A Moment of Truth

     It was a night painted in a morose tradition. Soft organ music was being pelted throughout the house, accompanied by the waltzing of rain outside. The soft glow of candlelight provided a yellow hue that served as the only hint that joy had once blessed these halls. Downstairs, random murmurs and virtually indistinguishable whispers could be heard. If one listened closely enough, he might have been able to separate Molly Weasley's sobs and Tonk's occasional bursts from Arthur Weasley's choked up spats of speech and the clanging of Mundungus Fletcher's newly stolen merchandise. Those upstairs weren't really listening for those sounds, however. At this particular memorial, the two voices that needed to be heard most were strangely silent. The first one was expected, as Remus Lupin had made his way out for a walk some time before. The second, on the other hand, had tucked himself away in his room, refusing all guests, even his best friend.

     "I tried to get him out. He's not budging," said a weary Ron Weasley as he entered Hermione's room. Ron stared at Hermione's outstretched body as she lay on her bed, motionless. Quickly, Hermione shot up, making room for Ron to accompany her. For what might have been the first time in his life, Ron noticed this almost immediately and made to sit down, purposely making sure a suitable gap separate them.

     "It doesn't surprise me, really. I went to see him this morning and the same thing happened," Hermione said quietly, attempting to lack emotion.

     "He doesn't want to see you. He doesn't want to see me. Damn it, who does he want to see?" Ron burst out in a short flame of frustration.

     "Ron! Harry needs his alone time! Don't you understand? We can't have any idea how hard this is for him! That man was like a father to him, and now he's gone forever. Harry must be going through so much. I wonder if he even knows what he's feeling".

     "Which is why he needs to talk to us!"

     "He will, Ron! He'll talk when he's ready. Right now he just needs to sort himself out. I'm sure the service didn't help him much, having to relive all that over again in his head and all."

     "Yeah, right. Well, what are we supposed to do until he's ready?"

     "I suppose we just have to do what we're doing now. Just keep checking up on him, letting him know we're still here and that, if he wants to, we want to talk."

     Hermione leaned back on her bed, placing her hands down strategically to hold her weight. She stared down at the floor, almost as if she could see through it to downstairs, where the adults were sitting, beginning to wonder just when Remus would return. Ron fidgeted uncomfortably, making the bed squeak in response to the abuse from his bony frame. He stilled himself in an attempt to stop the noise, but his discomfort was a foe not to be defeated. In an attempt to alleviate the tension in his body, Ron absentmindedly leaned back, placing his hand directly over Hermione's.

     Both gave a slight jump and quickly removed their hands from the area of violation. They turned to look at each other, more in nervous shock than anything else, but for some reason an unknown force prevented them from turning round. Ron stared deep into Hermione, and for the first time realized how much he enjoyed her face. He found himself very glad that, at this moment, this was the face that was looking back at him, for had things gone a little differently, neither of them would have been there. A chill shot straight through his spine at the thought of this. He noticed though the edge of his gaze that Hermione had just had a similar reaction. Ron smiled inwardly, assuming that he had just read her mind. Much to his dismay, he had not.

     "Ron, what if Harry had been the one killed, not Sirius?" Hermione asked as a solitary tear forced its way down her cheek. While her concern was truly touching, that had not been the thought Ron had hoped she had. Obviously he himself had wondered the same thing; after all, Harry was his friend. He didn't know what he would do without his best mate. Still, the thing was that he knew exactly what he would do without Hermione, although he didn't quite understand it; he would surely die of pain.

     "Yeah, well, er, you shouldn't, er, think of that, Hermione," Ron said, doing his best attempt to hide that he had been caught off guard. "Harry's okay and that's all that matters."

     "I know he's okay, but what if-"

     "If we think about the what ifs, we'll go nutters in no time. Just...try dealing with right now."

