Disclaimer: I don't live in the U.K., I'm not blonde, I don't have three children… guess what? I'm not J.K. Rowling! Oh, and I'm not Miriam Stockley as well, because the title of this chapter is a song for her (or better, I don't know who really is the author of this song, but I love Miriam Stockley's version, the one used for "The 10th Kingdom").

A/N: I know, my fourth WIP, and my courses are going to start in a couple of weeks. So, well, maybe updates will be a little slow, but I really wanted to upload this. I like it. About the pairing, this story is very slightly a Hermione/Harry one. You'll see what I mean. Now, enjoy this chapter, my Harry remembers a little the fifth year one…

To Tori: Thanks a lot for beta-reading this chapter.

Wishing on a Star

"Harry, have you finished your essay?"

Harry raised his eyes from the piece of parchment, which he had been staring at since before dinner, and looked at Hermione. She was glancing back at him apprehensively. The red light that came from the fire in the hearth was dancing on her face. They were the only two people left in the Gryffindor common room. Everybody, even Ron, was already off to bed.

"No," he answered angrily. "I haven't even started it, if that's what you want to know."

"Do you need some help?"

Harry looked at her intently. Hermione was offering her help for homework. That was surely something that had never happened, at least not so spontaneously. Usually Harry and Ron had to beg her to correct their works, only correct them.

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't need your help, because I'm not going to do this essay," he said forcefully.

Hermione collapsed onto the armchair near him. "I don't think that Professor McGonagall will be very happy if you don't hand in the essay tomorrow," she stated seriously.

"Hermione, I don't give a damn about her being happy or unhappy," snapped Harry. "And I don't give a damn about this bloody essay."

Filled with disappointment, Hermione didn't reply, and that just made Harry angrier. He really wanted to argue with somebody. He needed to argue with somebody.

"I can let you copy my essay if you want," said Hermione gently, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry looked at her. "No, I told you that I don't need to copy your stupid essay."

Hermione sighed. "Listen, Harry, there's no reason to be so harsh. I was just offering my help."

"I-do-not-need-it," replied Harry, stressing every single word nastily. "It's all just a waste of time," he added, standing up and shoving his books in his bag.

"You know, it's not your fault that you've been forced to come back to Hogwarts for your final year, instead of going to look for the Horcruxes," said Hermione softly.

Harry looked at her, surprised. "Of course it's not, Hermione," he snapped.

"And it's not mine, either," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"I wasn't thinking that," he said hastily.

"Well, you could be less awful, then," she said calmly.

Harry let his bag fall to the floor. "What?" he asked, anger building up inside him.

"It's not exactly like you've been very friendly lately," stated Hermione, looking at her hands. "Always jumping down my throat, like everything that happened is my fault," she said, her tone a little bit harsher than she meant it to be.

"I'm not jumping down your throat," he said, heatedly.

"You are. As if I wanted us to be here instead of out there, looking for the Horcruxes while Voldemort-"

"It's not exactly like you're having to rough of a time being here," he cut her off. "Being made Head Girl and having the honourable assignment of keeping an eye on me."

"I haven't been given that assignment by anybody," she said forcefully. "We are friends and I think that-"

"I don't need your protection, Hermione," hissed Harry.

Hermione looked at him, her brown eyes still terribly calm. "I know," she said softly. "But I can't help worrying a little. Does that bother you?"

Harry looked away from her. "Actually, yes."

"Why?"

"Because I can take care of myself," answered Harry darkly.

"I never said anything to the contrary," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Stop it, Hermione," snapped Harry.

"What?"

"This. Stop being so understanding and nice, stop asking me if I want your help, stop everything you are doing these days," he muttered.

"I'm just being your friend," she answered slowly.

Harry would have screamed, 'Then stop it,' but he didn't. Instead he looked at her and nodded.

Hermione shook her head. "It looks to me like we're back in our fifth year," she said softly.

"Why?" He already knew why, but he wanted to hear it from her and have time to answer with something nasty.

"Because you were so damn stubborn," she answered simply.

"And I have every reason in the world to be," he snapped. "I was Voldemort's target, and Dumbledore kept me in the dark about it."

"Yes, but now you're the one that knows the most about Voldemort in all the wizarding world, and you still aren't happy." She smiled softly. "I'm wondering what you really want."

"Just to be left alone," muttered Harry, carelessly letting his bag fall on the floor.

"And do everything by yourself? Can't you remember this June? After Dumbledore's funeral? Ron and I-"

Harry groaned. "Hermione, there's no need to remember that."

"No, there is," she replied stubbornly. "Ron and I told you that we would come with you, wherever you wanted to go. We didn't mind if it was dangerous or if we would never have got-"

"I got the point," snapped Harry. "What do you want? A biscuit for being a good friend?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed, but when she spoke her voice was still incredibly calm. "No, you know that my parents won't let me eat it, they think that it won't agree with my teeth."

