harry was a very expressive boy, but ever since the horrors of last year and his feeble attempts at Occlumency, he had become more difficult to figure out. While everything Ron ever felt was clearly displayed on his face and in his eyes, Harry's true emotions ran a little deeper.

She carried on her careful perusal throughout the conversation, although Harry was doing a very good job of steering the discussion away from Sirius or other prophecy-related topics of discussion. Ginny and Fleur's entrance also aided Harry's efforts, but luckily the topic of Fleur brought up Tonks, which led directly to Sirius. Hermione didn't have the courage to bring up Sirius directly, but even when she just said 'he', Harry knew whom she meant--he didn't start rapidly shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth because he had suddenly become extremely famished. By the time Ginny left, however, the conversation had died, and Harry was eating his breakfast at a much slower rate in complete silence. Ron was still staring dreamily out the door while eating some of Harry's breakfast. Hermione rolled her eyes as she started to examine the scores of boxes Fred and George had left behind. It seemed like Ron only thought about food and girls. Prat.

Feeling that somebody had to say something to get the dreaded topic started, Hermione picked up the first item she found in a box. "What's this?" She turned it over curiously in her hand. It looked like a small telescope.

"Dunno," said Ron, finally wrenching his eyes away from the door, "but if Fred and George've left it here, it's probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful."

Hermione carefully heeded Ron's advice--she knew how dangerous Fred and George's products could be--until something happened that changed everything: she didn't have to bring up the prophecy. Harry did it all by himself. First he revealed matter-of-factly that he was going to take private lessons with Dumbledore, which further confirmed Hermione's theory. If Dumbledore wanted to teach Harry privately, it must be for something of the utmost of importance: vanquishing You-Know-Who. Dumbledore must know that Harry had to be the one to do it. From the way Ron looked over at her after hearing the news, he must have thought of that, too. Harry certainly didn't seem to be sulking, which meant that he would probably be willing to share with them what had happened with Dumbledore. This was the opening they had been waiting for.

Much to her surprise, however, Harry did it again. He brought it up all by himself. He laid down his knife and fork and fixed his eyes on the utensils. The expression on his face resembled the look he'd had when he'd faced off with the Hungarian Horntail. "I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy." She and Ron froze simultaneously, shooting each other another look before focusing on Harry. This was it. "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry," Harry added needlessly, as if the three of them discussed prophecies by the dozens on a regular basis.

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly to egg him on. "It got smashed."

"Although the Prophet says--" began Ron, but Hermione hastily shushed him. They weren't making this any easier on Harry by interrupting him. He needed to say what he had to say and be done with it before he lost his nerve. She could tell by the look in his eyes that his news was anything but good.

"The Prophet's got it right," said Harry. He finally mustered the courage to look up at them. Hermione knew that she had to look terrified, but she couldn't put up a pretense of calmness now. She was too engrossed in what Harry was about to say. Ron on the other and looked positively eager, forgetting all about the fear he had exuded the other day when Hermione had let him in on her theory. "That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office. He was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort... At least it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

All the three of them could do was gaze at one another in silence for a long moment. Instinctively, Hermione knew that this was a defining moment in their friendship. This was a point where everything changed, and there was no turning back now. One of them had a horribly dangerous task ahead of him, and since the three of them were irrevocably connected, now all of them had a job to do. Hermione had known it from the beginning of the war, but now it was certain. It was up to the three of them to save the world, because if Harry had to do it, she and Ron had to do it, too. The fate of the world rested on the shoulders of three sixth-year students. Hermione squeezed the telescope she was holding for dear life. It was a rather frightening thought.

KA-POW!

Hermione opened her mouth to let out a cry of pain as something small, round, and hard rammed sharply into her right eye, but she choked on the cloud of thick, black smoke that had abruptly sprung up. She heard both Harry and Ron shout her name, but she was now coughing too hard to respond. The smoke seemed as if it was clogging every passageway of her lungs. Still coughing, she emerged from the smoke, clutching the telescope and mentally kicking herself. Ron had warned her that something like this would happen. Both were gaping at her in fright, but then their lips twitched in amusement as they got a good look at her. From the way her eye was throbbing, Hermione knew she had to be quite a sight. "I squeezed it, and it--it punched me!" she gasped in explanation. At the same time, the three of them spotted the tiny fist on a spring, and Hermione groaned. Now she probably had a black eye to boot.

