4 a.m.

4 a.m.

It was a cool night. Chilly even, for mid-May, with an unfriendly breeze from the north. Harry walked meditatively, his steps slow and measured, under a dark sky. He was thinking.

Still thinking.

He'd been out here for close to an hour. It was perhaps 4 a.m. and London was in that deathly quiet phase after all the late partiers had returned home and none of the early workers had yet awakened. But Harry wasn't tired.

He kept thinking about Hermione. About what she'd said...wondering if it had been true. She'd never made any allusion to it when she'd been awake. Perhaps, maybe, it had just been a dream. Dreams weren't always logical.

But he was grasping at straws.

And as he continued down the street in no particular direction except away, one particular memory stuck out in his mind. It had been in late March. Hermione and he had been talking over a comfortable lunch in his flat, something they frequently did. That day had been different though. It'd been sunny--uncommon for London--and they'd had pasta salad--also uncommon--because Ron, who was usually with them, didn't like pasta salad. That day, however, Ron had been running an errand for his demanding boss and Hermione had been anxious to talk.

"Harry--" she'd begun hesitantly.

He'd looked at her, his fork poised in midair. "Yeah?"

"I--I think..." She'd played with fork, a nervous habit of hers. "I think Ron is going to ask me to marry him." Her brown eyes had met his.

He'd set his fork down. "Do you want him to?" he'd asked softly.

"I'm...not sure. Oh Harry, I love him, truly I do, but," she'd set her fork down as well and leaned forward, her expression suddenly clearing, her voice rapid and sure, "I'm not ready. I don't know why I'm so uneasy with the idea of marrying Ron but I just can't do it. Not right now. I'm not ready and I really don't think he is and oh, Harry, it really wouldn't be fair to him if I committed myself to something I wasn't certain about." Then, less surely, "Would it?"

And her eyes had gazed so solemnly into his and his stomach had knotted and his shoulders had tensed, a terse, inexplicable feeling overcoming him. It'd been an uncomfortable, uneasy sort of feeling, one that had set him on edge. He didn't understand it, nor its cause, and doing his best to shake it off, he took Hermione's hand and said reassuringly, "Don't worry about it Hermione. When it's the right time, you'll know it."

He had always known it, had always believed that Hermione and Ron were destined for each other. They had seemed the perfect couple and he'd earnestly wanted them to be happy--together. It was a little unexplainable, but Harry rather thought since they'd been together in the beginning, it only seemed right that they were together in the end. But...

Now he wondered. Would the time ever be right for them?

Harry closed his eyes and leaned against the side of a building. A café, h noted absently, one he often patronized since it was only a couple blocks from his flat. Now, though, it was dark and empty, reflecting the light of a nearby streetlamp.

Harry had never been one to begrudge his best friends their relationship. At first, naturally, he'd felt excluded and a bit left behind as his two closest friends had taken their relationship to a new level. Lonely, he'd sought his own female companionship and had, to his surprise, found Parvati Patil. The giggling girl he remembered from his early years at Hogwarts had been replaced by a sobered, slightly haunted sixteen-year-old. After losing her twin sister, Padma, to Voldemort their fifth year, Parvati had begun taking life more seriously and Harry discovered that they actually got along quite well.

Their relationship, one he still recalled with a smile, had come to a mutual end last month when Parvati, after five years of grieving, had finally decided to find a man who could help her forget. Harry, who bore even more emotional scars from the war than she, had agreed that he probably wasn't that man. He'd been feeling slightly adrift and off-balance lately, as well, as if he knew something was wrong but not quite sure what it was.

Pushing himself off the wall, he ambled down the sidewalk. It was a dark night, blanketed with darker shadows, but he wasn't worried. Muggle London was infinitely safer than Wizard London as long as he had his wand in his pocket. A simple defensive spell coupled with a mild Memory Charm would take care of any would-be mugger. Wizards were a different story. But Harry wasn't thinking about his safety as he strolled slowly back towards his flat. He was wondering what he would do or say when he saw Ron and Hermione again.

~

Ron, who was meanwhile sitting in the armchair opposite the sofa where Hermione was sprawled, was wondering the same thing.

He thought about the last five years he and Hermione had been together and wondered if her love for Harry had developed recently or long before.

He thought about the ring tucked in the carryall he'd brought to Harry's flat and wondered if that was why she'd turned him down.

He thought of his friendship with Harry and wondered if he would be able to let himself stand between them.

He thought Harry might not love her that way then wondered how anybody could not.

Ron sighed.

Hermione stirred on the couch, shifting to her side. Slowly, she awakened, her eyes fluttering open to find Ron staring at her in the dim glow of the lamp lighting the grayness of early morning. A small smile touched her lips.

"Hi," she said, sitting up and yawning sleepily.

"We need to talk."

--