Fallen Saint

"Do you have light with you? I had a light. It was a person, but I don't remember who. I'm still trying to find him. I remember tidbits about him, it was definitely a him, but I just don't remember who he was. I sort of miss him," I didn't even know what I was saying, but I didn't stop. It felt good to just talk, so openly, without interruptions or judgment. It didn't make a difference for Harry, though. I don't think he even heard me. He just kept whispering things over and over. I leaned closer to him, trying to decipher his words.

"... sorry... forgive me... Hermione... sorry... sorry..."

"You're sorry? What about Hermione?" I leaned in close, eager to learn more about Hermione, the person I am supposed to be.

"...my fault... sorry... come back...my fault... gone..." he whispered.

"Are you saying it's your fault?" I asked, trying to decipher his incessant whispers. He didn't answer, just kept whispering.

"Um, nod your head if the answer is yes," I directed, unsure of how to get him to answer. I had never dealt with a catatonic person before. Slowly, ever so slowly, his head began to bob up and down.

"It's your fault?" I repeated, wondering if someone had left out this bit of information when telling me about my past. Was Harry really to blame for Hermione's, or my, death? No, someone would definitely have said something. Unless he blamed himself...

He continued rocking back and forth, and I leaned back in my chair, studying him. His hair was mussed and his face pale - the contrast was shocking. He almost looked like a corpse - except for his eyes. They were emerald green, bright, but clouded. They fluttered around the room, and, for a moment, locked with my own.

"Harry," I whispered, trying to make him listen. I wasn't here to judge him; only to bring him back.

"Harry..." He didn't answer, but his eyes got a bit more focused, so I continued, "Harry, please say something. Everybody's worried about you. Ron is alone now, without you or Hermione. Sirius is beside himself, as well as Remus. Harry, don't you understand? Everyone looks to you as their savior, their only hope against Voldemort. I mean, I'm not saying that that is right or true, but it is what it is. If they find out you've gone crazy -" I bit my tongue, wishing to take back the words. Great way to help someone - tell them they're crazy.

Over the past two weeks since I had returned, I had quickly figured out the majority's views on Harry and Voldemort (that evil wizard). Ron filled me in on the past six years since he met Harry and Hermione (before I had made my announcement, at least), and Blaise mentioned Voldemort every so often, usually after some raid or attack or something.

Most of the Ravenclaws steered clear of that topic. They are kind of like Switzerland - completely neutral. Apparently, they had stayed fairly neutral at Hogwarts throughout Voldemort's first reign. When Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs decided it was time for a good Slytherin-bashing, Ravenclaws usually fled to the library.

On the contrary, Slytherins, especially Blaise, were very opinionated when it came to him, I soon found out. Most Slytherins (but not all) were for Voldemort and this new world he wanted, but Blaise wasn't 'most Slytherins'. According to her, Voldemort was a hypocrite - claiming only purebloods should live, but being a half-blood himself. Plus, she called him a stupid idiot (only with more, er, strong language) because he was being so loud and blunt with his fight. She felt it would be a lot more effective if it was a slow, discreet procession. She did have a point, although I really couldn't care any less about bloodlines. They didn't concern me (or so I thought). I was like most Ravenclaws: neutral. (Looking back, I realize I was young and foolish, but at the time... well, I was young and foolish.)

"... Harry, you need to come back. It wasn't your fault Hermione died. I'm sure she wouldn't blame you. You shouldn't blame yourself, either - no one else seems to," I waited for him to do something, anything. After a moment of silence other than his incessant mumbling, I stood up.

"Fine. You're a coward Harry, you know that? You're taking the easy way out. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," I sneered, angry not at Harry, but myself. I was taking the easy way out, and I knew it. I just didn't want to deal with it.

I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

*

The moment I left the dark room I regretted the words. I contemplated returning and apologizing to Harry, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was still angry and confused.

