Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

Chapter 4 Ron's Funeral and the Decision to Leave

Harry's decision to leave England five years earlier had not been as easy to make as Hermione believed. The week preceding Ron's funeral passed with Harry in a daze. Voldemort's final demise had occurred with such unexpected celerity, Harry had a difficult time taking it all in. He was still in shock as he walked, holding Hermione's hand, through the cemetery to Ron's gravesite.

Harry couldn't believe Ron was gone. Just like that, in a flash of green light from Voldemort's wand, his best friend of seven years was lost forever. Harry must have made a noise because Hermione squeezed his hand and smiled at him encouragingly. I need to be supporting her and she is supporting me, Harry thought. He returned her smile grimly, determined to be stronger for her.

The large mahogany coffin, draped in a Gryffindor flag, was flanked on one side by a virtual jungle of magical flowers and plants, forming a protective semi-circle around the family. Molly, Ginny and Hermione were seated with Fred, George, Bill, Charlie and Harry standing quietly behind. On the other side, hundreds of mourners faced the coffin completing the circle. Dumbledore approached the coffin slowly and turned to speak words of comfort to Ron's many friends and family. Harry watched his mentor, the closest person to a father he had ever known, struggle with his own emotions.

"Today we celebrate the life and mourn the death of a great wizard, Ronald Weasley. The sixth of seven children, Ron always felt he had much to live up to. In his first year at Hogwarts, he and his best friend stumbled upon the Mirror of Erised. When he gazed into it, he saw himself as Head Boy, holding the Quidditch Cup, accomplishing as much and more than the brothers that came before him. This mirror, however, did not show his future, but rather his deepest desire. I do not think anyone would argue that Ron Weasley's accomplishments, his loyalty to his friends, and his love for others, eclipsed any vision the Mirror of Erised could have hoped to offer him.

"Ron's accomplishments, in his short life, cannot be measured by mere trophies and honors. Like a true Gryffindor, his courage surpassed his fear. He was instrumental in defeating Voldemort five times. His family, friends, and all who knew him loved him. He loved deeply in return." Here Dumbledore looked at Hermione, who bowed her head under his gaze. Harry, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, squeezed them gently in support. He could barely maintain his composure as he felt the gentle hitching of Hermione's shoulders beneath his grasp.

Harry's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the coffin before him and Dumbledore's voice quietly faded away. He thought of his best friend. He remembered his contagious smile and the way his eyes would light up when he proclaimed "checkmate" before Harry could blink. Harry would never see that smile again. He would never hear his laugh; he would never again be able to speak to the only brother he'd ever known. There was so much he never said: so many thanks he never offered, so much appreciation he never gave, so much love he never knew how to express.

The opportunity was gone. Ron was gone.

That should be me in that coffin, not Ron, Harry thought. He had so much more to live for than I do.

Harry looked over at a group of wizards and witches that represented the Chudley Cannons. The Cannons were Ron's favorite Quidditch team and up until his death, his future teammates. Ginny, Hermione and I teased him incessantly about how his red hair was going to clash with the Cannons' orange robes, Harry thought with a smile. Ron only joined in their laughter because he was so thoroughly exhilarated to have been signed by the Cannons. It was a dream fulfilled for someone who never thought he'd break free of the long shadows his brothers cast.

Harry looked down at Hermione. She was blankly studying the embroidery of the Gryffindor flag draping the polished mahogany coffin.

I'm so sorry Ron. I should have been the one to jump in front of Hermione, not you.

Harry had spent so much time over the past two years, since learning of the prophecy, preparing himself to die, that he couldn't comprehend that he had survived. He had been sufficiently vague over the past week when people asked him his future plans. Who could think of the future when you were preparing to bury your best friend? As he stood staring at Ron's grave, hearing Dumbledore somewhere in the distance extol Ron's virtues, Harry had no idea what he was going to do or where he was going to go.

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, which was still on her shoulder, pulling him back from his thoughts.

"I will leave you now with perhaps my favorite memory of Ronald Weasley," Dumbledore intoned. "It was the end of his fifth year. Ron, holding the Quidditch Cup tightly in his grip, was being carried off the Quidditch Pitch by a sea of ecstatic Gryffindors, serenading him with a rousing chorus of 'Weasley Is Our King.' I will always remember Ronald Weasley as a hero and a champion."

