Hermione Granger and the Order of the Phoenix

It was odd how good it felt to be in the library. Granted, Hermione often enjoyed spending time in here, as she often did, but walking back into the pleasant, clean, musty-smelling library after spending almost a week in the hospital wing made a smile flicker across her face. Madame Pince returned the greeting with a nod, and Hermione noticed that the librarian's eyes traveled quickly up and down the student in order to check that she was functioning normally. Slightly embarrassed, Hermione made her way to the back portion of the library. She wasn't used to all this attention on her well-being.

Hermione shook her head slightly. It wasn't time to think about this. Right now there was something much more urgent to attend to. She was now at the section of the library she knew the least about : the Divination section. She hadn't been over here since third-year, but now it was necessary. And she had to do it now; she didn't have any Divination books at home and would have to wait a few weeks before the books she needed to come by owl-order. She had to find out about prophecies now.

She stooped down to look at the books on the bottom shelves, and following the alphabetized titles, she found to her dismay that the "Ps" were up at the very top shelf. By standing on her tiptoes, Hermione could see that several books contained "Prophesy" in its title, and probably held the answer she was seeking. She just hated being only 5'6'' sometimes.

Although sometimes it worked out for her, she recalled, remembering the few times she had been straining to reach a book on the top shelf and Ron coming up behind her to detach the book from the shelf for her. Of course, other times, it didn't really work for her, Hermione reminded herself. The argument that she and Ron had had when Zacharias Smith had taken a book down for her was a testimony of that.

Typically, though, nothing happened when she stood on her tiptoes except that she got the book she was looking for. Hermione expected this to be one of those times since she was the only one in the library besides Madame Pince.

Or so she thought.

She was reaching up to grab the book when a fresh but now familiar pain burst across her sternum, and Hermione had to lower her arm and press her hand against her chest, which helped to dispel the burning. Not wanting it to happen again, Hermione impatiently pulled out her wand and with a quick "Accio," the book was in her hand.

"Oh, Granger, Granger, Granger,"

Figures the one time she breaks the rules that Malfoy would be behind her.

Hermione sighed and pocketed her wand. "Go away," she said flatly.

"Magic in the library," Malfoy shook his head in disappointment, "I will have to report you for this."

"Fine," she snapped. Hermione knew that she would probably only lose five points at the most if any at all; everyone knew that she had been seriously injured and if she explained the situation to Professor McGonagall, she was certain there would be no punishment. "You do that."

"Granger, you should really lighten up," Malfoy drawled out slowly, "and not be so serious all of the time."

Another spasm of pain raced across Hermione's chest, and she knew it had nothing to do with the curse she had received last week. Just ignore him, she told herself, just walk away and ignore him...

"Honestly, Mudblood..."

Ignore him...

"You aren't upset about a little thing like Sirius Black dying?"

Walk away...

"I'd think you'd be used to Potter killing people by now."

That BASTARD!

It was the few times that Hermione didn't think, but just reacted. She dropped the book with a thud, strode over to him in two quick steps, and swung her arm backwards. But before her palm could slap him across his pale cheek, his Seeker reflexes had kicked in, and he swiftly caught her wrist in his strong, long, bony fingers. She tugged impatiently, trying to free her arm, but to no avail.

"Let go of me," Hermione warned.

"Or what?" Malfoy asked, his hand jerking out into the folds of her robes and throwing her wand onto the ground with a clatter. A tiny stab of fear caused her stomach to twist, but she ignored it. She had handled worse before.

She tilted her head upwards so she could look Malfoy directly in his cold, detached eyes. "I'm not afraid of you," she told him flatly. She knew that's what he wanted; for her to fear him, to call out for help and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Maybe," Malfoy conceded, "But you are afraid of my father."

"Maybe," she retorted, "But he's in Azkaban."

Hermione had thought that only Harry's eyes could flash with anger so abruptly and fiercely, but she had been mistaken. She was almost glad that Malfoy roughly twisted her around so she didn't have to see the intensity of his gray glare. She was surprised, however, to find that Crabbe and Goyle had been behind her this whole time (well, maybe not that surprised) and dismayed to realize that Madame Pince was no longer at her desk. They were the only ones in the library.