"Don't worry," said Ron, who was plainly trying not to laugh, "Mum'll fix that. She's good at healing minor injuries."

But Hermione was past caring about some stupid black eye. Harry had just admitted something that needed a great deal of attention and care. "Oh well, never mind that now!" said Hermione hastily. "Harry, oh, Harry..." She fell back down on the edge of the bed, and the three of them sat in line, all sharing the same awestruck, slightly frightened expressions. "We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry... Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this... Oh, Harry...aren't you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," said Harry reassuringly. "When I first heard it, I was." That certainly explained the haunted, frightened look Harry had had after the Ministry. "But now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..."

Hermione nodded in agreement, but it was Ron's turn to speak. "When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time--he must think you've got a chance!"

"That's true," Hermione replied, although she was secretly wondering if there was any way she could coerce Ron into taking some sensitivity training so he could finally learn a bit of tact. Harry didn't need to hear that Dumbledore could have thought he was a 'goner' as Ron had so indelicately put it. But she could always scold Ron later. She shifted avidly toward her two best friends in order to carry on their conversation. "I wonder what he'll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably...powerful countercurses...anti-jinxes...perhaps even Animagus procedures, that could be a useful skill to have...or maybe you'll learn Apparation early..." Ron was nodding along in agreement with every Defensive procedure she listed, but Harry looked too happily preoccupied to hear her. Still, she carried on. "...and evasive enchantments generally," concluded Hermione. She let out a breath. "Well, at least you know one lesson you'll be having this year, that's one more than Ron and me. I wonder when our O.W.L. results will come?"

She hadn't dared to bring up this topic yet; tending to Harry had been her number one priority this summer. Now that that had been somewhat taken care of, she could turn to her other primary concern: her grades. But then Harry informed them almost casually that the O.W.L. results were coming today, and Voldemort flew completely from her mind. They were coming today. Her future at Hogwarts would be determined today. Hermione immediately bolted down the stairs with her heart pounding--owls usually arrived early in the morning, so they could have arrived while she had been upstairs with Harry and Ron. Mrs. Weasley could be holding the results in her hand right now. She cringed at the thought as she jumped down the last four stairs and landed with a worried bang.

Mrs. Weasley gasped, and the spatula she had been holding flew anxiously from her hand. Fleur, who was staring moodily into her cup of tea, also looked up with a start, while Ginny, very accustomed to loud noises after growing up in this household, just glanced up casually. She only looked slightly startled when she saw Hermione's face. "What happened to your eye?"

"Harry decked her," Ron deadpanned as he emerged from behind Hermione. "Seriously. Never seen anything like it. He just pulled back--" He started to demonstrate, but Hermione flapped her hand anxiously at him to shut him up.

"Fred and George," Hermione explained disinterestedly. "Mrs. Weasley--"

"I should have known," Mrs. Weasley cut in with a disapproving click of her tongue. "I thought they had taken all of those products of theirs with them, but I suppose they forgot some." She pushed Hermione down in an empty chair and scurried over to the shelf where she kept her cookbooks and other household spell books. "I'll fix it for you in a heartbeat. Let me just get the--"

"Mrs. Weasley, have any owls arrived for us?" Hermione interrupted hastily, spinning around in her chair to look anxiously at the woman.

"Owls? No, dear, why do you ask?" Mrs. Weasley inquired as she retrieved The Healer's Helpmate she kept within easy reach.

Hermione could only let out a soft moan of worried anticipation as she wheeled around to look out the window and scan the skies. Mrs. Weasley must have turned to appeal to her son, because Ron spoke up for Hermione. "O.W.L. results," he stated as if it was all he needed to say to explain Hermione's odd behavior. Ginny let out a knowing 'ah' of understanding, while Mrs. Weasley simply nodded and flipped open the medicinal guide to the proper page. Fleur, on the other hand, looked completely baffled and bored all at the same time. Ron struggled to keep his eyes from rolling as he watched Hermione stare out the window, fighting valiantly to fend off an implosion of anticipation. "Hermione, you'll be fine. It's you."