I began my walk to the Ravenclaw common room, my new house, contemplating, all the while, my entire stay at Hogwarts. It had been exactly two weeks, to the day, since I had turned up at, I now know as, Hagrid's hut.

I had stayed a week in the Hospital Wing, readapting to life. They had asked me tons of questions, tried to spark my memory by both magical and muggle means, and mostly just prepare the school for my arrival.

The Hogwarts staff and students, excluding Ron and Professors Lupin, McGonagall, and Dumbledore, had been told I was a transfer from a school in Canada whose parents had moved to London for work.

In order to keep people from realizing I was Hermione (sort of), Dumbledore had cast a glamour over my features. My eyes had remained the same, a chocolatey brown, but my facial features had changed drastically. My nose was smaller, more rounded - sort of mousy, even. My smile had changed, too, as well as my teeth. Hermione had had sharper teeth, but mine were more blunt, curved. Overall, the effect was a cute, 'next door neighbor' look. No one had noticed my resemblance to Hermione, though.

It's said the first day makes you or breaks you - I was on the lucky side. Most everyone accepted me, and none of the other houses have real qualms with Ravenclaw, so I was okay in that department. The Ravenclaws seemed a bit stiff at first, but turned out to be warm and inviting. I was taken under the wing of Cho Chang, a seventh year, but had somewhat left her guidance after the first day. She had introduced me to everyone in Ravenclaw in their sixth year, but it was up to me to make friends.

Ron hadn't spoken to me since I had told him I wasn't Hermione, that I wouldn't be Hermione, that I couldn't be Hermione. He had steadfastly ignored me in Transfiguration, and every time I saw him in the halls, he would walk the other way - no matter if it was the opposite direction he was heading. It had become a rather childish game - who could avoid the other the longest.

But I was busy enough with my classes, so I managed to put him out of my mind. I had only 'transferred' three days before, but, it being a Friday when I 'arrived', I had started classes today - Monday. Already I had gone to Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms. Luckily, it wasn't too hard to catch up to the class, but still, I was loaded with work. It kept my mind off Ron, at least.

I was jarred from my thoughts when I reached the trap door that leads to the Ravenclaw common room. The trap door was on the ceiling, too high to reach, but when one spoke the password it would drop down and become a flight of stairs. A quite ingenious invention, in my humble opinion.

"Jabberwocky," I said aloud, waiting for the door to open. A moment later stairs popped into existence, and I bounded up them quickly. Alynn, an outspoken Ravenclaw fifth year, had explained the significance of the poem Jabberwocky and it's creator.

Apparently, Lewis Carroll had actually been a wizard who had trapped himself inside a looking glass (which he wrote about in Through the Looking Glass). He had been a Gryffindor, an arrogant one at that, and it had taken his sister, a Ravenclaw, to get himself out of the mess with the mirror. Supposedly, it was a reminder to the Ravenclaws that, although Gryffindors are known for bravery (and fame), Ravenclaws are truly indispensable. How one could get all that from one word is beyond me, but who am I to judge their passwords?

I tiptoed through the common room, careful not to disturb anyone studying. Ravenclaws definitely lived up to their reputation of being studious, but they did know how to have fun. They had a great sense of humor and an incredible wit.

"Hey," I mumbled to Lisa who was sitting on the floor, Indian-style, surrounded by three tall piles of books. She said her greeting absently.

"What are you up to?" I asked, sitting down beside her. I picked up the nearest book, "Animagi Rules and Regulations: The Complete Guide to Animagi," I read off the cover. "What's this for?"

"Extra credit project for McGonagall," Lisa replied, scribbling something from another book onto a loose piece of parchment that sat in her lap atop, still, another book, "Incredibly boring, but it'll be useful if I plan to become an animagi after I graduate."

"Why don't you become one now?" I asked, curious as to why she would wait another two years before attempting.

"What?" she scoffed, "It's dangerous, not to mention illegal," she looked at me strangely, and I felt the need to argue my point.

"I'm sure I've heard of some people who have become animagi before graduating," I paused, trying to wrench the memory forward.