"See that?" Malfoy hissed in her ear. "That's friendship, Granger; they're willing to do anything for me, anything at all. This is the second time now that you and I have had a little meeting like this," He pulled Hermione even closer to him, so close that she could smell that he had some odorous cologne on, that his robes were a rich velvet, and she realized how tall and well-built Malfoy really was. A normal girl might have been attracted to the luxury and attractiveness, but all it did was made her skin crawl with distaste. Malfoy shifted his grip on her so his arm was wrapped firmly around her midriff, and she had to grit her teeth as another spasm of pain rippled through her chest. "And every time we meet like this," His breath was disgustingly hot against her ear lobe and she cringed away from it. "Your so-called friends are never here."

"That's because," Hermione managed to reply, "I don't enjoy getting my friends mixed up in my problems; I can handle little things like this myself."

Malfoy spun her around again, his hands now like a vise on her upper arms, still keeping her uncomfortably too close to him.

"And how do you propose getting yourself out of this?"

"Well, I'll inform you that I do intend to report you," Hermione began. She then abruptly borrowed a Ginny Weasley and rammed her knee upwards.

It was one of the most satisfying moments of her life.

Malfoy instantly keeled over, actually whimpering pain as both hands instinctively went to the injured area. Hermione quickly stepped away from him, and was immediately accosted by Crabbe and Goyle, who were rushing forward to aid their ringleader.

"Stop!" Malfoy ordered, his voice still weak with pain, but he straightened up to his full height and waved his hand commandingly at his cohorts. Crabbe and Goyle obeyed, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, did those two share a brain or were they really that thick?

"You think you've won, Granger?" Malfoy asked simply, not a trace of contempt or disdain in his voice. Hermione just stared defiantly back at him. "You think you can handle things on your own? From what I hear, you don't handle yourself around Death Eaters very well." He stepped back towards her, and for the first time, Hermione found herself unable to meet his eyes. It was true. "You've got much bigger problems ahead of you, Mudblood, and if your pathetic friends won't even defend you against me..." Malfoy trailed off meaningfully.

"Crabbe!" Hermione jumped slightly as his voice suddenly rose and took on its old contemptuous tone. "Get her wand!" Crabbe obediently stooped down and handed Hermione's wand out to her. "She'll need it." Malfoy added quietly. Hermione forced herself to look at him, and for the first time in her life, she was afraid of Draco Malfoy.

She half-expected him to grab her again or pull out his wand, but all he did was bend forward slightly so his breath was tickling her cheek again, and she found herself quite unable to pull away. "When my father is done with you, you're going to wish that the basilisk had finished you off instead."

He stepped away. "See you next year, Granger," he said coldly. Hermione stared after him as he swept towards the door with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels, she clutching her wand, the book on prophesies forgotten at her feet. He paused at the door and looked back at her, shrugging slightly.

"Or maybe I won't."

**

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ron asked for the sixty-sixth time.

"Yes, Ron, I'm fine!" Hermione mumbled waspishly. She could feel Ron's concerned blue eyes studying her, but that wasn't what was making her so irritable. It was the second pair of eyes watching her from across the hall; the cold, gray pair that had bored into her so maliciously in the library that day. It was almost as though Malfoy was daring her to tell Ron about what had happened. Well, he was about to be sorely disappointed; she wasn't going to get Ron involved. This was between her and Malfoy, and she intended to keep it that way.

In all honesty, she could understand perfectly why Malfoy had suddenly become ten times more malicious. His father had just been sent to Azkaban, and had little prospect of being released any time this century. And there were six very good sources to pinpoint the blame for his father's capture on: Neville, Luna, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and herself. Of course, Malfoy obviously heaped the majority of his resentment towards Harry, and she had heard about Malfoy confronting Harry in the corridor a couple days ago. She was just rather surprised that Malfoy was also targeting her too. She glanced surreptitiously at Ron; had Malfoy had been harassing him too?

"Hermione?" Ginny Weasley leaned tactfully forward as Ron became distracted with Seamus and Dean's competition on who could eat an entire plateful of mashed potatoes the quickest. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, Ginny, I'm fine," Hermione replied with as much as calmness as she could muster. Malfoy was still staring at her, and it was making her more than a little uncomfortable. "It's just--well, it's Malfoy."

"Ah," Ginny said with commiseration. "You too?"

Hermione nodded.