"You don't know that--do you have any idea what a serious mistranslation I made in Ancient Runes? I'll be lucky to scrape an A on that exam!" Hermione reminded him. "And then of course I was distracted during Astronomy since Umbridge attacked poor Hagrid then--and then Harry keeled over in History of Magic, so I didn't finish my last essay properly--"

"Dear, if you expect me to fix that eye, you're going to have to sit still," Mrs. Weasley said exasperatedly. Hermione had been jiggling her legs nervously, clutching the edge of her seat with extra-tight fingers, swaying anxiously from side to side. Hermione went rigid in a vain attempt to keep still, but sensing the nervous energy she was still exuding, Ron roughly placed his hand on the top of her head to hold her in place. Now Hermione couldn't move her head even if she tried. After thanking her son, Mrs. Weasley double-checked the incantation. "Close your eyes," she ordered.

Hermione obeyed, and after a muttered incantation, something soothingly warm hit Hermione's eye. She waited until the tingling dissipated before opening her eyes expectantly. Four faces stared bemusedly at her, Ron having to crane over her shoulder to look at her face properly. "What?" she asked edgily.

"It's still there," Ginny explained, getting up from her chair to inspect Hermione's eye more closely.

"What?"

"Let me try again," Mrs. Weasley suggested. They repeated the same procedure with the exact same results. "Well, that's odd," Mrs. Weasley murmured as she flipped through the chapter on 'Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions," for another possible spell.

"Why isn't it working?" Hermione asked, a nervous squeak eking into her voice.

"Is she going to have to go around with that purple eye forever?" Ron asked his mother, his voice revealing that he was clearly torn between concern and amusement. It was a rather funny situation. Hermione, however, didn't think she was ever going to be amused again. She jerked her head away from Ron to give him a reproachful look. "Not that you look too bad," Ron amended hastily. He wasn't about to irritate her when she was in this state. Whenever she was this worked up, there was no telling what she would do next. "It suits you," he lied horribly.

Hermione closed her eyes again with annoyance. Great. Going around with a brilliantly purple eye was not going to make Ron fall in love with her any sooner. It was difficult for a boy to love a girl who resembled raccoon. With a sigh, she opened her eyes in time to see Ron anxiously look over his shoulder at the window. He was just as edgy as she was about the O.W.L. results. She reached up a hand to touch the swollen eye, stomach churning at the thought of discovering that she had failed every subject. Great, she repeated furiously. This holiday was shaping up to be just great.

**

But the holiday really did turn out to be great. There was a bit too much of Quidditch and Phlegm for Hermione's taste, and the frequent Death-Eater activity certainly put a heavy damper on the festivities, but other than that, life went on. She was still at one of her favorite places in the world, with her favorite people in the world. There was still a great deal of laughter and fun to be had. The happy times were just also peppered with news of the dark deeds happening in their world.

All in all, the summer passed by pleasantly enough. Hermione was satisfied with her O.W.L. results, although that 'E' in Defense Against the Dark Arts needled at her from time to time. After weeks, her purple eye was finally healed thanks to Fred's excellent remedy. Harry made Quidditch Captain as she'd hoped, and she and Ron were still prefects. And Malfoy's behavior in Diagon Alley the other day was suspicious, but hardly cause for alarm, in her opinion.

Harry, on the other hand, evidently disagreed quite vehemently, which was made especially clear as he stormed out of his room with his dirty Quidditch robes the day before term began, his face as moody and perturbed as it had been all last year.

Ron and Hermione watched Harry go with slightly agape expressions. "Blimey," Ron said eventually. He turned to Hermione. "Does that count as sulking?"

"No," Hermione replied. "It counts as annoyance." She leaned back into the windowsill, Advanced Rune Translation forgotten on her lap. Harry wasn't often wrong about these sorts of things. "Could Malfoy be up to something?"

"No," Ron said immediately. "Yeah, he's hacked off about his dad, but he's no Death Eater. Malfoy would need to be as good of a wizard as Harry if he could join up so young."

"He is near top of our year," Hermione told him quietly, chewing on her lip pensively.

"Is he?" Ron made a revolted face. "He does better than me?"

"He finished second in first-year, remember?" Hermione reminded him. She couldn't risk slipping in a bit of sound advice, although it had nothing to do with the topic. "You know, if you just applied yourself, you would beat Malfoy in every subject."

"Nah," Ron waved his hand lazily. "You beating him is just as good." Hermione conceded with a small smile. She wholeheartedly agreed. She did greatly enjoy beating the pants off Malfoy in their lessons. "And I've got Quidditch to trounce him," Ron added gleefully as he resumed his attempts to straighten his broomstick's tail twigs. "I don't need lessons, either." He paused, hand poised to bend a particularly cockeyed twig into place. "Hey, maybe he didn't pass any of his O.W.L.s!" he suggested brightly. "Maybe he won't even be at school this term!"