"Where did you hear that?" she replied, brushing a curly strand of dark brown, nearly black hair that had slipped out of her loose ponytail behind her ear.

"I must have read it somewhere," I shrugged when I couldn't remember and nibbled on my bottom lip. I watched Lisa work for a few minutes more, growing more bored every second, before she got sick of my impatient sighs and snapped the book shut, pushing the papers into a dark green binder.

"Fine, I'm done," she stood up, brushing her robes straight. She feigned annoyance, but her eyes lit up amusedly. "What was it you wanted?"

"Dinner - us - now." I spoke gutturally, reminding myself of a caveman - although, I don't remember ever hearing what one spoke like, I just sort of knew.

"Fine, let's go, Neanderthal," Lisa smirked, tossing her quill onto her bed and offering me her hand. I grabbed it, and she pulled me up and out the door.

The moment we walked in the door, I knew something was wrong. Everyone was subdued, and Professor Dumbledore was at the front of the room, speaking loudly but somberly.

We quietly approached the Ravenclaw table as Dumbledore finished his speech and returned to his dinner. Whispers erupted around us, and I found myself catching glimpses of the conversations.

"What's going on?" Lisa asked, and, after several attempts, someone finally stopped their yacking to explain.

"Something happened, Dumbledore won't say what, and now Harry Potter's gone psychotic or what not. Apparently, the 'illness,'" she held two fingers up and curled them over to indicate quotation marks, "he's had for the past week was all a lie. Harry Potter's been crazy for over a week. Do you realize what will happen when this gets out?" a short girl, probably second year, explained quickly, bouncing in her seat with ill-contained excitement. I forgot her name, but her face was familiar. She was a talkative girl, lots of friends, - one of the "Swans".

The first and second year girls had formed a sort of hierarchy. All the kin of the well-known families were "Swans", where the muggle-borns, half bloods, and anyone not wealthy were known as "Crows". Even here, it seemed prejudices abound - although, I don't remember my prejudices from before, I'm positive there must have been some.

It's strange, my memory. I remember nothing of the people or magical places from my previous life, but I know everything about the muggles and people from the past. I retained my memory of magical information (once it was sparked by Dumbledore's explanation), everything I had apparently learned was still there, but there seemed to be a mental block where it came to magical people and places. Strange thing, my mind.

"...talked to her yesterday.... She hasn't seen him since he first got 'sick.'" the "Swan" continued, doing the quotation marks gesture again on the word sick.

"Who?" I interrupted, ignoring the food that had appeared on the table and leaning over to hear the "Swan's" story.

"Ginny Weasley," she nodded, fluttering about the answers, "Very worried, she was. Can't imagine she's much better, now, after finding out her boyfriend has gone bonkers," she talked with an air of importance and understanding, but she seemed incredibly devoid of any genuine emotion.

"Who's Ginny Weasley?" I interrupted her again, and she threw me a nasty look for someone so young before answering.

"The youngest Weasley - over in Gryffindor, she is. Fifth year - her older brother is Ron Weasley - you know, Harry Potter's best mate. Just look over there, they all have got that flaming hair!" she pointed, rather rudely in my opinion, to the Gryffindor table and straight to Ron - but no, she wasn't pointing at Ron. She was pointing at the orange-haired, freckle-faced, fifteen year old next to him, who was pushing food around on her plate.

I nodded and left the subject alone. I served myself quickly, stuffed it in my mouth, and hurried out of the hall, hoping to catch Ginny Weasley as she was coming out of the Great Hall.

I ended up sitting out in the hall until the end of dinner, but finally I saw the person attached to the shocking flash of orange stand up and leave the table. She was headed my way, and I moved to greet her, but then realized I had nothing to say. What was the point of talking with her? She knew as much as I did. Dumbledore hadn't told anyone what caused this bout of catatonia or how long he expected it to last.

