The Coin

A canopy of stars blanketed the night sky as Harry and Hermione hurried along the nearly deserted London street towards her flat. While they had been dining, a chilly wind had sprung up, dropping the temperature several degrees. Harry glanced down at Hermione, who was huddled beneath his arm as they rushed to escape the wind that was now violently whipping around them. He knew conversation would be futile as anything he said would be carried away on the wind.

Stopping abruptly, he turned Hermione to face him and yelled down at her, "Let's make a run for it, Hermione!"

"What?" she shouted, pushing her hair back from her eyes as another stiff wind blew a large chestnut lock across her face.

"Run!" shouted Harry again.

When Hermione nodded her understanding, Harry grabbed her hand and took off running wildly to her flat, pulling her along behind him. The mad dash gave Hermione a unexpected case of the giggles. Looking back at her, Harry was struck by the absurdity of the situation. The wild wind whipping about them, their mad dash to escape it and Hermione’s uncontrollable glee all combined to cause him to burst out in his own fit of mirth.

As they reached the door to her flat, Harry didn't bother with her key, instead muttered a hasty "Alohomora" and pulled Hermione through the door, closing out the howling wind.

Breathless and giggling, Hermione pushed her tangled hair from her face. Harry was bent over, struggling to regain his breath and his composure.

“What’s with the sudden freak windstorm? I thought we’d get blown away,” he huffed breathlessly.

“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Hermione giggled.

"Why didn't we just Apparate here...wouldn't that have been much simpler?" he asked, taking off his glasses and wiping tears from his eyes, which was either caused by his mirth or the wind, he wasn't sure which.

"Well," Hermione began, wiping her own eyes, "I've chosen to live among the Muggles, and if we started Apparating and Disapparating all over the place, we'd cause a riot. We'd have to employ Memory Charms, left and right."

Still smiling, Hermione walked over to Harry and began to smooth back his dark hair. Unruly on a good day, it was now wildly sticking out in all directions because of the windstorm.

As she ran her fingers through his hair to restore some semblance of order, she gazed up into his gleeful green eyes. Suddenly the laughter faded away, replaced by an entirely different feeling. One that took them both completely by surprise.

The sensations he had felt when he had wiped away the whipped cream from her face earlier came flooding back. A sudden electric tension filled the room. Hermione's hands ceased their ministrations in his hair and came to rest on his shoulders. She looked up into the eyes of her best friend and couldn’t believe what she saw there. Harry was about to kiss her. It surprised her even more to realize that she had never wanted anything more.

Not stopping to contemplate the wisdom of his actions, Harry placed his hands on her waist and drew her closer. He slowly lowered his mouth to hers until their lips met in the softest of touches. Harry began a tentative exploration of her mouth, giving and receiving soft, sweet, short kisses. As wonderful as he found those sweet kisses to be, Harry soon knew he wanted more. He pulled back only far enough to gauge her reaction. The look in her eyes was all the encouragement he needed. Claiming her mouth once again, their previous soft, sweet kisses soon turned into longer, drugging ones. When Hermione opened her mouth under the assault of his, Harry groaned, exploring the sweetness that she offered.

The rational side of Harry's brain screamed at him... This is Hermione! Your best friend! What do you think you’re doing? You shouldn't be feeling these things for her…kissing Hermione like this is wrong!

But as she aligned her body to his, her mouth trailing slow, sensual kisses from his jaw down his neck, Harry knew nothing had ever felt more right. He also knew he had to stop this...now, before he lost all control. And if she didn't stop nipping along the muscles in his neck, that time would come sooner than he wished.

"Hermione, stop," he rasped, grasping her upper arms and pushing her slightly away.

Big, brown eyes looked up at him, dazed and confused. Her lips were swollen from their kisses; her breathing labored and irregular. Harry's breathing wasn't exactly even, either. Taking a few deep breaths, Harry took Hermione's hand and led her to the couch, sitting down facing her.

For long minutes, he looked down at the hand that he held. He tried to formulate what he would say, attempting to make sense of the emotions that were raging through him. Finally, he looked up into Hermione's troubled eyes, which still shone with passion.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” Harry began tentatively. “That shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I don’t know what I was doing kissing you like that. You’re the best friend that I have. The one person I can depend on most in all the world…even more than Ron. I don’t know what possessed me. My only excuse is that when I saw you standing there, looking up at me…I’ve never seen you look more beautiful. I couldn’t help myself; I had to kiss you.” Harry stuttered to a stop, not knowing what else to say, not knowing how to explain the myriad of feelings still coursing through him.