The Burrow was bursting at its seams with the throng of people offering condolences to the Weasleys. An enlargement charm had been placed on the house so it could accommodate everyone comfortably. Still, the mourners had spilled out into the gardens and were mingling around, talking in hushed voices. Children, eager to escape the oppressive mood they could not yet understand, had gravitated towards the area of the yard that the Weasley children had used over the years as an impromptu Quidditch pitch. Theirs were the only voices raised beyond a whisper as they abandoned the solemn mood for a sporting game of tag. Harry, who was looking out, but not seeing anything, could hear squeals and peals of laughter through the open window of the kitchen. He had retreated to the kitchen in an attempt to escape the people who, under the guise of offering condolences, had attended the funeral but were far more interested in Harry's plans for the future than in mourning the loss of his friend.

"Harry?"

He turned with a start and saw Dumbledore standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said.

"Would you care to go for a walk? I daresay I need an excuse for some fresh air." Dumbledore leaned closer to Harry. "And I'm trying, without much success, to shake a more ardent admirer." He gave a nearly imperceptive nod in the direction of an extremely old witch that Harry did not recognize.

"Sure," Harry said with a slight smile.

Harry followed Dumbledore through the kitchen and out the back door. As he was leaving, he glanced around searching for Hermione, with no luck. Dumbledore chose the path that led to the makeshift Quidditch Pitch and walked in silence for a while.

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry's mind drifted to the bottles of brightly colored potions, nine to be exact, lined up on his dresser at Grimmauld Place -- an exotic mini-bar waiting for the party to begin. "Better," he said tersely, hoping to derail any conversation about his injuries and health before it could get started.

Dumbledore nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Madam Pomfrey was quite beside herself when you were taken to St. Mungo's instead of the hospital wing. It didn't matter to her that you had completed your coursework and school had dismissed for the summer. I do believe she is a little territorial when it comes to your health care," he chuckled.

Harry smiled. "I have been a rather frequent visitor to her part of the castle the last seven years. She stopped by to visit me a couple of times, much to the healers' dismay. This one poor fellow received quite an earful from her."

Dumbledore smiled. After a moment he said, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Although the question was the same, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that it was a different question entirely, with a much more complicated answer. He walked on, hoping that Dumbledore would take his silence as an acceptable answer, but he knew deep down that Dumbledore would wait, forever if need be, until Harry acknowledged his question.

"Sad. Guilty. Angry. Tired. Alone. Take your pick, any will do."

Dumbledore stopped and watched the children running around chasing each other without a care in the world. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," Harry said flatly. His voice softened a little. "Not right now."

"When you are ready to talk, you will have an open ear."

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore turned to look back up the path toward the Burrow. "It looks as if the crowd is thinning. I believe Madam Rosmerta has whipped up a batch of her famous punch and I could definitely use a pick-me-up. Care to join me?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll stay here for a little while longer."

Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder and turned to walk back up the path towards the Burrow.

Harry stared out at the children and thought back to his childhood, which had never been so carefree or happy. Without even knowing it at the time, Voldemort had been shaping his life, and the person he would become, from the time he was a year old. Now, with Voldemort gone for good, Harry had been feeling as if his identity was gone for good also.

His sole purpose, especially over the last two years, had been the defeat of Voldemort. He had undertaken the responsibility with ferocious zeal, improving his wizarding skills for the ultimate and inevitable confrontation. He had not given a moment's pause to consider what he would do afterward

In truth, he had not expected to live.

He had been prepared to die -- to sacrifice himself freely if it meant the wizarding world and the people he loved would be free of Voldemort and his evil. In the end, the only thing Harry had lost was his scar. The mark the Dark Lord had given him sixteen years earlier when he had killed Harry's parents vanished with Voldemort's death.

Harry was left with his life ... and an identity crisis.

Uninhibited laughter from the playing children filtered through the murky haze that was his conscience. In an attempt to focus on something other than himself and the disaster that was his life, he turned his attention to the carefree children. Brooms had been commandeered from the broom shed and the older children were taking turns flying around, chasing each other and pretending to win the Quidditch World Cup by catching the Snitch, saving a goal or scoring with the Quaffle. One boy who had just pretended to catch the Snitch was flying around in large, loopy circles, hands raised overhead, screaming "and the crowd goes wild! Yeaaaaaaahhhhh," providing commentary, crowd noise and performing the celebratory fly-by. Harry smiled, wondering how many times this same scene had been played out by young wizards and witches across the world. He thought of children in their backyards with their parents, learning the finer points of the wizard sport, playing tag with their siblings or simply walking through the garden on the way to their neighbor's house. Normal everyday activities that many people take for granted.