"You should have heard him the morning after it happened," Ginny relayed. "He was reading the article in the Prophet out loud and boasting about Sirius' dying and everything, and then he got to the mention of who they captured," Ginny started giggling. "I know I shouldn't laugh, but," Ginny laughed even harder. "Well, it was priceless."

Hermione wasn't smiling in the least. As a matter of fact, she was frowning. "You said you too," Hermione repeated. "Has he been bothering you?"

Ginny grimaced. "Shit, I forget sometimes you're not as thick as Ron." Hermione merely raised her eyebrows at that statement. "Well, not really," Ginny amended, "you know I know how smart you are..."

"Ginny, that's not what I meant," Hermione said softly.

"I know," Ginny said with a great deal of casualness. "But it's not a big deal. I can take care of Malfoy."

"You could tell Ron..."

Ginny snorted with laughter. "And just why didn't you tell Ron about Malfoy bothering you?"

Hermione smiled ruefully. "Touché."

"Besides," Ginny continued cheerfully as she scooped up some more shepherd's pie onto her plate, "I could always tell Dean, and he'd take care of it for me."

"You and Dean?"

"Well, not exactly," Ginny smirked in a way Hermione had often seen on Fred and George. "It's all part of the plan."

"What plan?" Hermione asked keenly.

"All in good time," Ginny said with an air of mystery. Hermione stared at her, waiting for her friend to continue, but Ginny only daintily scooped a helping of pie off of her place and ate it.

Hermione shook her head, accepting the fact that Ginny had no intention of telling her what this great plan of hers was. "So, how's your ankle?"

Ginny shrugged. "Never better. I didn't have to stay a week in the hospital wing, now did I?"

"No," Hermione could tell that something else was bothering her friend, and whether it was a physical ailment or a personal problem, she was unsure. "I don't fancy staying that long in hospital again," she continued, sensing that Ginny didn't want to talk about her problem now. "Thank goodness Ron was there to keep me company." For some reason, at these words, Ginny giggled furiously, ducking her head and shielding her face in a napkin. "What?"

Ginny lifted her mirth-filled face and glanced over to make sure Ron was still engrossed with the mashed potato eating contest before lowering her voice. "Hermione, did you know that Ron could have been released two days before you?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Didn't you think it was a bit of a coincidence that both you and Ron got released on the exact same day?" Ginny smiled at the love of her brother's life. "He asked to stay so he could keep an eye on you."

Hermione slowly turned so she could gape at Ron's back as he cheered Seamus on in the potato-eating contest. "What a prat," she said in a voice laden with unadulterated affection. She realized that prat probably wasn't the best word to use in this situation, but for some reason, in Ron's case, the word prat always summed him up perfectly.

"Can I have your attention, please," Dumbledore called with his usual serenity that riveted the attention of the hall onto him. "I would like to say a few words if I may."

"I'm certain most of you are aware of the going-ons that have been occurring in our school over the past few days, and I would like to take the opportunity to clarify matters.

"First of all, I know all of you are concerned about Professor Umbridge's condition after her run-in with the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as there was a collected attempt to muffle snorts of laughter. "Professor Umbridge has recovered, although I am saddened to report that she has left Hogwarts without any word about whether she would like to continue to hold her position at our school, so I am afraid I have no choice but to relieve her from her duties, and attempt to find yet another Defense professor for next term."

Assorted applause, cheers, and even a hoot or two echoed loudly in the vast hall.

"I am also pleased to report that Professor Sibyl Trelawney has consented to return to her post of Divination professor, which she will share with Firenze."

More applause, this time less enthusiastic.

"But I'm aware that most of you are interested in what happened shortly after the final O.W.L. our fifth-years took. It is not my place to tell you the whole story, as it did not happen to me personally, and I urge you not to press those students involved for details. It isn't your place either."

Dead silence.

"What I can tell you is that yes, the rumors are true. Lord Voldemort appeared at the Ministry of Magic last week in front of several witnesses. I said it at the end of last term, and now I'll say it again: Lord Voldemort has returned."

Gasps and hushed whispering now resounded in the room.

"I realize that this has been a rather unusual term at Hogwarts, and times have been difficult for all of us. However, I urge all of you not to let this occurrences hinder the real reasons we are all at this school. We are here to learn, and whatever may be taking place in the outside world, we at Hogwarts will strive to provide for you with the best magical education, and you in turn, are expected to learn and prepare yourselves for the world after Hogwarts.