I retreated quickly, slinking into the shadows until she passed. I hurried down the opposite hall, hoping no one perceived me as a stalker. That would be ever so grand - note the sarcasm.

I wandered through the halls, wasting time before curfew and looking for something (anything) to do. Halloween was in three days (not counting today), on Thursday, but they were letting all the sixth and seventh years out early for a special party. I had already picked out a costume from Cho's extensive wardrobe. She had lent me one of her old ones (or one she had come across, but hadn't worn yet - I wasn't sure) so I wouldn't have to go buy one on such short notice.

The party wasn't anything too special, just a dinner in the Great Hall with a bit of music. First through fifth years were having dinner in their common rooms (and a mini-party), so the faculty had time to prepare and decorate. Dumbledore had insisted on some sort of event - a small pick-me-up for everyone because of the depressing days ahead (and behind).

Still, everyone old enough to attend was looking forward to it. Apparently, it was the big social event of the year. My thoughts led me straight to the mural of the castle. Cautiously, I lifted my hand to the painted door, rapping on it three times. As I expected, it morphed into a door and before I knew what I was doing, I was inside the dark room.

Harry was humming to himself, but today he was curled up on the couch, not at the table like before. I walked over to him silently and sat beside him. He didn't do anything to acknowledge my presence, but I spoke to him anyway.

"I'm sorry about last time. I was scared... and confused," I shrugged, "I was angry with Ron and sick of myself. Hermione was so great, and I'm not her. How can I fill the shoes of a person who left such a big imprint on everyone and everything? People don't talk about her often, but when they do - it's unbelievable how many people she impacted in one way or another," I paused, "She was a great friend, wasn't she?"

The room remained silent, except for the steady ticks of the clock on the opposite wall. The dying embers of a fire provided warmth, but there were no crackling flames to give light. How could Harry stand it here, in this world of darkness?

"She was perfect."

I looked up, startled. I hadn't said that - Harry had. He made no move, he gave no sign, but he had said it. I know he had.

"So they say," I laughed bitterly, but then guilt overrode my jealousy. Why in the world would I be jealous of a dead person? Myself, even? It was ludicrous, but that's me for you.

"Harry," I began carefully, "was she really that great?"

"She was perfect," he repeated, "Her and Ron deserved so much more than me. I was 'The Boy Who Lived' - and they were 'The Boy Who Lived's Friends'. But they weren't - they were always so much better than me. I'm famous because I lived and that's just- just - stupid," he hesitated for a moment, "She would still be here if I had just died that night."

I didn't say anything, too lost in my thoughts to notice Harry had stopped speaking. Finally, coming to a conclusion, I brought my head up and looked straight at him.

"Harry, everyone thinks you're so great, right? Because you lived," I asked, working my way to my point. He didn't answer, but I knew he heard me. "And you don't think it's fair, right?" a pause for an answer that never came, "So why should everyone think Hermione is so great just because she died?"

This time he did look up. He reacted, and I wanted to jump and shout and cheer. I didn't remember him from before, but I still loved him like a brother. My memories might have fled, but my feelings had remained - and seeing him as he was before ... it was heart-wrenching.

"I'm not good at explaining this," I apologized, "but why should we shout to the heavens about Hermione just for dying?" I realized how rude I must have sounded, and tried to atone for my bluntness, "Jeez, I'm not saying this right. I mean," I stuttered and snapped my mouth shut, accepting the fact that I was less than skilled with words.

"I suppose you're right," he conceded. After a pause, he added, "She was a bit bossy. And a bit, er, eccentric when it came to school."

"See, Harry," I said, "she wasn't perfect, but that doesn't mean you should care about her any less. She was human - just like me or you."

I leaned back on the couch, relaxing and letting my eyes close for a moment. The beginnings of a headache were brewing near my temples, and I gently massaged them. Harry had gone quiet, but his eyes were alert - at least he wasn't catatonic.

After a moment's rest, I asked, "So, are you ready to go be a hero, again?"

