Disclaimer: We all know I don't own anything except the scene idea, or else I'd be rich and famous, and as even groceries are somewhat of a luxury right now, anyone can see I'm not either rich or famous. :P

A/N: REPOST. I've just been going through old files and stories on my laptop, and I found this one, and decided to give it a look-over; one week later, I've edited it, reworked it, totally rewritten some parts and have pronounced it ready to be read. So here you go! Enjoy!

Harry leaned back on his hands to watch the moon rise. It was just a silver sliver in the slowly darkening sky, accented by the peach and rosy glow of the sunset. The lake was perfectly still behind him, only a few small ripples showing the slight breeze that rustled the tall grass all around the water's edge. He shifted a little, trying unsuccessfully to find a warmer spot on the ground. His eyes fixed on the star just to the right of the moon, the brightest in the sky and the only one he could see so far that night—Sirius, the Dog Star.

Sitting there on the grass by the lake, no one else around for what seemed like miles, he could almost feel Sirius in his dog shape, rubbing fondly against his arm. Warmth seeped slowly through Harry, then slipped away again as an angry tear escaped his eye. He sighed at the sight of himself. How typical of an angsty teenager to be sitting outside alone and crying over a dead loved one. He roughly brushed the tear away with his sleeve, blinking others back into his eyes and exhaling.

Somewhere a ways off he heard a twig snap. Attributing it to an animal, possibly Crookshanks, he paid the sound no heed until he heard something coming towards him through the grass. He looked over his shoulder and saw a rather short, curly-haired girl making her way over. He smiled and turned back to the moon and the star, waiting for her to arrive.

"Hullo," he said when he judged her to be within hearing range. He was rewarded by a quiet "Hi" in return. Hermione sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees for protection against the slight chill in the air. They sat awhile in silence, watching the moon rise. Then Harry pointed at the single star. "That's Sirius."

Hermione smiled sadly. "The Dog Star—of course. I think he would have liked it that you have something constant to remember him by."

"Yeah. Me too."

They sat again in silence. Harry was conscious of the hastily blinked away tears that, at points, filled Hermione's own eyes. It seemed it was an evening for crying.

They were still sitting there without speech, watching the moon rise and the stars come out, while the sun set and the sky darkened from blue to navy to black in succession. Soon enough it was completely night, and as the moon was barely there, there was ultimately very little light to see by. Harry saw Hermione shiver out of the corner of his eye, and she unconsciously huddled a bit closer to him for warmth. The thought crossed his mind to put his arm around her, but he decided against it.

Lately it seemed that the way she acted around him was a bit strange. She would look as though she was about to say something, then stop herself before she could and turn away. She was much quieter than she usually was, as well. Harry didn't understand or particularly want to, so he tried to ignore it when he noticed it happening, but it had been going on for a couple of months now.

He glanced down, and saw that same now-familiar look on her face again. Her gaze was fixed on the Dog Star but her thoughts were obviously far from it. She opened her mouth, closed it. Harry decided he'd had enough of all that.

"What?"

Hermione jumped slightly; the sudden break in the long silence had startled her out of her reverie. "Oh—nothing."

"What?" Harry insisted. She looked torn.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Why should I worry about it? What is it?"

"Harry!" she said with a small laugh. "I've told you—it's nothing. I wasn't going to say anything; your imagination is running away with you."

"I saw that look on your face again."

"What look?"

"That far-off one. You were going to say something."

"No, I wasn't. And how could you see me anyway? It's completely dark out."

"I can always tell with you."

In the dark he couldn't tell if she blushed, but she squirmed slightly and looked down as though she had. Harry thought he might have made her uncomfortable, and hurried to make amends. "I mean, I've known you so long—I know your habits by now," he said, frowning and inwardly cursing his inability to say the right thing as Hermione didn't relax. His stomach twinged with a funny feeling. Now she'd start being all weird again, just as she had the other day when he'd sung her praise after she helped him finish his Potions assignment. He sighed in frustration. "Are you cold?"