His smile slipped from his face as melancholy returned. I am jealous of these kids, Harry thought incredulously. They are normal -- as normal as magical children can be, I guess. They will have the opportunity to do all of those things. I was denied that opportunity. I have never been normal.

Depressing himself even more than he already had been, he turned and walked back to the house, determined to find a friendly face in Hermione. However, thinking of Hermione brought on another wave of sadness.

Harry lost his best friend. Hermione lost her best friend and her boyfriend. She lost the man she loved. Although he and Ron never talked about it, he knew that Hermione was the love of Ron's life. He fully expected to one day witness the marriage of his two best friends. Now, Ron would never live to have a family and grow old with Hermione. And she was alone.

Harry stopped in the doorway of the parlor and saw Hermione sitting on the sofa between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. All three were crying and holding hands, giving and receiving soft words of encouragement to each other, as only women can do. Harry felt, at that moment, the realization that he was woefully inept at this facet of grief -- the need to give comfort to the ones you love. His solution to emotional turmoil had always been to withdraw inside himself and not express his emotions. Except with Hermione. She had always been able to get Harry to open up, however reluctantly. But he always held a little back, even from her. He was certain that now he would not be able to close off completely, that all of his emotions could come rushing out like a tidal wave. She has enough to deal with; she doesn't need to be burdened with my problems, too, Harry thought to himself. He turned from the door and ran right into Dumbledore.

"Professor, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Quite alright, Harry. I was just coming to say goodbye."

"Are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"No. I am meeting with Cornelius at the Ministry tomorrow. Then I am going to go on a much needed holiday."

Harry nodded his head. "You deserve it. Thank you for today. Your eulogy was beautiful."

"Ron was a great man. I will miss him."

As Dumbledore turned to go, Harry suddenly grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Would you stop by Grimmauld Place tomorrow? I would like to take you up on your offer."

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "How does 2 p.m. sound?"

"I'll see you then."

Harry sat in the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place waiting for Dumbledore.

He looked at his wristwatch: 1:30. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, questioning his decision for the one-hundredth time.

You still have time to change your mind.

"No," he said aloud and opened his eyes.

He stared across the room to the curio cabinet that he, Ron and Hermione had helped Mrs. Weasley and Sirius decontaminate three years before. He chuckled to himself when he thought of how Ron had become conspicuously absent when the spiders had been discovered. They all had their fears, and for Ron it had been spiders. For Harry, it was dementors. For Hermione, Harry guessed, it was bad marks.

The thought of Hermione with bad marks made him laugh out loud. He doubted that she had ever made so much as an O, the second highest grade, on anything. For Hermione, only the highest marks were acceptable. It had been no surprise to anyone that she had finished Hogwarts one week ago with the highest marks in their year. She had numerous job offers from prestigious magical institutions and think tanks. She was considering continuing her education at a magical university (they had all offered her full scholarships). He was not aware that she had accepted any offers. He had the impression that she was waiting for something, for an opportunity that would ignite her passion and curiosity and spark her intellect. Unfortunately, Harry didn't think even she knew what that opportunity would be, or if it even existed.

The day before at the Burrow, Hermione had found Harry sitting on a stone bench in the garden, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring into space, lost in thought.

"Harry?"

He looked up, saw her, and felt himself smile genuinely for the first time in a week. "Hey," he said as he scooted over to make room for her on the bench.

She sat down, draped her arm across his back, leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed heavily. "I am so tired."

"I know. Me, too." He held her other hand in both of his and they sat there in silence. She rubbed his back in small circles and whispered, "I can't believe he is gone. Don't you expect him to come bounding out of the house shouting for you to come play Quidditch?"

Harry smiled at her and nodded his head. He felt a twinge in his side and grimaced, straightening up. "Are you okay?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"Yeah, just a muscle spasm. They should go away in a week or so." He looked at her and saw such concern on her face that he almost broke down right there. He quickly looked down before he started crying and took a deep breath. "I'm going to London tonight to stay at Grimmauld Place. Are you staying here tonight?"

"Yes. Tomorrow I'm supposed to meet with my parents' lawyers to go over their estate. I put it off all year while I was in school. I can't put it off any longer."

"Then what?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "I don't know."

"Me either."

They sat there in companionable silence for quite a while, both too tired to move. Finally, Harry rose and extended his hands to help her up. "I need to go." He pulled her into a fierce hug which she returned. "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

"I love you, too."

