The Last Time

Chapter 27

Usually, when Hermione Granger woke in the morning she got straight out of bed, as there were often many important things she had to get done - either that, or her dorm-mates were up early talking and fixing their hair.

Not this morning.

She didn't get up immediately, but stayed in bed for a bit, enjoying the contented feeling that comes from waking up after a good night's sleep, followed by the knowledge that there was nothing terribly important that required getting out of bed right away. Actually, she felt as though there were something she ought to be doing, but her brain was so fuzzy from the night before, she couldn't remember what it was. So she just lay there, replaying last night's events in her head.

Harry and I were kissing. And not because one of us was mad at someone else, or upset, or anything, but because we wanted to. It was very...different than I expected it to be. Actually, I don't know what I expected it to be like. I mean, this is Harry. I didn't expect to like him in that way. Of course, I love him as my best friend, but this is so different. I like it, but it's scary.

Crookshanks jumped on the bed and glared at her disapprovingly, interrupting her thoughts.

"What's wrong with you this morning, old boy?" she asked, scratching him under the chin in a way she knew he loved. Usually it would send him in to a purring fit, but this morning he only glared at her with his big yellow eyes.

"Are you still offended by Harry tripping over you last night?" she asked him, trying not to laugh as he thumped his tail fervently on the mattress. "Well, sorry about that, but Harry can be clumsy sometimes. And you were right in front of the door, in the dark, you know."

Hermione rolled over on her stomach, clutching the pillow to her. It still smelled a little like Harry, that soapy fresh-air scent that tickled her nose a little. "You do like Harry, don't you, Crookshanks?"

He miaowed loudly and butted his head against her arm, purring.

"I'll take that as a yes, then. I suppose if you didn't like him, you'd be trying to eat him, like Scabbers."

He glared at her as if reacting badly to the mention of the rat.

"So why the evil-eye, then? Hmm...you didn't like what we were doing in here last night, did you?"

Another very loud miaow, accompanied by a soft swipe from one of his furry paws.

She sat up and laughed at the cat. "Crookshanks, are you jealous?"

He curled up in her lap and purred.

"I'm sorry, Crooks...but I think I like Harry like that. Last night was...well, I don't expect you'd understand, being a cat and all."

Crookshanks looked offended, but continued purring. Hermione stroked his ginger fur and went back to her thoughts.

What if...what if you go down this road and it doesn't work out? Then what happens to your friendship? Look at what happened with you and Ron. Is your friendship ever going to be the same after everything that's happened between you? Not likely. It might be close, but never exactly the same. Do you want that to happen with Harry too?

Everything that's happened between you and Ron....

Ron.

"Oh!" said Hermione, jumping out of bed and inadvertently sending Crookshanks to the floor in an undignified heap. "Sorry, Crooks, but I need to get to the library...I need to look up some things for Ron."

Hermione dressed, grabbed her bag, and left the dormitory hurriedly, because she didn't know how long it would be till Harry came back. He'd said lunchtime, but it could be earlier or later, since she didn't know where Remus was planning to take him or what they were doing, and she didn't want him walking in on her research.

She hadn't told him what she was doing, partly because she wasn't sure if she even knew herself, partly because she hadn't had the chance, and partly because she knew he would disapprove. He would tell her that it was too risky for her, and that she shouldn't get Ron's hopes up for something that might not work anyway. She wasn't exactly lying to Harry, but she wasn't being entirely truthful either, and she felt a sharp pang of guilt.

It's for a good cause.

At the library, she showed Madam Pince the note that Professor McGonagall had written for her and Harry to use the Restricted Section to look up curses and charms for the Auror Trials. Fortunately, it was an open note of permission, so she had full access to the books. Madam Pince had seen it so many times already she barely looked at it, and turned back to the teetering stack of worn books she was repairing with Spellotape and Binding Charms, leaving Hermione to do her work in peace.

Randomly reading through every book in the library in hopes of finding a reference to a mysterious wizard named Raymond wasn't going to work. She only had three months left at Hogwarts, and even though she was a speed-reader she wasn't that good. So she was going to have to narrow her search somehow.

But how? She had so little to go on.

Hermione pulled out parchment, ink, and a freshly sharpened eagle-feather quill and began to make a list of the few things she knew about Master Raymond, however irrelevant they might seem.