"No, why?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"Then why are you fidgeting?"

Her hands, which had previously been fiddling around with the clasp on her robes, came to a rest in her lap and she was still. "Sorry."

"No—no, I didn't mean stop, I just wanted to know why."

"Oh." She stayed still, directing her gaze up at the sky. Harry poked her side, making her flinch and laugh, looking up at him in surprise. "What was that for?"

"You're being odd. I want to know why."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you."

"Aha! So there is something!" Harry exclaimed almost gleefully. This time he could see the colour that rose in her cheeks, despite the darkness. She shook her head too quickly to cover her fluster. Harry grinned. "Go on, tell me."

"It's nothing."

"Pfft," he scoffed. "Come on, you can tell me."

She blushed darker and mumbled something under her breath.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that, what did you say?"

"I said, none of your business."

Harry rolled his eyes and temporarily was quiet. He lay back flat on the grass, putting his hands behind his head and watching the stars high above him. It was a remarkably clear night, with not a cloud to be seen. He identified a few constellations before slipping into silence, trying to remember a conversation he'd had with Ron a few weeks ago. Harry blinked slowly, gathering his thoughts.

xXx

Harry slumped back in his chair in the common room, looking disgustedly at the pieces of parchment strewn across the small table with scribbles of notes all over them. "We've been working on this stupid thing for hours, mate."

"I know. It's starting to get on my nerves."

"Yeah. Where's Hermione when you need her, eh?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Probably up in her dorm, pining away over that poor bloke she fancies."

"What?"

"She never told you?"

"No!"

"Ah, she's just got a bit of a thing for some chap. I saw her moping about the other evening and she blurted out this whole story—how she'd fancied someone for a good while now but there was no way he'd ever see her that way or something. Girl stuff," he said offhandedly, but Harry shrewdly caught the glimmer of anxiety in his friend's eyes. Ron himself fancied Hermione.

Harry had known for months, ever since Ron had casually mentioned that he was planning on asking her to the end-of-year ball that had been held annually for the past two years. The reason he had given was that he didn't want to have to put up with any of the other girls in their year who giggled altogether too much, but Harry knew better. He'd been watching Ron's behaviour lately. His friend was clearly a bit smitten.

"Did she say who it was?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head.

"No," he said, sounding disappointed. "Didn't even say which house he's in."

"He could be outside of Hogwarts."

"I doubt it. She'd only see him in the summer, and she's either off on trips with her folks or with us during the summer." It was a surprisingly clever observation coming from Ron, and Harry nodded in agreement.

"That's true."

"He's prob'ly not in Gryffindor, either. The only guys in our year are Neville, Seamus and Dean, and I don't think it's one of them."

"He could be older," Harry speculated, raising his eyebrows. Ron shrugged.

"Maybe. She went for Krum, after all," he muttered moodily. "I guess he could be. Who's older that we know?"

"Uh...I dunno. Could be anyone. You sure she didn't mention how old he was, in passing?" Harry asked, and Ron shook his head. Harry realized that he was getting caught up in it all. He suddenly felt very eager to find out just who this mysterious person was, and why Hermione was keeping his identity a secret. It must be someone unexpected or strange, otherwise why shouldn't she tell her two best friends who it was? He was struck with a sudden thought. "What if it's one of your brothers?"

"What if it's what?!" Ron exclaimed.

"What if it's Fred or George, or something?" Harry said with growing excitement. "It would explain why she couldn't tell you, because you'd think it was too weird!"

"No! No way. It couldn't POSSIBLY be one of them. She disapproves of everything they do, she couldn't fancy one."

"Then Bill, or Charlie?"

"No! Harry, she does not fancy one of my brothers, and that's just—that. That would be beyond strange." Ron shook his head and dropped his chin into one hand. "I bet it's Percy."

Harry burst out laughing. "Oh, definitely!"

"I bet she pines after him, that's why she wants us to resolve our differences so badly. Arrggh, Hermione fancies Percy!"