Harry heard the door open and close and was startled out of his memory. Dumbledore walked into the drawing room waving his wand to turn on the lights. "Why are you sitting in the dark, Harry?"

"No reason."

Dumbledore noted Harry's trunk on the floor beside Harry's chair and Hedwig in her cage on top of it. "Going somewhere?"

"Holiday."

Dumbledore nodded his head. "That seems to be a popular idea."

"You gave me the idea yesterday."

"Did I, now?" He walked around and sat on the sofa opposite Harry. "And where are you going?"

"What do they call it? The land of the free? The home of the brave?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "The States?"

"I thought the 'land of the free' sounded like a good place to go, seeing as 'free' is not something I have ever really been."

"Harry, it is not good to wallow in self pity."

"I believe I am stating a fact. I wouldn't exactly consider the time I spent living in a cupboard with the Dursleys as 'freedom.' And I've been saddled with expectations from the moment I learned I was a wizard. I think a little 'free time' is just what I need."

"I couldn't agree more."

Expecting to have to convince Dumbledore, Harry stared at him dumbfounded. "You agree?"

"Of course. Remember, I am also going on holiday. It does a body good to have a little rest and relaxation. Not too bad for your mind either." Dumbledore smoothed his robes over his crossed legs and asked, "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as possible."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know."

Dumbledore paused as if not expecting that answer. "You don't know? Is this holiday indefinite?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders slightly in response.

"What does Ms. Granger think of your plans?"

Harry squirmed in his chair. "I haven't told her I'm going."

"Do you think it is wise to leave without talking to your best friend?"

At this question, Harry paused, deciding that the truth was always best with Dumbledore since he could read Harry's mind anyway. "I'm afraid if I talk to her I will change my mind," Harry said, looking straight into Dumbledore's eyes.

Comprehension of Harry's deeper meaning flickered across Dumbledore's face. "I see," Dumbledore said. He rose from the sofa. "I expect you will be needing transportation?"

"I was hoping you could help me with that."

"As a matter of fact, I can." He waved his wand at Harry's trunk, "Locomotor trunk," and he led Harry out of the house and down the steps. "I assume you have left everything in order."

"Yes, sir. I have made arrangements to deed Grimmauld Place over to Remus. I don't particularly need it, and he does. I have also opened an account at Gringotts with a substantial sum in your name."

At this Dumbledore stopped in his tracks and turned to Harry. "Money is not something I need or want, Harry."

Harry smiled and said a little sheepishly, "It isn't for you. I would like to give the money to Remus, but he would never take it. So I am leaving it for you in hopes that you will be able to find a way for him to have it without him realizing who it came from or why he's receiving it."

Dumbledore shook his head and continued walking across the square in front of Grimmauld Place. "Harry, I have known you for years and you still somehow manage to surprise me. I would be happy to be part of your benevolence and I have just the idea to make it work."

Harry smiled. "I knew I could count on you."

Dumbledore stopped in the street in front of a car that looked suspiciously familiar to Harry. "What do you think?"

"I think it looks amazingly like Dudley's car."

"Really? What a coincidence," Dumbledore said with a trace of a smile.

"What is it doing here?" Harry asked.

"It is your portkey."

Harry's mouth opened in astonishment. "You're joking, right?"

"On the contrary. Transatlantic travel is not easy. You cannot apparate because it is too far. Portkeys are limited by their size, the smaller the portkey the shorter distance. The larger the portkey...you get the idea. The biggest challenge with a large portkey isn't the magic; it is the uncertainty of where the portkey will land. Even the greatest of wizards will allow for a bit of a -- how should I say -- margin for error, when transporting something hundreds of miles." Dumbledore extended his wand to the car. "Portus. This should get you to the eastern United States, most likely Maine."

The slight twinge of guilt that Harry felt about stealing Dudley's car, his pride and joy, quickly faded upon remembering the abuse he suffered for years at the hands of Dudley and his aunt and uncle. Harry peered inside the car admiringly. Uncle Vernon had spared no expense in regards to his son's first car and as a result, the interior was top of the line: soft camel-colored leather seats, state of the art sound system, and many other features that Harry didn't know how to use or even what they were for. But he would be traveling in style at least.

"What are the chances it doesn't quite make it and I land in the ocean?"

Dumbledore considered for a moment. "With this distance? Fifty/fifty."