*

"How do you measure - measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets,

in midnights, in cups of coffee,

in inches, in miles,

in laughter, in strife?"

"How do you measure the life of a woman or man?

In truths that she learned,

or in times that he cried?

In the bridges he burned

or the way that she died?"

"Let's celebrate,

remember a year in the life of friends."

Title: Seasons of Love

Rent

*

"Professor McGonagall," I knocked on her door, and she glanced up sharply from her seat behind her desk, where she had been grading papers or something of that sort. The chalkboard behind her was filled with notes for the fourth year class that had just concluded. I flinched slightly at her cold gaze, but it warmed when it landed on me.

"Yes, Her- Harley?" she almost slipped, but recovered nicely, "Did you need something?"

"Harry's all right, now," I said bluntly (I didn't know how to bring the subject up), and the pen that was in her right hand clattered to the floor. I looked behind me, and, sure enough, Harry had walked into the room. His face was still pale, but the tiniest hint of color was returning to his cheeks. He looked like a pencil, and his clothes hung off him like rags, but he was okay. That was the important part. He smiled timidly, and McGonagall jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking it over in her rush. She enveloped him in a tight, unprofessional hug. She released him a moment later, muttering an apology.

"Professor, do you know where Remus, I mean, Professor Lupin and Sirius would be?" Harry asked. I briefly wondered if I'd get to see Sirius, because I had heard so much about him.

"I imagine Sirius is in Hogsmeade, but Professor Lupin is probably in his classroom. Mind you, he does have a class, so don't even think about bursting in there!" McGonagall smiled affectionately and rested her hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's good to see you back, Harry," she said quietly. Her eyes traveled across his face, and everyone remained quiet for a few minutes. Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke, "I'll get Professor Lupin and Sirius. You two just stay here, all right?"

We nodded, and she left quickly, closing the door securely behind her. I heard her cast a simple locking charm, before her footsteps trailed off down the hall. Harry and I didn't speak until her return fifteen minutes later with Professor Lupin, Professor Dumbledore, and a large, shaggy dog.

"Harley, you can return to your dorms. It's way past curfew, and you do have classes tomorrow," Professor Dumbledore excused me, and I left quietly without argument. They wanted to be alone, but that was understandable. Plus, I was exhausted with the night's excursions.

I made it back to the Bird's Nest - the colorful name given to Ravenclaw's tower - in record time and climbed into bed, taking time only to change into pajamas. It seemed that the moment my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.

*

The three days leading up to the Halloween party flew by in a flash of cheers, tears, and 'welcome back's. Harry made his appearance at breakfast the next morning, and everyone loved him again. No one even mentioned his little bout with insanity - well, no one but the Slytherins.

Ron had kept his mouth shut about the Hermione/Harley deal, but he still gave me the silent treatment. Harry must have noticed it, but he didn't say anything. Harry still flashed me small smiles, as continuous thanks, although it was a silent gratitude.

Ron was looking happier, now that Harry was back, but he still had that lost look in his eyes. I wondered if he'd always had it since Hermione's death, or if her/my reappearance had triggered it.

It's strange, what I'm doing. I talk about Hermione as if she isn't me, which in a way she is and in a way she isn't. I am in Hermione's body, and I have her knowledge and feelings - but not her memory. Where, as Harley, I have Harley's memories and thoughts - but her feelings blend with Hermione's so that they are one set of emotions.

I think the reason I wanted to be Harley so badly, was not only because I was afraid of living up to the expectations that were Hermione, but also because I was coping with my own death. By thinking of myself and my death abstractly, as if it was someone else, I could see it clearly. But when I think of it as my death, it gets fuzzy - the line between reality and insanity. Because, what is insanity but the lack of reality?