They both fell about laughing. At that moment, Hermione herself came down the stairs from the girls dormitories. The two boys looked up, grinning, and Ron tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face as he called her over. "It's okay, Hermione," he said in a voice strangled with suppressed mirth. "We know who you fancy. I don't hold it against you. Just don't go snogging him where we can see you," he snorted, and the boys broke back into roars of laughter. Hermione had turned white as a sheet.

"What?"

"We know you fancy Percy," Harry chortled. Hermione almost staggered sideways, fierce relief written all over her face. A shaky smile then came over her lips, and she laughed along with the other two.

"You idiots," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't fancy Percy! Of all people!"

"Thank god!" Ron exclaimed. "You had us very worried for a few minutes there."

"I had you worried? You're the ones who dreamt up Percy!"

All three friends started laughing again, and didn't stop for quite a while.

xXx

With the workload that was being piled on by all the professors, Harry had forgotten all about Hermione's secret crush up until this point. He reached up and tugged on the sleeve of her robes. "Do you still fancy that bloke?"

Hermione stiffened. Harry's spirits fell. He'd gone and upset her again. "No," she said tightly, not turning around to look at him. Harry was mildly surprised.

"You don't?"

"No."

He sat up and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to see her face. He grinned when he recognized the guilty look she'd wanted to hide. "You do still fancy him! Go on, who is it, Hermione? I won't tell, I promise."

"It's no one."

"Is it Percy?" he asked cheekily, and she elbowed him with a reluctant laugh.

"No, it is not."

"Anyone I know?"

"N-no."

"You never were any good at lying, Hermione. Is he at Hogwarts?"

"No."

"I'll take that as a yes. In our year?"

"N-no."

"Gryffindor?"

"No!"

"Well, we've made a lot of progress in the past few seconds! Let's see," Harry said, ticking them off on his fingers, "the mystery man is a Gryffindor in our year. That leaves Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron, and me. Which of the five is it, Hermione dear?" he asked, grinning amusedly while he watched her turn various different shades of red. "Is it...Neville?" She shook her head and looked at him like he was strange in the head. He laughed. "Well, it's not Ron or me, so it must be Seamus or Dean. Seamus?" he asked.

"Nope."

"Dean?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "But he's dating Ginny."

"No, it is not Dean, Harry."

"Well, I've named everyone then! What is it, me?" Harry laughed, raking his fingers through his ever-messy hair.

"NO!"

The suddenness of her emphatic response made him start in surprise. "What'd I say?"

She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply. "No. I'm sorry, Harry—I can't tell you who it is."

"But it's either me or Ron, isn't it?"

She kept her eyes closed, looking as though she was gathering courage. Then she sighed, looked up at the stars, and whispered, "Yes."

"Oh..." Harry's mind spun. It was Ron, he knew it. Why else would she have told him this much? Ron fancied Hermione; she reciprocated. He, Harry, would have to tell her about Ron's feelings. Then they could be together and be happy, and Harry would see them every day holding hands and laughing instead of fighting and they would have each other for comfort when Harry was off saving the world, he thought with a hint of bitterness that he quickly squashed. But...

A sudden pang stabbed through his chest. It couldn't be jealousy, Harry knew, because he wanted his friends to be happy. And they would he happy if they realized their feelings for each other. It was with a stab of shock that Harry realized himself that he didn't want that. He would be ousted from the trio; that was the only way it could end. Sure, they'd try to include him, but after a while they'd want all kinds of boyfriend-girlfriend time alone together, and Harry would be left out in the dirt. It felt like a bucket of water had just been dumped over his head, drenching him in cold truth. He didn't want Ron and Hermione together. Just thinking of the two of them, locked in an embrace—it filled his mouth with a bitter taste. What was this? It sure felt like jealousy. But that was ridiculous.

And anyway, who was he to stand in their way? With a resigned grimace, he gathered his courage. "Hermione..."

"Hmm?"

"Ron—Ron's fancied you for months and months, possibly years—if I'm right."