"At the same time, I do not expect you to forget what is happening in our world, for I am disheartened to tell you that it is not a very pleasant one at the moment. We have already lost some of our own in the battle, and I believe we all realize that others may soon be lost. This is why I urge you to constantly be on guard, stay informed, and not be afraid to ask questions. Ignorance derived from fear is the most powerful weapon Voldemort can use, but you alone can fight, no matter how young, short, or worthless you may feel, every single one of you is talented and intelligent, otherwise you would not have been accepted at this school. You can fight Lord Voldemort, not on the battlefield, but in your own homes, and in the classroom.

"I hope all of you remember what I told you at the end of last year, when we had most recently lost one of our students. I am sorry to say that I have seen no increased effort by our students to unite with other students who may be in a different house or comes from a different social status. It is unfortunate that in times likes these we are unable to look beyond petty inter-house squabbling such as a Quidditch match. I cannot force this attitude upon you, but I can stress again the importance of uniting, for if we do not, we do not stand a chance against the true enemy.

"We have a tough road ahead of us. But every single one of you can add significantly to our cause. The decision is up to you: just how much do you wish to contribute?"

Dumbledore paused and stared down at the table for a moment as if to collect himself after his impassioned plea to his students. Even the Slytherins knew not to make a wisecrack at this point. Dumbledore calmly raised his goblet of wine and held it in the air. "I would like to propose a toast." All of the students obediently clamored to their feet and raised their own glasses. "To seemingly lost causes; for in all honesty, they are never lost."

The majority of the students and faculty, except for assorted Slytherins, raised their goblets into the air and murmured after Dumbledore before taking a thoughtful sip. Everyone was so intent on their own thoughts and concerns that no one noticed the tall red-haired boy discreetly slipping out of the Great Hall.

**

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," Hermione returned softly.

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

"Yes," Hermione repeated.

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

Ron eventually relaxed a bit. "We're going to win it, right?" he said with a voice filled with hopeful optimism that Hermione almost didn't have the heart to shatter. But at the same time, she couldn't lie to him. "I mean, we've got Harry, and the Order, and everything, and we'll be fine, and win this thing, right?" Hermione bit the inside the lip and looked down at her lap. "We'll win, won't we?" Ron repeated desperately. Hermione finally had the courage to look up, but the earnest, pleading expression on his face made the words she was about to say transform to silently opening and closing her mouth. "Tell me we're going to win it," Ron ordered.

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

"We have too!" Ron interjected with so much force that Hermione was more than a little taken aback. Ron instantly looked rather disappointed with himself, and he actually buried his face into his hands, fingers gripping his hair.

"Oh, Ron," she breathed. She couldn't stop herself from scooting closer to him and rubbing his back in reassuring circles. This gave her time to carefully phrase in her head what she wanted to express to her best friend. "Ron, I'm not going to lie to you. I don't know if we will end up winning this. I can't tell you that we're going to win. But I can't not believe that we won't. I've seen what we're up against and I think that it can't hold a candle to what we've got going for us. We have Harry, we have Dumbledore, we have the Order, and we have people like you and me who are willing to stick through this until the very end," Hermione stopped rubbing Ron's back, but she kept her arm pressed against his back. "As long as we have those things, and hope, and faith, and we can just believe in ourselves, then logically, we should win. Voldemort won't stand a chance." She paused. "That is what I believe will happen."

"But you don't know for sure," Ron said in a muffled voice, as his hands will still clasped over his face.

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

"Guess not," Ron conceded, lowering his hands from his face. A slight smile was on his lips, much to Hermione's relief. She had never seen Ron like this before, and frankly, it rather scared her. It was interesting that Ron was seen as the emotional, hot-headed one, but in a crisis, he was always the one who kept it together enough to take care of everyone else. Or rather, he always ended up taking care of her. Hermione fought a sigh as she rubbed his back once again. Honestly, it was about the time she reciprocated and helped take care of her Ron. Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself and eventually, his head tilted to the side until it connected with Hermione's shoulder. She smiled and with her free hand, brushed some stray hairs on his forehead away.