Has healing powers. Short like Prof. Flitwick. Smells like herbs - maybe a potions-master or an apothecary? Long grey hair. Dusty, mouldy looking velvet robes - cut differently, sort of an old style. Funny accent.

She stopped after writing that last item. Funny accent.

Funny in what way? It wasn't an English accent, and neither was it Scottish, Irish, or Welsh....

French.

Not like the heavy h- and t-dropping accent that a certain Beauxbatons student had, Hermione thought irritably, remembering Fleur Delacour and how her veela-charms had turned Ron and half the other boys in the school into drooling puppy-dogs. No, it was more like....

Hermione and her family had gone to France on holiday the summer before her third year at Hogwarts. They'd been to several of the largest cities in France, (Marseille had been Hermione's favourite, because of all the interesting wizarding traditions she'd picked up on there), but they spent the majority of their holiday in Paris. And while Master Raymond's accent wasn't quite the same as that of the Parisians she'd encountered - possibly due to his living in another time period - it was very close.

She scratched out the word funny on her list and wrote French, then added Paris?

Now she had something to work with. Not much, but it would be far easier to research obscure French wizards named Raymond than trying to sift through the entire European wizarding world.

Two hours later, using books from all over the library, Hermione had uncovered mentions of several people who might be Raymond; however, none of them mentioned any type of unusual healing abilities, so she felt rather defeated. She knew she had to pack up and clear out of the library before Harry returned; the library would be the first place he'd check if she wasn't in Gryffindor Tower when he came looking for her. She couldn't think of a plausible explanation of why she would need to have books like Famous Wizards of Eighteenth Century France or Parisian Potion Masters in her possession - not one that Harry would buy, anyway. Not even History of Magic could explain her interest, as they were currently studying the magical practices of various African tribes.

If you'd just tell him what you were up to, he could help you, and you could get this done a lot faster, a part of her mind told her.

If I told him what I was up to, he'd lecture me about not thinking about the risks to myself, and pester me about not giving Ron false hope.

She tucked her parchments with her notes carefully into an inside pocket of her bag, and went back to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry was waiting for her in the common room with an irritated look on his face.

"You won't believe - Remus - he thinks - of all the - " Harry sputtered, as Hermione whisked him upstairs for an explanation.

Remus had come for Harry that morning because he had arranged for him to meet with a "wizarding shrink" - as Harry so candidly put it - once a week. Apparently, the incident with Malfoy had convinced Remus that Harry needed some help, and while Remus cared about Harry deeply, this was something he didn't feel qualified to handle. Dr. Hudson was a Muggleborn witch who had studied wizarding medicine and taken a degree in psychiatry at a Muggle university, so Remus thought her an ideal person to talk to Harry about his problems.

Harry didn't agree.

"Remus thinks I'm crazy!" he said, pacing around her room. He deliberately avoided Crookshanks, obviously not wanting to fall flat on his arse again.

"You know he doesn't," Hermione said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"That's the only reason people see shrinks, isn't it? That they're crazy?" He ran his hands through his hair irritably, and Hermione tried not to laugh, because at that moment he really did look like he was slightly mad.

"No, Harry, it's not - and the word is psychiatrist, not shrink. Sometimes people see psychiatrists because they want to keep from goingcrazy."

Harry looked at her. "You think I'm going nutters?"

"No...." That wasn't exactly what she meant.

"You'd tell me if you did, right?"

"Of course I would, Harry!" she said. "It's just...well, you've had a lot happen to you, you know? More than any one person should, and sometimes I think you don't know how to deal with it. The most recent example being the Malfoy thing."

He let out a deep breath. "The Malfoy thing."

She patted the bed beside her, motioning for him to sit down.

Harry kept pacing.

"Sit," she said, in her bossiest voice; the one that she knew irritated both him and Ron to no end.

Harry sat.

"You really, really scared me that day, Harry. I mean, I wasn't scared of you, more like scared for you." She put her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. "I don't ever want to see that again. Not for me, but for you. There's this anger, this darkness, that's built up inside you, from everything you've been through, with your family, and Voldemort, and school...and I really think that this Dr. Hudson can help you. You know, talk it out."

"But I talk to you..." Harry protested. "Well, now I do, anyway."

"That's different," she said. "You need to talk to someone that's not involved. Not me, not Ron, not Remus, not Mr. or Mrs. Weasley. We're all too close to you."

