Love's Greatest Sacrifice

That night, Hermione had been ready for the ghost. She had spent hours taking calming breaths, and hoping she would not lose her nerve to ask him why he was there. She twirled her wand between her fingers, just in case.

After some time, the air around Hermione had become thick with small, floating ice crystals. Somewhere to her side, the whispering began; This time, she listened. She could just barely catch a single word, but the word was "death."

The whispering stopped once the boy appeared. He stooped down and brushed the side of her face with his icy fingers. They rested on her cheek for a few seconds, sending chills down her spine that resonated inside of her and settled in the very center of her heart. Then the boy stood to his full height and evaporated into the frosty air.

While he had not said much, she now knew what the uneasy feeling inside of her heart was: dread.

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Ron was so relieved to see her alive and well at breakfast that he did not notice her deep-set eyes or her mournful expression.

"So what did he say?" he asked eagerly. "Anything important?"

At that, enormous tears came rolling down Hermione's cheeks.

"What is it?!" he gasped. "Did he hurt you?!!"

Ron had lunged across the table and grabbed her quivering wrists. Hermione simply shook her bushy brown head and continued crying.

Harry, looking utterly frightened, asked, "What on earth is going on?!!"

"I... don't know," said Ron, sharing Harry's panic stricken look.

"Hermione? Why-"

Hermione leapt to her feet and dashed out of the Hall, tears spilling onto the floor and creating a small, glistening trail.

Ron and Harry sprinted after her, attracting quite alot of attention as they burst the massive doors open and followed the tiny droplets up the stairs.

She was found on a couch in the common room, rocking back and forth with her feet tucked under her.

She had to be stronger than this, she thought. It might not even mean anything. For the first time she wished with all of her heart that she was crazy. That she had invented this boy, that it was just a manifestation of her greatest fears.

Hermione felt the familiar repression of her unwanted thoughts taking place again.

"Sorry. We have to get to class." she said as she wiped her eyes with her palms.

"Hermione! Are you going to tell us-"

"We have class," she said, trying to restrain more tears. "I'll tell you later."

Irrationality was something that Hermione despised. Now that she understood the intense feelings behind it however, she despised it even more. It made you act so emotional, so determined, so out-of-control without any factual basis, she thought.

As she strode down to class with Harry and Ron trailing behind her, she made up her mind that the ghost was just a ghost. One that had suffered a grisly demise and had not gotten over it. Now he was pestering her about something that probably happened to him two hundred and fifty years ago. Well, she was not going to let some phantom make her think someone she knew was going to die. She couldn't believe she had let go this far without slapping some sense into herself. She would tell him to leave her alone, and if that didn't work, she would just have to tell a teacher and get the poor ghost removed from Hogwarts. It would serve him right, though, she thought bitterly. Scaring people like that. He should know better.

As usual, the repression of unsolicited doubts quickly followed.

At lunch, Ron beckoned Hermione over to him before she could enter the Great Hall. He led her to a niche under the stairs.

"What is it?" she hissed.

"Hermione, something happened. You said you would tell me later, and now it's later."

Ron nervously placed an arm around her, then, feeling awkward, drew it away. The loss of contact made Hermione want to cry again, and this time she did not try to hold back her irrational feeling- At least for a few seconds. She wrapped an arm around his waist and buried her face in his chest. It felt so warm that she wanted to be there for the rest of her life. This thought however, brought up more of the unwanted ones. Well, slightly unwanted. She prepared to release him, but found that he would not release her. Instinctively, she raised her head. Stop not thinking! she told herself. But there was no time to think.

She raised her head further and inclined it as Ron, trembling, closed his eyes and brushed her mouth with his.

His lips were warm, his breath was warm, but all throughout Hermione's body spread a penetrating cold. She felt the center of her heart pulsate painfully and fill with dread.

Hermione now knew who the ghost-boy was.

It was Ron.