     Ron knew he had said something right, for Hermione was now staring down again, nodding. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to get his mind off the fact that his best friend could have died. Within a few seconds, however, he didn't need to try anymore, for he suddenly realized the gap he placed between himself and Hermione had closed, and her head was now occupying his shoulder. Ron's entire body went stiff at this, although he tried to play it cool. This was far out of his comfort zone, and he found himself wanting to run as far as he could. At the same time, he didn't want to get up at all; he wanted to remain in that particular position for the rest of his life. In an act of both comfort and courage (comfort for Hermione, courage for Ron), Ron reached over and put his arm around her. Hermione gave up a small, closed in smile and sighed.

     "Ron?" she began.

     "Yeah?" he replied as he attempted to keep track of her heartbeat.

     "I'm glad we made it out alive."

     "Me, too. I don't want to think about Harry facing the rest of his life without us."

     Hermione glanced up. "No, I mean I'm glad we made it out because I can't imagine not being here, right now, with you."

     It may have just been his imagination, but Ron was pretty sure her heart just skipped a beat.

     "Hermione?" he asked nervously.

     "Yes, Ron?" she replied.

     "I, er, well, ah, um, never mind. Nothing."

     "Ron, look at me."

     "What?"

     "Look at me."

     "Er, right. I'm looking at you."

     "Now, what were you going to say?"

     Surely Hermione didn't think this was going to help. Ron wasn't the most articulate of people normally; touching him already made things worse, but expecting him to look her in the eye and speak at the same time was asking too much. Ron's blood ran warm as his brain went numb and everything else around him disappeared. As he sat there agape, he noticed only two things. First off, nothing was coming out of his mouth, although he brain was sending the command to form words. Secondly, against his brain's wishes, his eyes were closing and his head was moving forward. Ron had no idea how Hermione was reacting to this; after all, he was completely in the dark. Soon enough, however, he discovered the answer as her lips came crashing into his. The surprise of this scared him so much that he almost swallowed his tongue, but luckily he had enough composure to keep in where it need be. Slowly, his nerves began to ease, and where their anxiousness had been, a sweet joy filled the position. For the first time in his life, he was doing something with Hermione that felt perfect, tasted perfect, made perfect sense. The sweetness of her mouth, the playfulness of her tongue, everything about her at that moment filled him with a happiness he had not felt that day, let alone his life, and although his previous attempt at mind reading had proven unsuccessful; Ron assumed Hermione was feeling something that was very much the same.

     Ron and Hermione's bliss ended abruptly with the slam of a door. Beyond the ear piercing shouts of Mrs. Black, cheers could be heard that gave the impression that Remus had finally returned. With a half smile, Hermione stood up and gestured that perhaps the two of them should check on the other silent mourner. Ron reluctantly followed her, but he stopped just shy of the door, for on the dresser he noticed a very old photograph sticking out of a book that Hermione had no doubt read and reread. He lifted the picture up and studied it. Three boys were chasing after each other on broomsticks. Ron could see that a fourth boy had been sitting on the ground, but someone had scratched his face away for good reason. This unathletic boy happened to be none other than Peter Pettigrew. As for the others, Ron recognized the tattered young wizard with the torn robes to be none other than Remus himself, and he assumed the one in front of him was James, due to his physical similarities to Harry. In the forefront, however, sat a handsome yet cocky looking wizard in red robes with a smile on his face. He was leaning comfortably back on his broom, almost lying down, with his hands cradling his straight raven hair. The boy nearly fell off the broom, but once he got back up, he was again the perfect picture of cool, winking at Ron as he flew off. As Ron stared, he silently concluded that it was young Sirius, the man who's memory had been honored just hours before. Whether he meant for it to come or not, a single tear escaped his eye.

     Hermione came back just after this, and upon first glance Ron cleared his face and straightened up. She stared at him for a moment in confusion, as if to question why he had not come downstairs with her. Ron merely picked up the picture and pointed down; at a time like this, perhaps it would make Remus feel a bit better. Hermione smiled in agreement and signaled for him to come on. Ron stuffed the picture into his pocket and walked towards Hermione, taking her hand as he did so. Together, they went out to face Remus, and consequently, the rest of the day.