The gesture must have brought Ron to his senses, for he jerked back, sitting up straight, and stared at her with wide eyes, much like a hippogriff caught in wand light. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

Ron had to swallow hard and fight an intense internal battle before replying. "Hermione, what's going on?"

"What?"

"With us. I mean, why we do..." Ron indicated her and himself in a gesture that would appear to be meaningless to an ordinary person, but since Hermione knew him inside out, she knew exactly what Ron meant. "Why are we..." Ron tried again, but with less success. He looked rather disgusted with himself for not being able to articulate his thoughts, and he finally jammed his hand into the pocket of his robes.

"I mean, I've been through this a hundred times," Ron tossed a tattered and worn notebook onto the space between him and Hermione. She carefully picked up the book she had written for him for his birthday, and smiled slightly as she examined the pages. She knew books well enough to know that Ron had indeed turned these pages several times. "You always told me that I should read more," Ron added awkwardly as Hermione turned her pleasantly surprised eyes towards him. "And I think I get it."

Hermione's heart started thudding wildly in her chest. This was it.

"And?"

The silence before Ron's response seemed to stretch out for an eternity. She hoped that her face remained passively unemotional; if he was going to reject her, she couldn't let him see how much it was going to hurt her and risk losing their friendship. Ron's face, on the other hand, was painfully conflicted, and he had to clamor to his feet before speaking.

"And I don't believe it," Ron finally spoke in a voice thick with emotion and confusion. "I mean if that book is saying what I think it is saying, and you have been trying to tell me what I think you've been trying to tell me, and people have been saying what I know they've been saying and they're right, then I just don't get it!"

Hermione blinked. This was not the response she was expecting; she had been expecting a coherent statement. "Ron, you just told me that you thought you got it, and now you're saying you don't?"

"No, no," Ron quickly shook his head, and paced a few steps away from her. "I just don't get how it could be true."

"How what could be true," Hermione pressed, fists clenched in extreme anticipation. "Ron, I'm not going to be able to explain things to you if you don't tell me what you think I've been trying to tell you!"

"Because how could it!" Ron snapped. "If that book told me how girls let me know that they fancy me, and some of these things..." Ron stooped down and flipped open to a page. Hermione noted that he knew exactly what page to turn to; he really had read her book thoroughly. "Like this," Ron stabbed his fingers onto one of the sentences in the middle of the page. "If a girl looks like she wants to hug you but she doesn't, it doesn't mean that she really doesn't; she could just feel uncomfortable because she fancies you and doesn't want to give anything away." Ron looked up from the book, but he couldn't meet her eyes. "You kissed Harry at King's Cross at the end of last term, but not me." He turned to another page. "If a girl can't talk about other boys in front of you without becoming embarrassed, it means that she thinks you fancy her and doesn't want to hurt your feelings. This also means that she probably fancies you back," he read. "You always get embarrassed whenever Viktor's name comes up when I'm around." He turned to the final page. "If a girl fancies you and you're already friends, there is a good possibility she won't say a word to you about it and risk losing the friendship; she'll be willing to sacrifice the relationship in order to keep you in her life in anyway she can."

Hermione could no longer look at him; she knew she had been rather blunt in her writing because Ron was usually so thick about matters such as these. But hearing the words out loud made her realize how obvious it really was. Only Crabbe or Goyle wouldn't be able to understand what she was trying to say.

"This is us," Ron stated. "This book describes us."

"Yes, it does," Hermione whispered.

"So that would mean that you fancy me," Ron knelt down next to her, staring intently at her averted face. "You fancy me?"

"Yes," Hermione kept her eyes on the ground. There was a brief silence that Hermione finally broke with a self-conscious laugh. "So now you know why everyone thinks we snog all the time."

"You fancy me." Ron repeated.

"Ron, you can say it as many times as you want, but that doesn't stop it from being true," Hermione finally turned her head towards him, and their eyes met for the first time since the revelation. The gaze didn't last long since Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable and he got back to his feet.

"It can't be," Ron denied.

"Well, I'm sorry, Ron, that you don't like the idea of me fancying you, but you can't stop it from being true!" Hermione rejoined, also climbing to her feet, preparing to make a hasty exit back into the castle.

"No, no!" Ron burst out, wheeling back to her so he could grab her arm. "Merlin, no, don't...don't ever think that."