"What?" she breathed, turning to look at Harry, her face frozen in apprehension.

"Yeah. So go—go do what you have to do. It's him, isn't it? It would only make sense. Right?"

"It would make sense," she whispered, looking down. Harry nodded, swallowing hard in an unsuccessful attempt to crush the large lump in his throat.

"Yeah. Exactly. So...go on, then." Harry couldn't look at her. He couldn't explain this bewildering feeling, couldn't understand where it was coming from. He couldn't do a lot of things, but he could be the bigger person and send Hermione up to Ron where they would both be happy. Harry glanced sideways at her. Why hadn't she moved? Why hadn't she gone? Why hadn't she...Harry's eyes widened almost comically as he finally put two and two together.

She'd said that it WOULD make sense, as though it wasn't true but should be. She'd never actually told him it was Ron. He'd just assumed that because Ron liked her, it must be returned. She said she couldn't tell him who it was—why not, if it had been Ron? Surely she would want to tell him, so he could help her get Ron's attention. But it was Harry that she was always acting strangely around. His head reeled. Hermione didn't fancy Ron at all. Her intensity in denying that it was Harry earlier...it all fit. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. Just how stupid WAS he? He turned his whole body to face her. She looked up, timidly meeting his wide-eyed gaze through a thin opening in the curtain of golden-brown curls covering her face. Harry just stared.

"Have you figured it out yet, then?" she asked in a small voice. "I know it won't happen pretty much ever, and I shouldn't even still be out here now, but—I just wanted to stay to apologize for making you uncomfortable—"

Harry quickly shook his head. "You didn't. It's okay."

"Well, I'm sorry—I'll go," she said, moving to get up. Harry caught her hand, then dropped it like a hot coal when she met his gaze again. There was so much embarrassed wretchedness in her eyes.

"Stay?" he asked simply, looking up at her.

Hermione blushed prettily—where had that word come from? When had he ever thought of her as pretty?—and she sat back down, facing him. For the longest time they just stared at each other, one wary, one still quite bewildered. Then Harry grinned guiltily, and Hermione started to laugh, and somehow, suddenly all of this was the funniest thing he'd ever experienced, and the two friends laughed themselves breathless. Harry reached out and folded her to him in a rare hug, both still laughing. She slipped her arms around him as well, resting her head on his shoulder. She seemed to fit there perfectly, more so than anyone else he'd ever held had. After a while she drew her head back to look at him, smiling shyly as she did. "So...are we okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said, smiling too. "I, uh...can I ask...how long?"

She squirmed, but he didn't let her go. Silly girl. Heaving a sigh and settling back against him, she muttered, "Long enough. Thank you for being...decent about it. Oh, god, you won't tell Ron, will you?" she asked, struggling again to sit upright and looking pleadingly at Harry. "He'll make fun of me until forever."

"I won't tell him."

"Thank you." After an awkward moment where Hermione fidgeted and Harry fought that returning funny feeling in his stomach, she turned away and drew her legs up to her chest again, resting her chin on her knees. The ensuing silence left Harry free to digest what had just happened.

So. Hermione fancied him. Hermione fancied him, Harry. How bizarre. How...strangely pleasant. He couldn't think of another time when a girl had expressed feelings for him—aside from being asked to the Yule Ball by a couple of strangers in fourth year—and it was quite nice, really. And it was Hermione. Pretty much the most important girl in his life, now he thought about it; one of a small number, too. Never having been one to have tons of friends in the first place, Harry had less female friends than most people, and he didn't know what he would do without Hermione. How would he ever have been able to understand the opposite sex if she hadn't been there to explain things to him?

Speaking of which, depending on how long she had had fancied him, last year must have been torture for her. All that drama about Cho—had Hermione started having inklings of feelings for him even then? How must she have felt when Cho got so angry about being jealous of Hermione? It was all a mystery to Harry. He didn't even know how he felt.