At Hermione‘s bewildered expression, he tried again. “I’m not doing such a good job at this, am I? Maybe, it’s that it’s been a year since I broke up with Emily, and I haven’t really dated since then.”

“And, I was handy, so you thought you’d release some of your sexual frustration on me?” she asked in a small, hurt voice.

“No, it’s not like I’m some hormonal teenager looking to get lucky or some frustrated wizard looking to get, er, well…” Harry blushed deeply. “I wanted to kiss you, Hermione. More than I’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone before.”

“I wanted you to kiss me too, Harry. I can’t explain why. All of a sudden, after all these years, I wanted to kiss you more than I wanted my next breath. I loved Ron, but he never made me feel the way you just did. His kisses were nice, but in the five years we dated, they never left me wanting more. But almost from the moment that kiss began, I wanted nothing more than for you to lead me to my bedroom and make love to me. I still do.” It was Hermione’s turn to blush with that confession. “And that’s not something I’d ever take lightly.”

“But what if you regretted it tomorrow, Hermione?” questioned Harry.

“What if I don’t?” she countered

Harry closed his eyes to block out the pleading look that he saw in hers and asked instead, “What if you woke up in the morning and were sorry that we made love? What would happen then? How could our friendship survive that?” he asked her in an anguished voice. “Look how long it took you and Ron to make up and become friends again. And you’re both still a little bitter towards each other. I couldn’t live without you in my life for a year. The risk is too great to take that chance.”

“Harry,” she took her free hand and stroked his cheek gently. He opened his eyes to look at her. “I didn’t wake up this morning and say, ‘Hermione, you’re going to kiss your best friend senseless today.’ Maybe it was that old woman in the restaurant saying she’d never seen two people so in love as us that made me think.”

“The old lady that you were talking to when I was getting our coats?” he interrupted.

“Yes, she just wanted to tell me what a lovely couple we made. And she went on about us being ‘the Ones’.” Hermione shook her head at Harry’s confused look “I don’t know, it was all so confusing. It is all so confusing. Maybe she could see something that we can’t, that we’re too close to see. All I know is that it made me think what it would be like to be with you, in that sense, like a couple in love rather than a couple of friends. If the way you just made me feel is any indication, we could be phenomenal together. I’m not talking about just physically, either. There’s so much between us. Am I wrong in thinking that you felt that too? Was that kiss special or something you’ve felt with lots of other witches?” Hermione asked, the look in her eyes begging him to tell her it was as special as she thought it was.

“I’m not going to sit here and tell you I haven’t had satisfying physical relationships with other witches,” Harry admitted. “But best friends are harder to come by than willing bed partners, Hermione, and you’re the best one I’ve got. I’m not willing to trade one night’s pleasure for a lifetime of friendship.” As tears burned her eyes, threatening to spill over, Harry added, “I think I‘d better go. I‘ll talk to you soon.”

Harry looked into Hermione’s eyes for a long moment, his eyes still burning with the passion that she had inexplicably fired in his soul. Giving her one last look filled with regret, he placed a gentle kiss to her forehead, stood and Disapparated.

Sitting there alone, tears glistening in her eyes but refusing to fall, Hermione listened as the wind battered a tree branch against her windowpane. But the fury of the wind was only a gentle breeze compared to the feelings of anguish and loss howling through her soul.

^*^*^*^*^*

The next morning, Hermione sat at the small oak table in her cozy breakfast nook, sipping her tea and nibbling halfheartedly on a piece of dry toast. A book lay open in front of her, but the words swam as she tried to focus her bleary eyes on the text. Her refusal to let the tears fall, as well as the sleepless night, combined to make her feel as if she had rubbed her eyes with a handful of sand. Closing the book in disgust, she pushed back from the table and rose with a huff. Stomping over to the couch, she flung herself down onto the cushions with a heavy sigh, barely missing sitting on Crookshanks. He miaowed his displeasure as he hopped down, flounced over to a patch of sunlight pouring in the window and flopped himself down, slitting his eyes and glaring disdainfully back at her.