Harry's eyes grew wide as Dumbledore opened the boot of the car to load his trunk and Hedwig's cage. He opened the driver's door and motioned for Harry to get inside. Harry, who despite the luxury of Dudley's car, was rapidly considering flying on a muggle airplane, complied somewhat reluctantly.

"When you are ready, just press on the accelerator." Harry looked at him in confusion. "The pedal on the right. In the glove box, there is the name of a wizard friend of mine that lives in the States. If you need anything, he will help you." As an afterthought, Dumbledore added, "You might want to buckle up."

Harry hurriedly belted in and put his now sweaty hands on the wheel. He pulled two letters out of his back pocket and handed them to Dumbledore. "Would you give these to Remus and Hermione for me please?"

"As you wish."

Harry looked at him for a moment and stuck his hand out the window. "Thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore shook his hand. "Harry, I believe you have earned the right to call me Albus."

Harry smiled, put his hand back on the steering wheel and, taking a deep breath, pushed the accelerator.

Now, five years later, Harry and Hermione were standing beside the lake holding each other, taking the first step toward repairing the friendship that had been destroyed by that decision.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she cried. She had gotten so good at repressing her emotions that now that they were erupting, she couldn't control them. She felt the loss of Ron and the huge hole that his death had left in her life all over again. She also felt, thought not as strongly, the anger she had for Harry the last five years. However, the strongest emotion she felt at that moment was relief -- relief that she hadn't done anything to drive Harry away and relief that she had at least one of her best friends back.

But one thought kept nagging her in the back of her mind; he still hadn't told her why he hadn't written.

At the moment though, she didn't care. An unwelcome companion to repressed emotion was a necessary lack of attachment, emotionally and physically, to anyone. Being held and comforted by Harry made her realize, with some astonishment, how much she missed it. She couldn't deny to herself how nice it felt to be held like this, even if it was only Harry.

Hermione sniffed loudly and pulled away, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Sorry," she said, pointing to the huge tear-stained spot on the shoulder of his shirt.

Harry looked at her in amazement. "What for? I just asked you to forgive me for being the most insensitive prat in the world and you are apologizing for getting my shirt wet? I'm surprised you haven't jinxed me with jackass ears for the rest of my life. God knows I deserve them."

"You may still get them if you aren't careful," Hermione teased and sniffed again loudly. "If I forgive you, you have to promise me one thing."

"Name it."

"Don't you ever, EVER, make a decision like that without talking to me again," she said, poking her finger in his chest for emphasis.

Harry raised his arm in pledge. "I swear I will talk to you about everything. You are going to wish I would shut up I'm going to talk to you so much. I'm going to send you an owl every morning asking what I should wear that day. At meals, I probably will just let you put whatever you want me to eat on my plate. I will..."

"Okay, shut up. I get it," she said, trying not to smile.

They stood there, looking at each other awkwardly for a moment. What now, Hermione wondered. She could tell from Harry's body language that he was nervously thinking the same thing. How do you even begin to rebuild a friendship like theirs? Hermione was struggling between wanting to make Harry suffer a while longer for his absence and her desire to have the relationship they had before. They had been as close as two people could be on a platonic level. They could look at each other and know what the other was thinking without saying a word. As the awkward silence continued, they both looked around the grounds, across the lake, anywhere but at each other, their ability to read each other's thoughts lost, the comfortable companionship of long time friends gone. It suddenly became obvious to both of them that this rebuilding project was not going to be easy or quick

Finally, Harry said, "Can I join you while you finish your walk?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sure, if you think you can keep up!" And she turned and resumed her walk.

Harry caught up to her and said, "So, tell me about the last five years of your life."

Hermione's grin faltered a little. Just jump right in why don't you, Harry, she thought humorously. "Oh, it's been fairly boring, really. Just teaching a bunch of swotty kids how to change toothpicks into needles and working with the ABMB."

"Swotty kids? I always thought that you would be a great teacher. After all, you had plenty of practice tutoring everyone in Gryffindor for seven years. Don't you like teaching?"

"It has its moments. I love transfiguration; it is such a challenging subject. I am constantly learning, even now. But teaching does get monotonous. And I swear, the kids these days have no respect. There is no way we were that immature."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Harry smiled. "Tell me about the ABMB."

"I'm surprised Molly didn't mention it to you in her owls; she is very involved with it," Hermione said.

"She did mention it but didn't tell me much."