"You're not too close to me," Harry said, pulling her closer to him in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

*****

To a casual observer, it would probably have seemed that there was no difference in Harry and Hermione's relationship over the next few weeks. They ate together, went to class together, studied together, and hung out in the common room together, just like they had for the past six years, and that casual observer might not notice anything out of the ordinary about their interaction.

But Hermione was most definitely not a casual observer, and she was very aware of how different things were now. They were just little things, mostly; the way her spine would tingle when Harry said something in just a certain way; the way they sat just a little bit closer to each other at meals; how Hermione would nonchalantly rest one hand on Harry's leg while her other hand swish-and-flicked its way through Professor Flitwick's most advanced charms; or how Harry would "accidentally" touch her hand or arm as he handed her ingredients for the latest nasty potion Snape had them brewing. They weren't constantly ducking behind suits of armour in the corridors for a quick snog - unlike Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan, who they had unfortunately bumped into in a compromising position one day on the way to Herbology. However, Harry and Hermione did use their pass to McGonagall's classroom after hours for something other than practicing new spells on more than one occasion.

Of course, they did use McGonagall's classroom for its intended purpose - preparing for the Auror Trials - more often than not. The letters informing them that they'd passed the written exam arrived on the first day of the new term, and they resumed their training for the last round, which was scheduled to take place right after school was out.

That would be in June - when their Hogwarts days would be over for good.

She was running out of time.

Hermione still hadn't told Harry what she was up to concerning her search for information about Master Raymond, and it was difficult to think of ways to get away from him long enough to get to the library and do any serious investigating (especially since she really liked spending time with Harry). In a way, it was thanks to Remus that she had an excuse to be in the library alone, because every Thursday afternoon Harry left Care of Magical Creatures twenty minutes early and went to Hogsmeade for his weekly session with Dr. Hudson. She used that time to sprint to the library and look for more information about Master Raymond.

She debated with herself whether or not to tell him what she was up to, but in the end decided to keep it a secret for the time being. She'd tell him before actually doing anything - whatever it might be - but for now, there was really nothing to tell, was there?

*****

Harry and Hermione visited Ron at St. Mungo's as often as possible, sometimes four or five times a week. The three of them somehow arrived at the unspoken understanding that they would not discuss their major problems while Ron was still in the hospital. On the one hand, Hermione was relieved, as she very much enjoyed being able to talk to Ron again. On the other hand, it made her very anxious, because she didn't know what would happen when they finally did decide to talk about it. And until they talked about it, everything was not going to come out in the open, including the newly formed relationship between herself and Harry.

Hermione and Harry brought Ron his assignments and helped him with his work, determined that he wouldn't get behind in his classes, and delivered his completed assignments to their professors. Ron had always been fairly bright, but he hated studying with a passion, and so his marks, while far from bad, weren't as good as they could have been. Now his attitude toward studying was totally different. Being cooped up in the hospital with few distractions, combined with a fierce desire to prove he wasn't useless or helpless, had turned him into an academic zealot of sorts. Hermione couldn't believe it. Instead of it being her nagging Ron and Harry to get their work done, it was now Ron nagging them to get their work done.

He actually scolded Harry once that his Divination notes weren't complete enough, and Harry dropped his book in shock.

"What?" Ron asked innocently, holding up a sheaf of parchment, as Harry picked up his book. "How am I supposed to keep up if you don't take good enough notes, Harry? I mean, honestly, mate, you can do better than this."

Harry looked dumbfounded.

Hermione thought Ron sounded frighteningly like her, and wondered if his accident had affected his head in any way.

"Well, I'm already going to be behind as it is," Ron said. "I won't be able to take the N.E.W.T.s with you in June."

"Why ever not?" Hermione asked. She'd never heard of such a thing.

"Potions, for starters," said Ron, scowling. "Snape won't let me take the Potions N.E.W.T. until I've done all the practicals in class - McGonagall told me, she was absolutely furious. Never seen her so mad, not even when Neville lost that list of passwords and let Sirius get in the tower. Thought she might off Snape and save us all a lot of grief. I can make some of them up when I get back to school, but I won't have time to do them all. And obviously, DADA is going to be a problem. Recent stuff, anyway." He frowned slightly, and Hermione knew he was thinking about all the physical defence they'd done that year. Ron had been quite good at it, better than she and Harry had.