Was she merely mad or utterly unhinged? What had she been thinking? Harry was her best friend, and she had kissed him. Kissed him? No, that had been a good bit more than a kiss they had shared last night. That had been a prelude to sex. No, not sex, Hermione thought, making love. It definitely would have been making love…with her best friend. She was utterly, certifiably, and justifiably insane. That’s all there was to it. Whatever had possessed her?

Harry. At the first touch of his lips, she had been lost. Never before had she been so swept away by a tidal wave of emotion. She had been kissed before, but never like Harry had kissed her last night. She and Ron had shared many kisses in the five years that they had dated, but she had never gotten that weak-in-the-knees, I-want-to-devour-you, please-don’t-ever-stop kind of feeling. No, that was evidently reserved for her best friend. And that was the most insane thing of all. Why now? Why all of a sudden? Shouldn’t she have felt these things for Harry before now, if he was meant to be the one?

“Ugh,” Hermione groaned in exasperation, causing Crookshanks to open his eyes and blink disdainfully at her for disturbing his slumber. Picking up a pillow from the sofa, she hurled it across the room to thump soundlessly against the wall and fall to the floor. “Oh, that was quite helpful and extremely mature, Hermione.” She shook her head at herself in disgust.

Drawing her legs up under her, she grabbed a piece of parchment and quill she always kept laying on the table beside the couch and began to write.

Okay, you seem to have developed feelings for your best friend and he seems to reciprocate them, though he’s afraid that it might ruin your friendship if he gives in to them. So do you (a) tell him he’s a stupid git, confront him with the feelings and try to convince him that exploring those feelings might be the best thing that ever happened to both of you, (b) wait for him to realize he’s a stupid git for walking out last night and to come to beg you for a chance to see where the kiss that you shared will lead, or (c) pretend last night and the kiss never happened and go back to the status quo.

Hermione bit the end of her quill pensively.

“Well “c” ’s definitely out,” she told the sleeping Crookshanks. “It would take a powerful Memory Charm to make me forget that kiss, and I don’t think anything will ever be status quo between us again. If I choose “b” and wait on Harry, I might be too old too enjoy it if we ever do get around to making love. So “a” is the only logical answer, right Crookshanks?” asked Hermione, looking over at her cat who looked back at her inquisitively.

Meow, answered Crookshanks, blinking up at her. Rrreow, he added, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re right, of course, I shouldn’t call him a stupid git for walking out. That would definitely start the conversation out on the wrong foot. But I will tell him I think we owe it to ourselves to take the chance and explore these feelings.”

Crookshanks blinked in agreement.

Her decision made, Hermione rose to dress for the day when her phone rang. She grabbed it on the third ring. “Hullo?”

“HERMIONE. IT’S RON.”

Hermione closed her eyes in exasperation, shaking her head. “Ron, you do not have to shout into the phone. Really, you’d think after all this time, you’d have learned that,” Hermione admonished, still not feeling very charitable towards him anyway.

“Sorry, Hermione,” he said sheepishly in his normal tone of voice. “I don’t use these things often enough to remember that and besides if you’d let me owl you, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You know why,” Hermione began but Ron cut her off.

“I’ve got something I’m dying to tell you,” he interjected excitedly.

Hermione’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she asked, “About the floozy, er witch, you threw me over for last night?”

“She isn’t either of those things,” he began defensively. “Actually she’s a Muggle. She’s very sweet and very important to me.”

Hermione was struck silent by the sincerity in Ron’s voice.

“Hey, Hermione, you still there?” he asked when the silence on her end lengthened.

“Yeah, Ron. I’m still here. Tell me about her,” she requested.

“I will, but not over the phone. I want you and Harry to meet me for lunch.” Before Hermione could protest that her new job wouldn’t allow for the time, Ron pleaded, “I know you’re busy, and I’ll choose somewhere close to your work. Please, Hermione. This is really important to me.”

“All right, I’ll meet you. Are you going to owl, Harry?” she asked.

“Yeah, I will. We’ll meet you at that little café right around the corner from your work about noon.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll see you there,” she replied.

“Hey, Hermione,” Ron added before she could hang up the phone. “I really am sorry about last night. If it hadn’t been important, I would have never blown you off,” he said in a genuine tone. “I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

“See you there.” Hermione hung up the phone and glanced up at the clock on the wall, the hands pointed at “late for work”.