Those blasted hormones were kicking in again since Ron was standing rather close to her, but she kept her voice calm. "Then what do you think about it?"

"I just can't believe that you would like a bloke like me, that's all," Ron said under his breath, releasing the grip on her arm as if he just realized what he had done.

"Well, believe it," Hermione said flatly, smoothing her hair out of her face.

"Not Krum?" Ron asked tentatively.

She met his eyes dead on. "It was never Krum."

"What about Harry?" Ron demanded.

Honestly, did everyone think she fancied Harry? "No."

"Boot?"

"You know about Terry?!"

Ron snorted. "Please, Hermione, I'm not that thick. I saw you in the library that night."

"Oh." Hermione's face flamed with embarrassment. She hadn't wanted him to find out about that, especially since she had recently discovered the whole relationship had been a sham. "No, never Terry."

"Smith?"

"Oh, honestly, Ron!" Hermione yelled, losing her patience. "No, not anyone else in the world! There has never ever been anyone else; it's always been you, and there is a fairly good chance that it will always be you!"

Ron stared at her with his mouth agape for a long moment in which Hermione realized for the first time that she was quite out of breath. She rested a hand against her pounding heart and breathed deeply. She had to stay calm; Ron wasn't going to react well if she got all hysterical about this. "But, Ron, I understand if you don't feel the same way about me," she continued. "And I can accept that." She indicated the book that was still resting on the ground. "Like I wrote, your friendship means more to me than anything in the world, and..." She smiled somewhat abashedly. "Well, I'll take you anyway I can get you, Ron. I just need you somewhere in my life."

There was yet another painful silence in which Ron took in what she had just told him. Hermione gave him a moment to process until she couldn't stand it any longer, and she swallowed hard. "Well, how do you feel about all of this?" Ron gaped at her, still appearing to be too shocked to speak. "Don't feel awful about telling me the truth, Ron. If you just want to keep things as they are, that's fine." I may go insane, but I'll just have to learn to live with that, she added silently in her head. Ron still didn't answer. "Say something!"

"I--I-don't know," Ron finally got out.

"You don't know what?" Hermione pressed impatiently.

"I don't know how I feel about you," Ron clarified. He pointed down to the book. "I mean, you don't explain in there how blokes feel about girls, now do you?"

"I can't tell you everything, Ron," Hermione argued. Ron still looked desperately perplexed, so Hermione with a sigh guided him along the right path. "Just tell me what you feel when you're around me, what you think about when I'm with you, that sort of thing."

Ron contemplated for a moment. "Complete," he finally responded.

"What?"

"Things don't seem right when you're not around," Ron elaborated. "If you're not with me, I wonder where you are and what you're doing, and it's almost as though you are always at the back of mind whether I like it or not. You're just always there." The words were now tumbling out of Ron's mouth; Ron expressed his emotions constantly, but he rarely actually talked about them. And when he did, the unvoiced sentiments came flooding out rather quickly. "Most days, you're the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person in my mind when I go to bed, even if it's just to wonder if you're knitting one of those bloody house-elf hats or if you'll be at breakfast or if you're at the library. Or I think about how on earth you got your hair to look like it did at the Yule Ball, and think if it I liked it better that way or the way you always wear it best or wonder why it sometimes looks golden with the sunlight hits it, or other times looks copper whenever the sun shines on it. I wonder what we're going to argue about today, and if I'm ever, ever going to win. Sometimes, when we're in the library, I hope that you find whatever you're looking for, because I like to see the way your eyes light up when you find whatever book you're looking for, and that smile you have." Ron laughed as though he had just remembered something. "One time, Dean and Seamus were 'ranking' the girls in our year in different areas and you won hands down in the best smile category." Ron scowled. "I didn't like them thinking about you that way. It's like whenever you talk about Viktor, because that makes me think about the Yule Ball, and what it felt like to watch you dance with him."

"What did that feel like?" Hermione quickly interjected. Ron was having a rather stream-of-consciousness moment, and she knew it was necessary to interrupt him if she really wanted to know the answer to this question.