"Are you going to have to do the whole year over?" Harry asked, looking anxious.

"Oh, no," said Ron. "Dumbledore got special permission from the Ministry to let me take the N.E.W.T.s later in the summer, after I've had time to catch up."

Ron was putting up a cheerful face about returning to Hogwarts, but she and Harry both could tell he was worried about how he would adjust. There were so many things that had changed already, but many more would change when he left the hospital, and she was concerned about how Ron would deal with peoples' reactions to him.

The week before, Harry and Hermione had shown up just as Ron was coming back from some sort of physical therapy session, and they saw him in his new wheelchair for the first time. Ron had first turned red, then dead white when he realized they were there. Obviously, he hadn't been prepared for anyone to see him in his wheelchair yet.

Hermione didn't know what to do. If she kept watching him, he'd think she was staring and he'd be embarrassed. If she looked away, he'd think he looked awful and he'd be offended.

"Nice wheels," said Harry cheerfully.

"Yeah," said Ron, looking uncomfortable.

"Don't let your dad get hold of it - he'll take it apart and you'll never get it back again," Harry said. "It'll be in pieces all over your back garden."

Ron grinned nervously and wheeled on into his room.

After that, Ron seemed to be a little less prone to embarrassment, but Hermione knew that it was partly because of herself and Harry and the way they knew how to predict his reactions. Other people at Hogwarts wouldn't be like that; whether out of ignorance or malice, it didn't matter. How would Ron be able to keep from getting offended and losing his temper?

Then she reminded herself that she was being an overprotective mother hen. Ron was eighteen years old and perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and he wouldn't appreciate anyone trying to "smooth the path" or make things easier for him. He'd take it as an insult.

That didn't mean she would stop worrying about him though.

*****

Usually Harry was in a fairly upbeat frame of mind after one of his sessions with Dr. Hudson, but after the fourth one, near the end of April, he returned to Hogwarts in a very pensive mood. He brushed Hermione off after dinner when she tried to ask him what was wrong, and left the common room without a word. Hermione didn't go after him; he had that look on his face that told her he wanted to be left alone.

She had a feeling he wouldn't be gone long, and he wasn't.

Hermione was sitting on the sofa by the common room fire with Ginny, who was telling her the latest news of Fred and Angelina's upcoming wedding. It would be a very Weasley affair, as George would naturally be Fred's best man, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Ron would all be groomsmen, and Ginny would be a bridesmaid along with Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Angelina's two older sisters.

"And Mum keeps trying to tell Angelina to do this, or that.... I don't think Mum realizes she's the mother of the groom, and not the mother of the bride, and that she really doesn't have a whole lot of say in the wedding plans," said Ginny exasperatedly. "She did get them to agree to have Dumbledore perform the ceremony, though, so that's one thing they won't be arguing about."

"Just wait till it's your turn, Ginny," said Hermione, trying not to laugh. "Her one chance to be 'mother of the bride'. She'll be in heaven."

"Yeah, well, I think when it's my turn I'll just elope," said Ginny.

"Elope?" said Harry from behind them, making them both jump in surprise. "I don't know much about weddings, but eloping sounds like fun. No people staring at you, no scratchy dress robes, no dancing...sounds good to me."

Ginny's ears went red. "You think so?" she asked.

"I sure do," he said, sitting down between Ginny and Hermione.

They were a bit crowded on the sofa. Hermione felt the warmth of Harry's leg wedged against hers and suddenly wished very much that Ginny would go upstairs.

Ginny continued on about the wedding, ostensibly talking to Hermione, but looking up at Harry every so often. Harry, for his part, was staring absently into the fire. One arm lay across the back of the sofa behind Ginny; and one behind Hermione, which was playing casually with a lock of her hair. Every so often, his fingers would brush against the back of her neck, sending tiny shivers up and down her back.

Harry didn't seem to have a clue about the effect he was having on Hermione. He just stared off into the fire and mmm-hmmed at appropriate pauses in the conversation, as if he wasn't really listening, but thinking about something else, and continued toying with her hair.

Hermione concentrated very hard on listening to what Ginny was saying, but the effect of Harry's fingers against her skin was making it increasingly difficult. She attempted to make coherent replies to Ginny's statements but soon gave up and sat quietly as Ginny continued to talk.

One by one - not nearly quickly enough for Hermione's liking - the other students in the common room began to gather their books and quills and Exploding Snap packs and drift up the stairs to the dormitories.