"Of course he'll be at Hogwarts. We saw him getting fitted for new robes in Diagon Alley, remember?"

"Dress robes," Ron corrected. "Maybe he needs new dress robes because he has to prance around with mummy all of the time now that he's been chucked!" he predicted gleefully.

Hermione just shook her head. There was a reason Ron had received a D in Divination. "If you don't pass your O.W.L.s, you don't get chucked," Hermione informed him. "You go and discuss your options with your Head of House. Dumbledore wouldn't kick any student out unless it was for a very good reason." Ron looked so sour at the thought of putting up with Malfoy for yet another year that Hermione quickly thought of something to placate him. "But we don't know what courses he passed in. There's a good possibility that we won't have as many classes with him."

"You reckon?" Ron looked considerably more optimistic. Maybe he would get through the year without trying to punch the living daylights out of the bastard. Ron shook his head. Even if Malfoy left Hogwarts, he'd still want to slug him. "Well, I won't be in Potions, so that's one." Ron ticked the class off on his finger. "And the git won't want to take Defense Against the Dark Arts--he'll want to study Dark Arts--so that's another one--what?" he cut off when he caught the flash of anxiety on Hermione's face. "Oh bloody hell--you're not still upset about your O.W.L.s, are you?"

"No," Hermione denied. Her face, however, expressed the contrary. "I was just wondering if Professor Slughorn will take me in his class."

Ron rolled his eyes and resumed working on his broom. "He will," he reassured half-heartedly. "You got an 'E'."

"But Snape only accepts 'O' grades for his class. What if Professor Slughorn does the same?" Hermione demanded fretfully.

"That's Snape," Ron said emphatically. "The greasy git is in a league of his own. No one does things like he does. Slughorn'll take you. He'd be an idiot not to."

"But--" Hermione hesitated, wondering if she should divulge the real reason for her unhappiness with her DADA score. Ron looked up expectantly, his face as open, curious, and trusting as ever. He looked more than ever like the Ron she dreamed about, the Ron who was willing and ready to change the status of their relationship. If she couldn't tell Ron, she couldn't tell anyone. "--it was my lowest grade, Ron. I thought it was one of the exams I did better on, and it was my lowest grade. Even after D.A. and facing Death Eaters, Defense is still my weakest area, while it's yours and Harry's strongest. So how--" Hermione broke off, uncertain of how to articulate her feelings. "How can I help Harry and you beat Voldemort if..."

She trailed off, not wanting to bring up the Ministry fiasco again. She revisited that awful night too often in her dreams. Malicious, glowering, dark-robed wizards lurked perpetually in her subconscious, wizards who sneered and gloatingly called for the little Mudblood to come back so they could play. If she were such a curious little Mudblood, they would be happy to show her everything. She would then try to run, but of course her legs would be as heavy as ten-ton bags of dragon dung. She would trip, fall, and spin around in time to see that hated purple flame streaking through the air directly at her. Then she would awaken with a start, clutching at her chest as if she had just woken up at the Ministry, only this time Ron wasn't there to hold her tight and promise her that everything was going to be all right. She would lie in bed, alone, listening to Ginny's shallow breathing and trying vainly to tell herself that it was just a dream and there was little chance that it would ever come true.

Hermione had almost been killed that night, and what was even more terrifying than that possibility was the fact that others had had to risk their lives to save her neck. Neville had had to lug her around for ages. He could have easily been hit with a Killing Curse while trying to get her to safety. Harry, of course, had done everything in his power to help her along, and if Ron had been in any better condition, he would have been right there with them, she knew he would. All of them could have been killed while trying to save her, and Hermione couldn't have that. Biting her lip, Hermione glanced over at Ron and silently finished her question with one glance: how can I help you and Harry beat Voldemort if I can barely help myself?

"Is that what this is about?" Ron exclaimed immediately in honest astonishment. Hermione nodded sheepishly, wondering if he knew how intimate this secret of hers really was. She rarely expressed self-doubt to herself, let alone to others. Telling him this really spoke volumes about how deeply she trusted Ron.

Ron, being the lovable prat he was, just laughed incredulously at one of the deepest, most haunting uncertainties of her heart. "Hermione, you're mad!"