"Like I had been punched in the stomach," Ron said instantly. "It was like the time my wand backfired on me when I tried to curse Malfoy for you, you remember that?" Hermione nodded; that had been the first day she had the first flash of more-than-friends feeling towards Ron. "And at the same time, I wanted to have that curse on me so I could puke slugs all over Krum's brand new robes." They both laughed. "I really wanted to punch him in his ugly face, but I know I couldn't face off to a professional Quidditch player," Ron added with a bitter chuckle.

"Ron," Hermione said reproachfully.

"I know, I know," Ron rolled his eyes. "Violence is never the answer, or some lesson like that, right?'

"No," Hermione said seriously, eyes twinkling. "You could face off to Viktor."

Ron stared at her with surprise for a second before bursting out into laughter. Hermione joined in, and Ron's grin grew much more nostalgic. "Yeah, that's the smile I was talking about," he said quietly. Hermione blushed and ducked her head in embarrassment. "You know," Ron continued softly, "all I could think about while I was waiting for you to wake up in the hospital wing was how awful it would be if I could never see that smile again, or if you wouldn't be there to nag me about homework, or tell me what to do about Harry..."

"Ron," Hermione said, touched. "You knew I was going to be all right. Dumbledore said so."

"I didn't know anything," Ron argued. "All I knew was that you were in trouble and I couldn't a bloody thing about it." He heaved a deep breath, as though recalling that horrific night was as painful as actually enduing it. "I had never been so scared in my life," he admitted almost inaudibly. "I mean, everything in the Ministry was scary and all, and the night of the third task was plenty petrifying," Ron winced as though the word 'Petrified' brought up a whole new lot of painful memories, but he didn't go there. "But the thought of life without you..." Ron closed his eyes briefly. "That hurts too much even to think about." He let out another little laugh. "I guess my boggart isn't a spider anymore, eh?"

Hermione smiled with tear-filled eyes; she had never had someone care about her so much in her life, and it was making her love the prat even more. "So if that means I fancy you," Ron finally concluded, "then, yeah, I fancy you too."

"That can certainly be used as evidence that you do fancy me," Hermione managed to get out. "I mean, I think it's obvious, Ron, that we care very much for each other, but you also have to ask yourself if you want a relationship right now in your life, and if you do, do you want the girl to be me? You did say that you didn't particularly enjoy snogging me that night."

Ron laughed again. "Hermione, believe me, snogging you was definitely enjoyable."

Hermione smiled. "Really?"

Ron returned the grin. "Yeah."

"I thought so too," Hermione returned.

She had never wanted to snog him more in her life than right at this moment, standing there at the edge of the lake in the moonlight.

"So what do we do now," Ron asked, kicking the spine of the notebook. "You didn't write anything about that."

"I don't know anything about that," Hermione admitted. "I know all about fancying someone from afar, but as for starting an actual relationship..." She frowned. "You never did say if that is what you wanted."

Ron remained quiet for a moment. "I think it's what I want."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic," Hermione almost scolded him. What are you doing, idiot, the voice at the back of her mind screamed, he just said he wants to be with you; shut up and kiss him!

"I mean, yeah, Hermione, you're fantastic and all,"

"I sense a 'but' coming along," Hermione interjected bitterly.

Ron rolled his eyes and took hold of her arm once again, sensing that she was about to storm off. "Do you think it's a good idea to...you know, start something like this with everything that's going on?"

"Oh," Hermione replied softly. She hadn't even thought about that.

"I mean, how's Harry going to take this?" Ron continued anxiously. "And everyone else?" He swallowed hard. "Or what if something happens to you again?"

Hermione phrased her words very carefully. "Well, I don't know exactly how Harry would take it, but I think he would understand, and be happy with us. And everyone else will probably say 'I told you so', and," Hermione took a step closer to Ron so close that the tips of their shoes were touching, "nothing is going to happen to me as long as you're around."

"Yeah, right," Ron scoffed. "A git like me?"

"Yeah," Hermione returned. "And nothing is going to happen to you as long as this know-it-all is around."