" - he gets back," said Ginny.

"What?" said Hermione, shaking herself back into focus.

"I said, Ron's going to have a lot to do when he gets back on Saturday," Ginny repeated.

Harry immediately sat straight up and looked at Ginny, as did Hermione. "He's coming back Saturday? As in day after tomorrow?"

"Yeah," said Ginny. "Didn't you know?"

"No," said Hermione. "We just saw him last night, and he didn't say anything about coming back yet, not a word!"

Ginny looked puzzled. "But he's known for at least a week...Mum told me yesterday...."

"So he didn't tell you either," said Harry, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"He didn't want us to know," said Hermione finally. "Of course we would, sooner or later, though...look at what's been going on."

She was referring to the slight changes that had been made to Gryffindor Tower to accommodate Ron's wheelchair. The chair was charmed to levitate up and down the wide school staircases, similar to the theory behind broomstick flight, but only inches above the ground; and part of Ron's time at the hospital had been devoted to him learning how to do it properly, so those weren't a problem. He would be able to get around the castle itself with little difficulty.

However, the portrait hole was too small and awkward for that. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall had magically altered the portrait hole itself so that it was no longer a hole but a proper doorway, opening flush with the floor, and the Fat Lady's portrait had been enlarged and put into a new frame to cover it - much to her delight, as it gave her and Violet more room to lounge about when gossiping. Everyone in Gryffindor seemed pleased with this arrangement, as climbing through a hole while wearing a long robe and carrying a stack of books had always annoyed many of them to no end.

In addition, the narrow spiral stairs leading to the seventh-year boys' dormitory were far too narrow and steep for Ron to be able to navigate safely. Several options were considered, including magically altering the stairs or adding a small room for Ron just off the stairwell; but the problem was solved when the second-year boys, whose room was at the foot of the stairs, offered to trade rooms with the seventh-years. Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville had moved their things, and Ron's, into the new room the previous weekend, just after the portrait hole had been altered.

"I don't know why he didn't say anything," said Ginny. "Well, to me, I understand - he knew Mum would tell me, but you two...." She yawned. "I'm tired - off to bed. G'night."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until they were sure Ginny was gone and they were alone.

"Why didn't he tell us he's coming back this Saturday?" Hermione asked.

Harry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. "I don't know. I guess he's nervous about it."

"But he should know he could talk to us, right?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Harry?" Hermione said after a pause. "What are we going to do?"

He took a deep breath and let it out all at once. "You mean telling Ron about us?"

"Yeah."

"What a coincidence." He shook his head vigorously, as if trying to clear it, then sat up and looked at her. "I talked to Dr. Hudson about that today."

"You did?" Hermione was a little bit embarrassed. "Do you...talk to her about...you know, us, often?"

"Not the first couple times," Harry said. "But I do talk about you - and Ron - a lot. Not much to talk about otherwise though, really - dead mum and dad, horrible aunt and uncle, evil murderer after me, nasty headaches - so yeah, I do talk about you both. One of the few good things I do get to talk about." He elbowed her gently in the arm and grinned for a moment, and then looked serious again.

"So you talked to her about what to tell Ron?"

"I did. And you know what she said? She said to tell him right away, for all our sakes. For Ron's sake, because he hates to be lied to - and for our sake because...."

"...because if we start something based on a lie..." she said, beginning to understand.

"...then it won't work," Harry finished. "Even if we mean well, it won't work."

"So we tell him."

"Yeah." He sounded nervous. "And we should do it before he comes back to school."

"That means tomorrow."

"Yeah." Harry stared off into the fire.

"What do you think he'll say?"

"Well, I don't think he's going to slap us on the back and say 'congratulations,' do you?"

"No, but hopefully he won't blow up at us." She scooted closer to him on the sofa and put her head on his shoulder. "I don't want to fight with him anymore, Harry, and I don't think he wants to fight with us either."

Harry put his arm around her, and they sat there for a long time wondering what would happen the next day.

*****

Ron was sitting in his chair by the window, arguing with his chess set, when Harry and Hermione arrived on Friday afternoon.

"What's the point of playing both sides?" said a very angry black bishop. "You already know all the moves you're going to make!"

"Oh, sod off," yelled the white queen. "You're just scared, is all!"