Didn't he? They were friends, they were best friends. Evidently Hermione felt more than that for him, but where exactly did that leave Harry? She'd said right out that she didn't expect anything from him. She didn't believe he felt the same way. And he didn't, right? They were just friends, as far as he was concerned. There was nothing out of the ordinary there.

So why was he second-guessing himself now? Was it only because he'd learned that she was interested that he was getting all discombobulated? That had to be it—but now she was shifting position on the grass, and her arm brushed his, and Harry felt again that baffling rush of nervous tension rise in his stomach. He was going mad right before his own eyes. Utterly perplexed now, he glanced sideways at Hermione, who had gone very still, and saw her gaze peeping sideways right back at him. Oops. They both grinned, and then laughed. Harry spotted a tiny dimple form in the hollow of her cheek and tried to remember when the last time had been that she'd laughed with him before tonight. Could it really have been months ago? It seemed preposterous, but he just couldn't think of a recent time that they'd been easy together. Probably because she'd been all bent up inside over him, he supposed.

"Harry, are you cold?"

He blinked, and looked at her again. "No, why? Are you?"

Her eyes sparkled for a moment. "You're fidgeting."

Harry looked down at his lap and consciously stilled his hands. He hadn't even realized he'd been fiddling around with his shoelace. "Oh. Er." Yes, great, really eloquent response there. Next he'd be hiding his face and reluctantly confessing things. When he blinked owlishly over at her again, he saw Hermione fighting down a smile. Well, damn her anyway. She was so confusing and, and frustrating, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

Right! Harry could tell when enough was enough. Where the hell had that last thought come from? It was the night air, he told himself firmly, and her being all shy and telling him things, and finally feeling like they were friends again after all this time of hardly speaking to each other because she'd been so awkward about fancying him this whole while—and yet as excuse after excuse ran through his head, he couldn't help thinking that her mouth just looked awfully kissable. And even though it was Hermione, his best friend Hermione who was bookish and rule-oriented and mothering, Harry found himself rationalizing it. After all, she did say she rather liked him. And it had been ages that she had, apparently. And what was the harm, anyway? If she wanted to, and despite himself and everything he wanted to, then what was stopping them, really?

Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. "So...er...let's be honest, I'm not great with this sort of stuff, so you'll have to help me out here..."

She looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Er, see, bollocks...oh, nevermind." He flushed hot under his collar and glowered into the distance. What was wrong with him? Why was it so bloody hard to just say things? He already knew she—so why couldn't he just—he was afraid, he realized, afraid that everything would change, afraid that if he said he wouldn't mind having a snog then suddenly she might decide she wasn't interested at all after all, because who knew if he was a good kisser or not, it wasn't as though he'd had much practice...

"Harry?" she said softly, and touched his arm. A fresh wave of nervous buzzing rose in his stomach. Unbelievable. He'd gone totally mad. Sparing a quick glance at her, Harry was mildly surprised to see that she'd inched closer. Well, crap.

He supposed there was nothing else for it, and said in one big burst, "Right, well, you were the one who said you were all fuddled over me, and now you've got me going, alright, and it's all very confusing, and I'm not too sure I won't get hit for this, but I don't know what to think anyway, so, er." And, unable to believe he'd just said that and still further unable to believe what he was about to do, he kissed her.

It only lasted a moment or two. He couldn't be entirely sure he'd aimed squarely, as he'd shut his eyes, but it seemed alright to him. She wasn't yelling or hitting him or even crying, as far as he could tell, which was a definite plus. Another second went by. He squinched one eye open.

Hermione was sitting stock still, eyes wide open, looking so shocked that Harry almost wanted to laugh. She raised her hand and touched her lips, the movement unconscious. "What—what—you didn't have to—Harry—"

"I know I didn't have to," he muttered, his ears growing hot again. "You should've said if you minded, I just thought—"

"I don't mind," she breathed, and suddenly, the look in her eyes was such that Harry felt very aware of each place that they were touching. Their legs, her foot, his knee, her hand brushing his face, and then she was kissing him, and everything faded back to minor insignificance.