Ron smiled, but she could tell that he was still uncertain about taking these first steps towards an entirely new relationship between them. And she didn't blame him for being so anxious; she was rather frightened herself, and she had been wanting this to happen for two years now. Their friendship would be irrevocably altered after this night; they would either become closer than she could ever imagine, or the unthinkable could occur and they could lose everything. Ron hadn't even mentioned the option of them getting together and then breaking up, but they both knew it was a possibility. They both had hot tempers, and often said things to each other that ended up regretting; if they pursued a more-than-friends relationship, it was quarrels like the ones they had a regular basis that could end up finishing them. But at the same time, Hermione could never see that as a possibility. She knew logically that it was, but Ron would always be there; he had to be. It wasn't psychologically feasible to her to have Ron out of her life. Even if the relationship didn't end up working out, they would find a way. But then again, Hermione also couldn't see her and Ron not working out. She had wanted it for so long, and she knew in her mind and heart that what she and Ron was the real thing. She had been lucky enough to find love at sixteen.

But she couldn't tell him that; Ron was already self-conscious and insecure enough that the idea of a girl falling in love with him would scare him out of his wits. Besides, they were only sixteen; they had plenty of time to tell each other everything.

"Tell you what," Hermione said softly. "Why don't we take things very, very slowly?"

"Yeah," Ron looked relieved. "That's a good idea."

"We can just talk a bit more, perhaps," Hermione suggested. "Write to each other often over the summer?"

"Of course," Ron frowned slightly. "I forgot we go home tomorrow."

Hermione sighed. It was rather rotten luck that she and Ron had finally got things out on the open the night before they would part from each other for two months. She was going to miss him much more than she cared to admit.

"Maybe..." Ron hesitated. "Maybe you could come visit the Burrow?" Hermione nodded; she always visited at Ron at some time over the summer, so she wasn't that surprised with the invitation. "Just you," he continued, ears starting to turn red. "Well, Harry will come at some point of course, but Dumbledore never lets him for a while, so maybe you could come a bit earlier, so we could...you know."

That surprised her. "I'd like that," Hermione said sincerely.

"Good." Ron looked down at their feet. "And maybe...maybe we shouldn't tell anyone about us yet."

"What?"

"Not that I don't want to!" Ron blurted out. "It's just that I don't think it's a good idea for me to go home and say hello, Mum, Dad, I almost got me and my best friends killed, and now I'm dating one of them." He sighed and bent forward so his forehead was resting against hers. "Everything is just so fucked up, Hermione, and I'd feel like if I told them, it would become official, and it would be almost a matter of time before..."

"Before it affected us too." Hermione was tempted to chide Ron for his language, but he had stated it so truthfully that she didn't feel it was appropriate. Besides, she could always scold him later. "Okay, Ron, if that's what you want, I'll go along with it."

"Thank you," Ron said quietly. His hand that was still holding her arm slipped down and gathered her small hand in his. She smiled down at the clutched fingers, remembering when he had held her hand in the hospital wing and how right it had felt then. It felt even more so now.

"This is a good start," Hermione commented, indicating their hands.

"See, I am learning," Ron joked. She could feel his breath on her top of her nose since their foreheads were still touching, and Hermione was starting to want to do things that occurred in those romance novels that she of course had never paged through while waiting for the librarian to pick out her books in the library back home, so it became necessary to change the subject.

"We better get back indoors," Hermione stepped back but she didn't dare drop the hold on his hand. "The feast must be over by now."

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

Neither of them moved.

"So, we should go," Hermione tried again. This time she managed to take a few more steps towards the castle.

"Hang on," Ron gently tugged her back towards him, and before she knew what was happening, she and Ron were having their first real kiss.

It lasted...and lasted....and lasted some more.

Ron was the one who broke it off, and he stepped back with a new twinkle in his eye. "Well, for once, I'm glad I have five older brothers."

Hermione was so dazed and blissful that she couldn't even comprehend what Ron was saying. "What?"

"Well, they did teach me everything they know," Ron explained teasingly.

The euphoria ceased as Hermione automatically switched to antagonize-Ron mode. "Ron!" He laughed, pulling on her hand again to guide her back towards the castle. "Prat!" she informed him with her head lightheartedly high in the air.

"Know-it-all," he shot back.

"Git!"

"Little Miss Perfect!"

Hermione laughed at the usage of Rita Skeeter's nickname. It was good to know that even with the monumental change that was occurring between her and Ron, that some things would never, ever change.

"Idiot!"

Ron had no further comeback, so he just with a laugh pulled on Hermione's hand to get her close enough to allow him to sling his arm around her. Hermione smiled again at the gesture.

It was even better to know that some things were changing.