I shook my head free of all thoughts, gazing at myself in the full-length mirror in my dormitory. I had finished getting ready early, so I examined my appearance. It being a Halloween party, costumes were mandatory. So I wore a medieval style dress. The underskirt was a silky off-white material that swished whenever I walked. The shirt beneath the dress matched the underskirt in material, and the collar of the shirt was low and square-shaped. The dress piece was a dark blue with an undertone of violet. The front and back tied at the shoulders, as did the sleeves to the body of the dress. The sleeves were large, but did not reach to my hands, instead stopping just below my elbows and flaring out. The off-white undershirt's sleeves were visible beneath the dress' sleeves. The front was laced up from the belly button to a few inches short of the collar. The skirt of the dress was floor-length and opened to show the underskirt beneath it. The waist was high, which therefore made the skirt appear longer.

"What are you supposed to be?" Lisa asked as she pulled on a pair of tall, white boots. She wore a vibrant orange dress that stopped mid-thigh, and her dark hair fell just past her chin.

"Did you get a haircut?" I asked, forgetting to answer her question and for the first time, noticing her short locks. She brought a hand up to her hair, fingering a strand and biting her lip.

"Does it look okay?" she asked nervously, tilting her head to the side while she inspected her new hairstyle in a small mirror that hung above her bed.

"It's really cute," I watched her for a minute, before returning to my own reflection.

"So, what are you supposed to be?" she repeated her question.

"The Lady of the Lake or Morgan le Fay, your choice," I replied, smoothing out the skirt of my dress.

"Original," she complimented, "Now turn around; let me see what you've done with your hair and face." She directed, and I spun around at her command. I hadn't applied much make-up. Only a light gold eye shadow, a hint of blush, and clear lip-gloss decorated my face, and I thought it looked simple, but still elegant. My hair, which usually dropped below my shoulders, was pulled back into a bun that sat high on my head. Again, nothing extravagant, but still nice. I wasn't drop-dead-gorgeous, or even beautiful, but I was pretty, at least for tonight.

"So? How is it?" I asked when I received no evaluation. Lisa's mouth was hanging open in a small 'O', and her fingers were resting on her bottom lip. I asked, "What? Is it that horrible?"

I looked around. Now, Padma and Mandy were staring at me with similar expressions on their faces.

"What?" I demanded, getting slightly annoyed. I didn't think I looked that horrid, but from their expressions you'd think I was a hag or something equally ugly.

Lisa was the first to break the silence. She shook her head slightly, staring at the floor, and then she looked up. Her face had paled, as if she had seen a ghost - not that it was entirely uncommon at Hogwarts (correction: if a muggle had seen a ghost).

"You just look like her so much," Lisa replied faintly, "It was just... shocking."

"Like who?" I asked, wondering what could emit such a reaction from all three girls. They didn't reply, just continued to stare, so I prodded, "Like who?"

"Hermione," Mandy mumbled, "You look so much like her - the color, that blue - just like the Yule Ball..." she trailed off, biting her quivering lip. Had Hermione and Mandy been good friends?

"I do?" I asked, confused. I quickly glanced into the mirror - the spell was still in place.

"No, you don't, but - you do," Lisa tried to explain, "Like, looking at your features all separately - you don't look like her at all, but the whole effect ... I don't know..."

"It's the eyes," Mandy spoke up, her voice catching in her throat, "The eyes, and the hair - just like the Yule Ball - and the color of the dress..."

"Maybe I should change..." I reluctantly turned toward the bathroom to take off the beautiful gown, but Lisa grabbed my arm.

"No," she shook her head; "You look great. Don't change."

I watched her for a moment, before nodding my head. I wouldn't change. Lisa walked over to her jewelry box on her bedside table and rummaged through it for a moment, before pulling out a rope of small pearls on a golden necklace. It was short and simple, except for the strand of three pearls, probably each a centimeter below the one above, that dropped down.

"Here, it'll look great," she spun me around and clasped it together in the back. Her hands were shaking slightly, and I was left once again to wonder at the impact Hermione had had on people.

"Just don't lose it!" she warned and pulled me around to face her again. She grinned, "You look wicked. You'll knock 'em dead!"