“Wonderful, get a promotion and you’re late the first day. Way to make an impression, Granger.”

Hurrying to her bedroom, tossing her pajamas off along the way, she resolutely pushed aside thoughts of Ron’s important news, intriguing though it was. She wouldn’t even let the thought of what she would say when she saw Harry at lunch enter her mind. Work had to take precedence. Thoughts of Harry and her newly awakened feelings for him would have to wait until she had time to deal with them.

^*^*^*^*^*^*

The morning flew by in a rush, people in and out of her office bringing files, asking questions, needing advice on projects. So when Hermione looked up at the clock, the hands indicating it was lunchtime, she was more than a little surprised.

A wave of emotion washed over her in anticipation of the upcoming meal. Ron had sounded so sincere when he spoke of the girl he wanted to tell her about, she couldn’t help but be curious. And Harry would be there. It would be the first time she’d seen him since the kiss. With Ron present, there would be no opportunity to discuss what had happened. How would he act towards her? Would there be an awkwardness that had never been there before? Pushing her emotions aside, she grabbed her purse and hurried out the door, calling to her secretary, Sabrina, that she would be back in a hour.

When she arrived at the café, Ron and Harry were already there, seated at a table by the window. Ron rose, gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, then held out her chair for her. Harry barely glanced in her direction. Ron didn’t seem to notice Harry’s lack of greeting; he was too keyed up to notice anything not related to his news. His emotions were palpable; excitement rolled off him in waves.

Just as he was about to launch into the reason he invited them to lunch, a tall, good looking young man approached their table, a notepad and pen in hand.

“Good afternoon, my name is Steve. I’ll be your waiter today. What may I get you to drink?” he asked cheerfully.

“Coffee,” Ron and Harry replied.

“Tea,” answered Hermione.

“The menus are on the table. I’ll get your drinks and be right back to take your orders.” Steve smiled politely.

After he had left, Hermione picked up a menu for herself and handed one each to Ron and Harry. “Ron, do you think it was a good idea for you to order coffee? You’re bouncing off the walls as it is, the added caffeine can’t be good.” Hermione grinned at him, her earlier ire with her friend gone in the wake of his good-natured excitement.

“Yeah, some chamomile tea might be a better choice.” Harry laughed at his best friend, who sat there almost bouncing on his chair in his excitement to impart his news. “You’re acting a like a child who just heard Christmas is coming early.”

‘Or one who really needs to go to the bathroom,” Hermione finished, looking over at Harry and smiling. Harry still refused to meet her eyes and Hermione’s smile faded slightly. Turning back to Ron, she asked, “Can you at least wait until the waiter takes our orders so you won’t be interrupted?” Ron reluctantly agreed, and Steve arrived a moment later to take their orders.

After placing their orders for sandwiches and chips, Hermione and Harry turned to Ron expectantly.

“I’m getting married,” Ron stated blankly, but his blue eyes twinkled with happiness.

“Excuse me?” Hermione stuttered.

“What?” Harry choked on the sip of coffee he had just put in his mouth. Ron had to pound on his back to help him catch his breath. Eyes watering, Harry looked at Ron incredulously. “I must have been hearing things, you couldn’t have just said you’re getting married?”

“Yes, I did,” Ron stated a bit defensively. “And before you ask, no, it isn’t a joke.”

Hermione placed her hand over Ron’s clenched one on the table. “Tell us everything about her,” she prompted.

Ron glanced over at Harry and at his nod, he began. “I was walking home from having dinner with you and Harry one evening about three months ago and cut through the park like I when I heard someone sobbing. Normally, I would’ve turned and went the other way but something about the anguish of the cries drew me closer. That’s when I saw her. She was sitting on the bench, her hands covering her face, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. I don’t know what made me go over to her, but I did.” Ron’s mouth curved into a slight smile at the memory.

*^*^*^*^*^*^

Ron slowly approached the bench, not quite certain of what he would say but knowing he couldn’t walk away without trying to offer some comfort.

“Excuse me, miss, but are you all right?” He wanted to yank the words back as soon as he had uttered them. You stupid prat, Ron thought to himself, if she was all right, she wouldn’t be sitting on a park bench crying her eyes out.