Although no fireworks exploded above in the night sky, there certainly were some going off in his stomach. He felt a thrill as her fingers dug gently into his back, pulling her body closer to his. One of her arms crept up and wrapped around his neck, and before Harry knew what was happening, his arms came up around her too, and he felt dizzy.

Abruptly they both realized what was happening. Adrenaline was pounding in his ears, and when he broke the kiss he got a head rush. She didn't look at him, but raked her fingers through her hair and stared at the ground, still breathing hard. "What are we doing?" she whispered almost inaudibly. Harry, caught up in the moment, tried to lean in and kiss her again. He'd only captured her mouth for a second before she pulled away again and looked at him with round eyes. He sighed and sat back on the grass again, shaking his head.

"I don't know."

"We can't."

"Why not?" he asked, searching her eyes for an answer.

"Ron."

"Oh..." The impact of what she'd said in one word hit Harry like a brick wall. His eyes widened like hers.

"Oh my god, what are we going to do?" she moaned, letting her head fall back so she was staring at the sky.

"Who cares?" Harry said, throwing common sense to the wind. He leaned forward again but a look from Hermione stopped him, and he retreated sheepishly. "Yeah, okay, okay, I know," he said, sighing in frustration and dragging his fingers through his messy hair. "So now what?"

"I don't know, I don't know...we have to tell him."

"Tell him what? Oh, sorry Ron, Hermione and I spontaneously decided to start snogging like mad, terribly sorry about your crush on her," Harry said mockingly, and then looked seriously at her. "He still fancies you, Hermione."

"Yes...I know he does, it's rather obvious...but we have to tell him something."

"Okay. We'll tell him we went and had a chat, and that's it."

"Harry," she said reproachfully. "Are you planning on acting like nothing happened? Because I'm not that good an actor. You said so yourself."

"But...we can't tell Ron. He's already bitter because he thinks I get everything he doesn't, you know that."

"Oh, so I'm just something to be 'got'?" Hermione asked, raising one eyebrow. Harry rushed to fix his mistake.

"No! I—you're not something to be got, I just meant—" he broke off in confusion as Hermione laughed, shaking her head fondly at him.

"I know what you meant, it's okay," she chuckled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Then why'd you say that?" he asked exasperatedly. She just laughed. Harry, on an impulse, leaned forward quickly and kissed her. This time, he discovered with delight, she didn't resist, instead bringing her hands up and weaving them tightly in his hair. He moved closer, giddy with her scent, her taste; she, also giving in to the moment, allowed him to push her gently backwards, down onto the grass. He supported himself with one hand on the ground, and ran the other down the side of her face again, then trailed his fingers down her neck, across her shoulder, and down her side. She inhaled sharply and arched up against him, arms tightening around his neck.

"You're much better at this than I expected," she whispered breathlessly against his lips. Harry laughed quietly.

"You too," he said, then slowly started easing his mouth off of hers, kissing her cheek, jaw, and neck. She sighed. He wasn't thinking about what he was doing; it just seemed to fit. And from what he could tell, she liked it, he thought with a happy grin. Hermione took his face in her hands and made him look down at her.

"Harry," she murmured, "much fun as this is...what are we going to do about Ron?"

"Same answer I gave two minutes ago."

"I don't know about you, but I couldn't possibly pretend all this never happened."

"I probably couldn't either. Ugh," he sighed, reluctantly sitting up and letting Hermione do the same. "We're back where we started. How did—"

"Harry?"

Both teenagers froze. Ron's voice floated across the grass to them from the direction of the school. Harry whipped his head around and could just make out a dark figure coming towards them. Hermione met his anxious gaze. "Nothing happened!" he hissed as she quickly straightened her robes and smoothed her hair. "We were talking and that's all. If you try to tell him anything else, I'll deny it."

Hermione looked at him with pain in her eyes, making him wince inwardly. "Why don't you want him to know?"