*

I stepped out of the light from the hallway and into the darkness of the Great Hall, nervously fiddling with my fingers. Blaise was behind me with her long-time boyfriend, Andrew Montague. The Ravenclaw girls had simply taken too long getting ready, so I had left in search of Blaise, who I quickly found. Unfortunately, she had been with Pansy Parkinson (don't even get me started on her) who clung to Draco Malfoy like a leech. Still, I would rather walk in with Blaise and her crew than by myself.

Blaise, Draco, and Pansy's reaction had been similar to Lisa's. Blaise's eyes had widened and a strange look crossed her face, which she still hadn't lost. Draco had mumbled about 'Mudblood look-alikes, and Pansy had just stared. They had quickly gotten over their shock, and had returned to calling me 'bird-brain'. Blaise, thankfully, had told Pansy to stuff it. Surprisingly enough, Pansy listened, although not without much grumbling.

We split up quickly; the Slytherins moving to a table in the back, leaving myself to search for familiar faces. I spotted Cho and started toward her, but someone grabbed my arm. I spun around and was surprised to find Ron standing behind me. He didn't speak for a moment, and I just stood there, waiting for him to make a move.

"Hermione?" his voice was so small, so insecure. He sounded like a child lost in a supermarket.

"Ron, I'm -" I stopped. The look in his eyes; it was so lonely, scared - lost. "Hermione. I'm Hermione," I finished. If I couldn't give him Hermione forever, at least I could give him a few hours.

He took a sharp breath and timidly lifted his hand to my face. I knew I didn't look like Hermione, and I wished I could drop the spell - if only for Ron's eyes. A crazy thought invaded my mind.

"Ron, follow me!" I grabbed his hand and dragged him out the Great Hall and up a flight of stairs. I made my way to the Transfiguration classroom, which was right above the Great Hall. The music from below could still be heard in the empty room. I shut the door and told him to turn around. I quickly floated the desks toward the edges of the room, creating a space just big enough for one couple to dance in.

"Caché Visage," I mumbled, pointing my wand at the tip of my nose. An itchy feeling washed over my face and hair, and I knew the counter-spell had worked. I looked like Hermione again. I requested, "Turn around, Ron."

He turned around slowly, and I heard his breath catch in his throat. He didn't blink for five minutes straight. He only stared at me. Finally, he scrambled across the room and embraced me. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of Ron's arms wrapped around me. He smelled of peppermint and cologne.

"I've missed you so much, so much, Hermione," he whispered and I felt a pang of guilt. After tonight, Hermione would be gone. Which would be worse - having Hermione for a night and losing her again or not having Hermione at all? I wished I didn't have to make that decision, but it was too late now.

A slow song began to play in the Great Hall, and he slipped his arms around my waist, rocking slowly to the beat. I entwined my fingers together around his neck and laid my head against his chest. I could hear his heart beating rapidly and feel his chest rising with every breath.

The song ended way too fast for my liking, but he didn't let go of me. I looked up, locking my eyes with his blue ones. Before I realized what was happening, his lips were on mine. It was a chaste, gentle kiss, but it left my lips tingling and my knees weak. The strange thing was his lips touching mine felt so familiar.

"We've done that before, haven't we?" I whispered, holding onto his shoulders for support. He mumbled a yes, kissing my cheek, then my forehead. He pulled back suddenly.

"What?" I asked, worried I had done something wrong. He lifted his finger to my forehead and traced the scar.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, letting his hand drop to his side.

"It's not your fault," I replied, hoping he wouldn't pull a 'Harry' on me. I don't think I could have handled it right then.

"I know," he said, "I've missed you."

"It's been a year," I stated, not quite sure what to say.

"Twelve months," he replied quietly, making small circles on my back with his fingers.

"Three hundred and sixty-five days," I replied, grinning slightly. I felt so safe in his arms - I never wanted to leave.

"A bazillion classes," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, "All of which you missed. Tsk, tsk."

"An entire year," I repeated.

He pulled me closer, "It felt longer."