Hermione spent the next ten to fifteen minutes telling Harry all about the Association for the Betterment of Magical Brethren. Not long after Harry left for the States, Dumbledore approached Hermione and Remus Lupin about starting an association to improve relations between the wizarding world and their magical brethren such as house elves, giants, goblins, centaurs, werewolves and other magical creatures that had been oppressed for many years. In addition to improving relations, another goal of the ABMB was to educate the wizarding world about these misunderstood creatures, thereby promoting peaceful coexistence and ending rampant discrimination.

"Remus and I split the responsibilities. He is the liaison with the MB and I am in charge of educating the wizarding world. We have made great strides in the last five years. Dumbledore has been much more involved since he retired from Hogwarts four years ago. Having his support has helped further our cause tremendously."

Harry nodded his head. "Sounds like an all-encompassing S.P.E.W. I was happy for you when Molly told me what you were doing. I knew that you wanted to do something worthwhile after school. The ABMB sounds like it was a perfect fit."

Silence descended again. Hermione thought that Harry might have been waiting for her to ask about his time away. He was going to be waiting for a while. Naturally she was curious. However, she knew herself well enough to realize that she would not react well to hearing about the fun times he had in the States. She also knew that eventually she would have to deal with her resentment more fully, but now was not the time. He can work a little harder for a while, she thought.

Breaking the silence yet again, Harry said, "How do you handle all of the responsibilities of the ABMB and teach full time here at Hogwarts?"

"Time management and lots of lists, Harry," Hermione said. "Susan Bones came onto the ABMB when I took the job here at Hogwarts. She handles the day-to-day duties, but I'm still on the Board of Directors and am involved with developing the training."

"So what else do you do?" Harry asked.

She looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean 'what else'? I barely have time to get everything done in the day as it is!"

"Fun, Hermione," Harry said sarcastically. "What do you do for fun? Do you even have a social life?"

"Of course I have a social life, Harry," Hermione snapped. "I spend the holidays with the Weasleys and during the summers I travel with the ABMB and manage to squeeze in holiday along with that."

Harry threw his broom he had been carrying over his shoulder. "What about your love life?"

Hermione shrugged. "I've dated some but no one has really interested me."

"Anyone I know?" asked Harry.

"Of course you know Viktor. We've dated off and on, although he is much more interested in me than I am in him. There was this childhood friend, Simon. His father was one of my parents' lawyers. He bothered me for a year until I finally went out with him. He was so dull. I went out with Seamus a few times. And..."

"Finnegan?" Harry interrupted. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding. Why wouldn't I go out with Seamus?" she said indignantly. "He has become quite successful since we finished school. Not to mention that he's a great guy, too."

"He just never seemed to be your type," Harry countered.

"That is the whole point of 'dating' Harry, to figure out what your type is! We had a lot of fun. But I don't think he was that interested in me. I suspect that Neville put him up to asking me out."

"Why would Neville do that?"

"He and Ginny think I don't date enough. Why they care, I don't know," she said.

Harry waited a couple of beats and said, "I got the impression they don't think you are over Ron's death."

Great, Hermione thought. Harry is only back one day and already Ginny has recruited him to meddle in my love life, or lack thereof. Hermione looked at him icily and said, "They need to mind their own business," hoping that Harry would understand that 'they' meant him, too.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Harry asked quietly, "Are you?"

Apparently he didn't get the hint.

"What?"

"Over Ron's death?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Harry."

"Why not?"

Hermione stopped and faced Harry with her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. Did he really expect her to talk to him about this when he wasn't being completely honest and forthcoming with her? By the expression on his face, she suspected he did. Unbelievable, she thought.

"Harry, I'll make a deal with you." She crossed her arms. "You answer my question, I'll answer yours."

Harry grinned, looking very confident. "Okay, fire away."

"Why couldn't you write what you told me earlier? I've had plenty of time to think about why you left and I guessed most of what you told me. But there is clearly something you aren't telling me. What is it?"

The smile slid from Harry's face. Hermione smirked as she stood there and watched him struggle with what to say. I probably shouldn't be enjoying his discomfort this much, she thought a little guiltily.

When it became obvious that he wasn't going to answer, she said, "That's what I thought. You know, you're going to have to tell me eventually." From the stricken look on Harry's face Hermione knew that it wasn't going to be today. At once, the thought occurred to her that maybe she didn't want to know the entire truth, at least not right now.

She started walking backwards away from Harry and said, "Did I forget to mention that I run the final three laps around the lake?" She turned and started jogging away.

"See you at breakfast, Professor Potter!" she called over her shoulder with a wave.