At his softly spoken words, her head jerked up and the hands that had been covering her face flew to her mouth. “Oh,” she gasped, wiping furiously at the trail of tears tracking down her face. “You startled me, I didn’t hear anyone come up,” she said with a soft drawl that Ron assumed was Southern American.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you and normally I wouldn’t bother a complete stranger like this, but you just sounded so heartbroken that I couldn’t help myself. I’m Ron Weasley, by the way. “May I sit?”

“Of course, I’m Melissa Sullivan, but my friends call me Lissa.” She gave Ron a weak, watery smile as he sat down beside her.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked with a smile.

“How could you tell? Surely it wasn’t the accent that gave it away…” This time, the smile that she gave him reached her red rimmed hazel eyes. “I’m from Georgia. In the United States,” she added.

“Well, I didn’t think you meant the Soviet Republic,” Ron deadpanned.

Lissa giggled. “Thanks, Ron. That’s the first time I’ve felt like laughing in quite a while.”

Ron surprised himself by brushing a thick honey colored lock of shoulder length hair back behind her ear, and had to mentally restrain himself from cupping her cheek with his hand. “Won’t you tell me about it?” he asked earnestly. This woman stirred something in him, and he didn’t want to spook her

But then she surprised him by taking his hand. Looking down at their clasped hands, she whispered, barely audible, “It’s my mom. Well, technically she’s my grandmother.” She looked up and Ron nearly lost his breath at the anguish reflected in her eyes. “She has cancer, and she doesn’t have much time left,” she choked off on a sob. “I don’t know why I’m telling a complete stranger this, but Ron, I feel as if I can trust you… and I always trust my instincts.”

At Ron‘s small smile of encouragement, she continued. “My mother had me when she was seventeen years old and wasn’t terribly happy to be saddled with a child. It took her five years to realize I was too much of a burden and leave me in my grandmother’s care. We were living in Georgia at the time, and my grandmother dropped everything to come to the States and raise me. I know she would have rather brought me here to England, but I had just started kindergarten. So she got a job at the local university and raised me as her daughter. When I graduated college and became a teacher myself, Mom moved back here. She didn’t tell me at first when she found out she was sick, but about six months ago, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer to tell me. I immediately gave up my teaching job to come take care of her. Now she’s fading away right before my eyes. She’s skin and bones. She used to be a vibrant, loving person, but this awful disease has taken away her humanity. All I can do is sit helplessly by and watch it happen,” Lissa finished, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“I know sorry is a pretty inadequate thing to say, but I am…sorry, that is” he trailed off awkwardly.

Squeezing his hand gently, Lissa looked into his eyes and smiled, as he took his free hand and wiped her tears away. “Thank you, Ron. You don’t know how much it means to me that you would simply listen. But I’ve been away too long. A neighbor comes in to sit with Mom for a little while each day so I can get out for a few minutes. I need to get back now.” Lissa rose gracefully from the bench, but Ron did not let go of her hand as he stood too.

“May I walk you home? I know you have no reason trust me, but…”

“But I do trust you,” Lissa interjected. “I know it isn’t rational to lead some strange man I just met to my home, but I know you won’t hurt me. I believe that everything happens for a reason. It might have been as simple as I needed someone to talk to tonight. Or the reason might be more important than that. But I don’t question, I just believe.”

“You lead the way then,” Ron threaded his fingers through hers and followed her home.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

“I owled Harry that I had a date last night because I hadn’t told the two of you about Lissa yet, and I didn’t have time to go into any long explanations,” Ron said, bringing the discussion back to the present.

“Remember when I said I was out of town on ministry business for three days last week?”

“Her grandmother died?” guessed Hermione.

“Yes. It wasn’t like I planned on keeping Lissa a secret from the two of you, I’ve wanted to tell you all about her. She just hasn’t left her mum’s side in weeks, so the opportunity to introduce you never came up. But I have told her all about my two best friends. She can’t wait to meet you both,” Ron added.

“So what happened last night that made you blow off Hermione’s dinner? You were the one who planned it, after all,” Harry asked.

“Lissa was contacted by her school back in the States, they wanted her back as soon as possible. One of the other kindergarten teachers moved away unexpectedly, and they wanted Lissa to take her job. I knew I couldn’t let her go because I’d fallen head over heels in love with her. But there was just one small problem…” Ron paused.