"Thank you, Ron. Those kind words of encouragement were exactly what I needed to hear," Hermione snapped flatly, shielding how much his tactless amusement at her serious misgivings stung.

He ignored her sarcasm. "An 'E' is still fantastic!" Ron reminded her. "It exceeds expectations. You did better than most. You weren't as good as Harry, but who is? You're still really damn close." He set aside his broom, swinging his legs in Hermione's direction and facing her. "I partnered you the whole time in D.A., so I know better than anyone just how good you are. If I was a Death Eater, you would be one of the last people I'd want to go up against."

That didn't stop me from almost getting killed at the Ministry, Hermione retorted inwardly. She looked doubtfully down at her lap. She could still feel Ron's eyes on her. "And if the impossible happens and you do happen to need a hand, Harry and I'll be there," he added stoutly.

"I hope so," Hermione said under her breath. She couldn't help wondering if in the course of this bloody war the three of them would separated, having to forge on completely alone.

"We will," Ron reiterated firmly. "Well, I can't speak for Harry--he has a habit of running off to confront You-Know-Who on his own, he does," he amended. He leaned forward to make sure he held Hermione's gaze. His blue eyes shone at her in a way that made time stand perfectly still. "But I'll be there."

The words were simple, but the meaning behind them certainly wasn't. His eyes, his voice, the impassive, steadfast expression on his face--Hermione's chest heaved as something wonderful stung behind her eyes. The three of them had always shared a mutual, unspoken vow to protect each other at all costs, but it had never been spoken aloud. Ron had just stepped onto the doomed chess square. He had just pushed her and Harry aside so Sirius' teeth closed around his arm instead. Harry had just grabbed her and pulled her to safety so the centaurs' deadly hooves wouldn't trample her to death--it was just there. Hermione had never had the chance to prove she was capable of that level of devotion, but it showed in her eyes whenever she worked tirelessly in the library so Harry and Ron would be properly prepared for exams, Voldemort, or whatever battles they faced. But never ever had they expressed it aloud--until now.

Ron had just sworn to her that no matter what lay ahead of them this school year, he was going to stick by her through thick and thin, and if it came down to it, he'd lay down his life for her. She had always known he would, but having the words tangibly ring in her ears made Hermione love him more than ever. She didn't want him to, of course--if she had to die, she had to know that he would go on. However, the undisputed fact that he was perfectly willing to pay the highest price for her safety spoke volumes alone, even if he never had the chance to prove his fierce fidelity. He cared about her that much. He cared about her as much as she cared for him. Her heart physically swelled, cutting off her breath, but Hermione knew that despite the restricted airflow, she had to say something to let him know how wonderful he was and that his intentions toward her were returned. "Right back at you," she finally got out hoarsely, but she didn't avert her eyes from his face. The intensity of their eye contact sealed the pact forever more: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were willing to die for each other.

A hot thrill surged up every inch of her from the very tips of her toes and ended up leaving her mind in a warm, glorious haze. This was magic at its most impenetrable. A part of Hermione wished that Harry was here to share in the sudden surge of magical power, but another part was immensely grateful that he wasn't. Somehow, it felt right for this moment to be just between her and Ron.

"So--er-uh--yeah," Ron stuttered. His expression showed that he, too, was experiencing these powerful emotions, but that he still didn't have a clear idea of where they were coming from. "So we got that straight." He scratched the back of his head to hide one of his pink ears. "So--laundry?" he suddenly inquired. "Harry took down his. I reckon we should do the same."

Hermione fought the urge to shake her head and laugh. Only Ron Weasley could take a potentially beautiful, romantic moment like the one they just shared and then talk about something as mundane as laundry. "Okay," she agreed. "We should probably start to pack."

"Yeah, pack," Ron agreed. Still obviously bewildered, he shuffled out of the room, forgetting to take his broom along with him. Hermione remained behind and hugged her book to her chest thoughtfully. That was the same look he had had when she kissed him before the first Quidditch match last term. She wondered if she would get the same opportunity before the first Quidditch match this year. Hermione's chin dropped pleasantly onto the top of her book, and she could no longer conceal an uncharacteristic giggle. Now she had yet another reason to be very, very excited about her imminent return to Hogwarts.


Dialogue with Harry in the bedroom was taken from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. J.K. Rowling. Scholastic. New York: 2005. Chapter Five: An Excess of Phlegm. Pages 89-90, 96-99. Thanks for reading! Next up: yup, you guessed it, return to Hogwarts!