Harry looked at her, annoyed. Her poor attempt to be funny was, in fact, poor. "If that's all you have for me, a dull sense of humour, then you can go to bed."

"It's not all I have for you," she answered slowly. "I gave you my friendship. I offered my help-"

"Yeah, for that stupid essay," remarked Harry.

"Not just for that stupid essay," Hermione's voice was gradually growing louder. "In the last six years Ron and I have always been by your side. Did you notice that? Or were you too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"

"I don't feel sorry for myself," said Harry hastily.

"Yes, you do. Like the whole world is against you."

"If you haven't noticed, Hermione, the world is against me," snapped Harry. "You still have your parents, still have your godfather, you don't know what it's like to see all the people that you love being killed in front of you."

Hermione automatically brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes huge, and Harry had to do his best to hide the sneer that was appearing on his face.

"How can you say something like that?"

Harry looked at Hermione. The sneer didn't show up, but his disappointment did. Her voice should have been broken with unrestrained tears, but it was almost angry. At least she was right in something. He didn't know what he wanted.

"How can you say something like that?" she repeated, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. Her eyes flashed dangerously, like they had never done with him, but only with Ron. "You are using their deaths as an excuse for your behaviour."

Harry looked at her, horrified. "No, I'm not," he said hastily. "I just wanted to show you that you haven't been through what I have."

He saw Hermione's fingernails disappearing into the armrests of the chair, her knuckles all white. "Just because I don't have a crazy killer after me, that doesn't mean that I don't know how you feel, Harry."

"Oh, sorry," said Harry mockingly. "Naturally, you know how I feel, you are a damn Know-It-All, aren't you?"

Hermione raised her eyes and locked them into Harry's. "No, I know how you feel because you are my friend, and I do really care for you." She stopped and looked away. "Even if you are an insufferable git sometimes."

Harry didn't answer. He picked up the bag from the floor and looked at her a last time before walking away. He heard Hermione getting to her feet behind him. "Harry," she called him.

Harry stopped and turned to face her.

"I didn't mean what I said," said Hermione firmly.

"What? That I'm using Sirius and my parents as an excuse for my behaviour?" asked Harry harshly.

"That you are an insufferable git," replied Hermione quietly.

"Oh, okay, miss Perfect," said Harry sarcastically. "You've done your daily amount of good, now that you have excused yourself you ca-"

"I'm not excusing myself," stated Hermione. "I'm just trying – I don't even know what I'm trying to do," she added, shaking her head as if she needed to clarify her ideas.

"Wow, that's an event," said Harry, smirking. He raised his eyes to her face and saw that her cheeks were wet with tears, and that she was crying silently. He had to close his eyes and mentally count to ten so that he could stay there without running towards her, pulling her into a hug and saying that he was sorry.

The temptation to apologise was great, but the pleasure of being in a fight with Hermione, who was so subdued, was even greater.

"Have you finished?" he asked after a while, not even recognizing his own voice when it escaped his mouth with such hatred.

As an answer Hermione let out a sob, picked up her schoolbag, and ran up the stairs, disappearing from Harry's sight. Harry would have seized her arm, stopped her and whispered in her ear that he didn't mean to be so mean, he didn't mean to make her cry. And that he needed her. Her and Ron. But he didn't even move when Hermione's hair brushed his face and he heard another sob escaping her lips.

Harry heard the door of the girls' dorm closing behind Hermione, and a new wave of rage invaded his mind. Why did she go away? He needed her to stay there with him, didn't she understand that?

He closed out all the voices that told him that it was all his fault and that he had committed a mistake, that Hermione was only trying to stay with him in a moment in which he stubbornly wanted to be alone.

He climbed up the stairs towards his dorm, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want to talk to, or see, anyone else that night. The door to his dorm creaked a little, but luckily Ron's snore was much louder than that. If the boys could sleep with all that noise, a creak wouldn't wake them up.

He opened his trunk and threw his schoolbag inside, followed by his robes and his shoes. He sat on his bed, fastening his pyjama buttons, and looked out the window.

"I hate you, Hermione," murmured Harry softly. "No, I don't. But you don't know what it has meant for me," he added after a while.

He looked at the cloudless September sky. The lack of the moon let the stars shine more brightly than usual. He observed the constellations with a cold interest.

Then one of that stars fell down, leaving behind a trail of light.

'A shooting star,' thought Harry. He closed his eyes. 'What I wouldn't give for Hermione to finally feel what has happened to me because of Voldemort.'

Harry opened his eyes and sighed heavily, then pulled away the sheets on his bed, and laid down with his arms under his head.

His last thought before falling asleep was that he should say something to his friend the next day, maybe not exactly that he was sorry, but something similar.