“You weren’t really sure she was in love with you, or if she was just grateful to you for being there for her in her time of need,” Hermione surmised.

“Well, that was part of it but…”

“You hadn’t told her you’re a wizard,” Harry guessed correctly.

Ron nodded. “To say that she was surprised is a fair understatement. She took it well though, after the initial shook wore off. Then I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.

"She’s only going back to the States to put her affairs in order and then she’s going to look for a position here. Her mum left her well enough off that she’ll be all right until she can find a position. And of course we’re going to wait for a while to get married out of respect for her mum.”

“Well, when she’s feeling up to it, we’d love to meet her, wouldn’t we, Harry?”

Hermione was determined to make Harry look at her, rather than through her. But he turned to Ron and answered, “Yeah, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Still not noticing the chill between his two friends, Ron asked, “What about Friday night? We can have dinner.”

“I’ll cook,” suggested Hermione.

Ron grimaced. “You haven’t even met Lissa yet, and you’re plotting ways to kill her off.”

“Ha, ha, very funny, Weasley. I’ll have you know, I am more than capable of reading a cookbook and following a few simple directions,” she said indignantly.

“That’s what you said about making a certain polyjuice potion, and look how that turned out for you,” Ron grinned.

“I didn’t know those were cat hairs. The potion worked fine, it was the ingredients that were suspect.”

“My concern about your cooking exactly,” he retorted.

“Why don’t we barbeque at my flat?” interposed Harry. “I’ll cook steaks.”

“And I’ll do salads and baked potatoes. Surely, I can’t ruin that,” Hermione stated.

“Great, I can’t wait for the two of you to meet her. I just know you’ll love her as much as I do.” Ron’s sincere smile reached from his eyes straight into Hermione’s heart.

Her hand covered his on the table. “I’m happy for you, Ron, truly. I’m glad you finally found someone who can make all your dreams come true.”

“You’ll find that one day, too, Hermione. Both of you will.” Ron’s gaze swung around to include Harry.

Harry’s eyes caught hers for so brief an instant that Hermione thought she had imagined what she had seen reflected there. But in that brief contact, Hermione saw a question in his eyes that was reflected in her heart. Had they already found that? As quick as the contact was made, he glanced away, leaving her to wonder if she had only imagined the longing she had seen in Harry’s eyes.

Ron interrupted her reverie by reaching for the check the waiter had just laid on the table.

“My treat, since I missed last night.” Picking up the bill, he took out some money from his wallet. “Besides, I’ve got plenty of Muggle money. I had to go to Gringotts to exchange some because I needed it to take Lissa out.”

When she saw him reach for the bill, Hermione started to rummage in her purse. Her hand encountered something round, smooth and cold. A chill swept down her spine. The old woman’s warning echoed in her head. “If this coin is held by two who love, its warmth will all surround, but if lost before that love is known, only sorrow will abound.” Dropping the coin back into the bottom of her purse, she rose hurriedly from the table. Brushing Ron’s cheek with a quick kiss, she mumbled her congratulations again and an excuse about being late getting back to work, turned and fled the restaurant.

Once Hermione was out of the restaurant and Harry and Ron’s sight, she leaned back against the rough stone of the building. Her mind was awhirl with a multitude of conflicting emotions. Ron was getting married, she was truly happy for him. When they had broken up, she had wanted nothing more than for him to be able to find someone who could make him happy. It thrilled her beyond measure that he apparently had. Harry, on the other hand, was causing her no small amount of grief. His refusal to acknowledge her and in turn, what had happened between them last night, would have to be dealt with…and soon.

But what kept screaming through her mind was the ominous warning from the old woman. Did Harry’s refusal to acknowledge what had suddenly sprung to life between them relate to the old woman’s words? What if he wouldn’t admit to the feelings that were becoming all too apparently clear to her? Would sorrow follow? Did she even believe in such superstitious drivel as dire warnings? Opening her purse, Hermione checked to see that the coin was still nestled safely in the bottom. Better safe than sorry, she thought.

Straightening from the building, she began to hurry back to work. Ominous warning not withstanding, Hermione was determined that Harry would deal with his feelings for her, even if she had to hold him hostage at wand point to make that happen. And knowing him as well as she did, that just might have to be the case.