"Am not!" shouted the bishop, waving a tiny black fist at the white queen. "I just don't feel like getting my head bashed in when there's no bloody point!" He yanked off his pointy little hat and threw it down on the board, a pout on his dark face.

The white knight closest to the queen made a rude gesture at the black bishop and said, "Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!"

The black pieces jumped up and down on their squares, yelling obscenities at the white pieces, who laughed and pointed. Two of the pawns laughed so hard they fell over and rolled off the board.

"Shut up, you lot," said Ron, prodding them gently into their places with a finger. "I'm bored, and I said we're playing. Now quit whining and go where I tell you."

"I suppose we're just in time," said Hermione, trying not to laugh at the black bishop sticking his tongue out at Ron.

Ron grinned. "Hey, you two. Which one of you wants to be my first victim?"

"I'm not even going to try it," said Hermione. "They look mutinous."

Harry sat down across the table from Ron. "I will."

The black pieces cheered and settled down into their places. "Thank you," said the black queen, nodding to Harry. "He's played both sides ten times today, and he always lets them win!"

"Well, somebody has to win," said Ron defensively.

"It could have been us, just once!" cried one of the black pawns. "I got taken every single time, and now I've a headache!"

"Oh, be quiet and let's play," said Harry, giving the little pawn a pat on the head.

Harry very rarely beat Ron in chess, and Hermione didn't expect him to beat Ron this time, either. Ron made his first move, then propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, waiting patiently for Harry to make his move.

Hermione felt a wave of nostalgia as she watched the two of them, bent over the chessboard as they had done so many times in the last six years. They were opposites in many ways, especially on the surface; Ron, with his relatively neat red hair, pale skin that freckled madly at the slightest kiss of sun, and infectious grin that could pop out at any given moment; and Harry's messy black hair, light skin, unmarked except for the infamous scar, and his usually serious expression that could turn into a brilliant smile, but rarely did so.

"Hey! How'd you do that?" yelped Ron, as Harry's very vocal bishop dragged Ron's queen side castle off the board and did a little victory dance before returning to his square. "But - oh, Harry, that was a really, really dumb move. See?"

Ron's knight made a move and captured Harry's queen side castle.

"Yeah, that was stupid," said Harry with a half smile.

Harry was a thinker; Ron was a doer, Hermione mused. When they weren't working together, Harry tended to think too much and get nothing done, whereas Ron jumped in blindly without thinking at all. Harry would get too quiet and introspective, Ron too loud and gregarious.

They complemented each other so well.

She hadn't realized it, but for the whole time she'd known them, she'd thought of them as HarryandRon.

One big word, just like that.

Even when they fought over the Goblet of Fire, she still thought of them as HarryandRon. They hadn't fought long enough for her to have a chance to think about them otherwise. This year had been the first time they had been apart enough for her to think about them as two separate people, which made her realization all the more clear.

They were better together than they were apart.

"Oh, damn," said Harry, as Ron's knight took yet another of his pieces. He eyed the dwindling ranks of his players thoughtfully.

Can I get in the way of their friendship like this? I know that's what's going to happen. When this game is over, Harry's going to say "Ron, we need to talk," and that's going to be the end of it.

Hermione watched with a sense of ever increasing dread as the game came closer and closer to its conclusion, both of them losing pieces regularly.

And they'll both lose.

Ron and Harry both frowned at the board, studying it carefully.

I can't let Harry sacrifice his friendship with Ron just to be with me.

She saw the moves they made, the quick and sure movements of their hands, but she couldn't tell at this point who was winning or losing; all she knew was the end of this game would mean the end of their friendship, if she didn't do something.

I want Ron's friendship too, but Harry needs Ron like he needs no one else. Even me.

"Checkmate."

Harry's king fell over, beating his tiny fists on the board and roaring in frustration.

As he and Ron laughed and packed away the still-bickering pieces, Hermione's heart pounded, and she wiped her damp palms on her robes.

Ron sent the chessboard across the room with a Banishing Charm and said something to Harry that made him laugh. Hermione didn't hear it; her heartbeat had begun to echo loudly in her ears, blocking out most of their chatter.

Harry's grin faded, and he cleared his throat.

Say something! Anything, it doesn't matter what! Just say something to make Harry be quiet! But her throat had closed up, and no sound came out.

"Ron," said Harry, in a slightly strained voice, "we have to talk."