"Because it can't happen anyway—you said it yourself!" he whispered desperately, looking over at the castle. Ron was getting closer. Harry raised his arm and waved to his friend, who waved back. Then he turned back to Hermione and took her by the shoulders, looking her straight on. "Voldemort already knows you and Ron are close to me. If he found out about this—"

"Don't give me that," Hermione said angrily, roughly brushing away the unwanted tears that suddenly filled her eyes. "Fine. Nothing happened."

"I'm sorry—"

"Shut up, he's coming," she whispered, and turned around to face Ron with a false smile. "Hi, Ron!" she called cheerfully. Their friend reached them a few seconds later, grinning lopsidedly.

"Hey guys! Whatcha doing out here? It's kind of cold out."

"Not really," Harry shrugged. "We were stargazing. Want to?"

"Actually, I sort of wanted to ask Hermione something," Ron said, a determined light in his eyes. Harry groaned to himself. Hermione patted the ground beside her.

"Sure, sit down. What's up?" she asked once Ron had settled himself on the grass. Harry flopped down on his back and stared up at the stars, not wanting to hear what he knew his friend was going to say. Ron had, most probably, finally gathered up the courage to ask Hermione to the end-of-year ball. He'd planned on it for months. Harry couldn't help but feel extremely jealous of his friend. He wanted to ask Hermione to the ball. Damn it, Harry thought. What have I gotten myself into?

Now he would be jealous all the time, he realized with some degree of horror. Ron and Hermione would go to the ball, and Ron would hold her, and it was likely he would kiss her, and there was nothing Harry could do about it but watch from the sidelines with whoever would have him. Stop it, an annoying little voice inside his head told him firmly. It's your own fault. You told her to pretend nothing happened. You told her Ron liked her.

Harry groaned to himself again. He knew it was his fault. The stupid voice didn't have to rub it in.

"Harry?"

"What?" he said, coming out of his thoughts and turning his head to look at his friends.

"We're going in. Are you coming?" Hermione asked. She and Ron were looking at him expectantly, a big grin on Ron's face. Harry's eyes drifted down to their hands. Ron had Hermione's locked in an affectionate grip. Harry's stomach twinged unpleasantly and his throat tightened. He knew he had no right to be feeling this way, but he damn well was anyway. He shook his head and looked back up at the stars, his hands behind his head.

"Nah. I think I'll just stay out here for a while."

"Okay," Ron shrugged, and got to his feet. Hermione hesitated, then did the same, both of them turning away from Harry and starting to walk back up to the castle together. Harry closed his eyes, fully prepared to just fall asleep out here. It was Saturday night, who cared?

About a minute later, he heard someone hurrying back towards him, and he cracked one eye open. Hermione knelt down beside him and leaned down to whisper into his ear, "He asked me to the ball."

"I know. He's been planning on it for months."

"I told him yes."

"I figured by the big old grin on his face," Harry said, with an exaggeratedly cheerful wink that cost a great deal of effort. Hermione just looked at him.

"If you don't want me to, I won't. I'll tell him no after all."

Harry blinked. He turned to look up at her in surprise, but her face was completely serious. "Are you pulling my—?" he started, and she shook her head. He couldn't believe his ears. "Do—do you want to want to go with him?" he said, his throat suddenly dry.

"Well, I did have someone else in mind originally, but he didn't ask me."

Harry closed his eyes, cursing his stupidity. "I want to."

"Like I said—if you don't want me to go with Ron, I won't."

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead, then looked up at her again. "I couldn't do that to Ron."

"That's what I thought you'd say. Well...I'll see you inside," she said, biting her lip, and Harry nodded. After a brief moment of hesitation she pressed shaking fingers to Harry's mouth and traced his jaw line. He closed his eyes. She stood up swiftly and hurried back to Ron, who was waiting a ways away. Harry raised his head just above the tall grass to see her catch up, and start walking away. Ron put his arm around her shoulders, and Harry rolled over onto his side. A sharpish blade of grass poked into his cheek and he shifted around it. What was he going to do now?