Here it is - the final chapter. I'm so sorry I took forever to post it, but I worked a long time on perfecting it.

And so I now present you with the third and final installment of "What's Expected of Me," hoping that you keep in mind that I own nothing Harry Potter related.

Ginny’s nowhere in sight, and it’s then that I mention I found something while in the library. Harry’s thoughts immediately turn to R.A.B., and I regretfully tell him that I’ve found nothing of significance. Tentatively, I explain that it’s about Snape.

I’m not sure where to start, and so I tell him that I was a bit right about the Half-Blood Prince book. This causes a rise out of Harry, who seems annoyed with me to no end that I nagged him about the book all year.

“Why do you have to rub in the fact that you were right?” he demands. I feel my heart slowly rip to shreds, and I wish with all my heart that I could turn back time and stop myself from acting so condescending towards him. “Don’t you think I feel awful enough about it now?”

I’m startled to see tears glittering at the corner of his eyes. All I can think while I watch him is, I did this. I did this to Harry. It’s all my fault. Deep down, I know that I’m not to blame, but somehow I find myself unable to accept the truth. It’s almost as if I’m feeding myself an excuse for why he chose Ginny over myself. I think I don’t have the ability to admit to failure. It’s something I’ve never encountered before, and certainly never wished to encounter in love.

I realize that Harry is staring at me, and I’m absolutely mortified, knowing that he still misunderstands me. I rush to correct him.

“I was talking about the whole business of a girl owning it,” I explain. Harry seems to relax, but only a bit. “You see, I was researching R.A.B., and I came across an old Prophet, which mentioned an Eileen Prince who was to marry a muggle named Tobias Snape. Then there was a birth announcement…” I trail off and then begin again. “So, Harry, I was sort of right. Snape called himself the Half-Blood Prince because of Eileen Prince.”

Harry’s face has turn into a sneer. “That must be right. I’m sure he used the pure-blood part to get in with the Death Eaters. He’s just like Voldemort.” Harry gives a bitter laugh. “Muggle father and a pure-blood mother. Embarrassed of his heritage, so he used a name to invoke respect. Lord Voldemort…the Half-Blood Prince…why didn’t Dumbledore see it?” Harry breaks off and looks at the window.

I feel my heart break. This must be hard for him. Ron continues the conversation, as he muses why Snape never turned Harry in for using the book. Harry replies that Snape had to have known the book was his, and he didn’t want to associate it with himself or for Dumbledore to find out.

Harry is still staring out the window, looking remorseful. “I should have told Dumbledore about it,” he whispers. “The entire time he was telling me how Voldemort was evil while he was in school, and here I was, with evidence that Snape was too —”

I cut him off quietly. “‘Evil’ is a strong word, Harry,” I tell him, trying to catch his eye, to let him know that everything is okay. Instead, he is angered by what I said.

“Hermione! You were the one that told me the book was unsafe!”

I wait a moment for him to calm down. “All I’m saying,” I continue, in a voice of forced serenity, “is that you’re placing too much fault on yourself.” I mentally add an again, knowing that this is what Harry does. But I need to find a way to stop him – he needs to know this wasn’t his fault – that none of it was ever his fault. If anyone was to blame, it’s me for refusing to believe him this year – for mixing trusting him with my heart and trusting him as a friend.

“I never even thought the Prince could be a murderer,” I add softly, not knowing if it will make a difference.

“None of us ever thought Snape could…” Ron trails off, and silence ensues. Ron is probably thinking about all the times he said not to trust Snape. Harry is most likely blaming himself once more. And I?

I’m staring at Harry, wondering how such a wonderful person can be caught up in such horrible things. I’m trying to figure out how I’ll help him heal.

Because that’s what I do, even if I’m not needed – even if Ginny has taken my place. Even if Harry thinks I can be cast aside.

I help him heal. I always have.

I always will, I think to myself. And it’s true. I always will. I will always be there for him – no matter what.

Even if he ends up with Ginny for the rest of his life? The thought pains me, and I don’t answer. I’ll return to it when the time calls. For now, I go back to staring at Harry. I look at the boy who I know still needs me, even if he won’t admit it himself.

Even if he doesn’t understand that I still need him.

---

The only point of a funeral is to reiterate a tragedy that has already occurred – to grind the fact that somebody you cared for, respected, or loved is dead – gone forevermore.

Today, it’s to remind us that Albus Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard, no, man, that ever lived, is dead.

I sit on my bed, listlessly brushing my mess of a hair. Lavender refuses to look at me – she’s still upset that Ron chose myself over her. If only I could tell her that I wish I hadn’t won, that she was still with him, complete with the Won Won’s. If only I could let it be known that the one man I truly wish to be with already sold his heart to one of my closest friends. At least, to a girl who I thought was one of my closest friends.

As I run the brush through my hair, I wonder what I’ll wear today. Sometimes I wish we wore uniforms, but the only thing that’s required is that simple black cloak. Usually I enjoy the freedom, although I do not take advantage of fashion quite like Lavender, Ginny, Parvati, and the other girls do. I usually find it pointless to do so. But it is nice to have certain freedoms, and as I seem to be a great supporter of one’s rights…

I suddenly find myself laughing. I’m not sure why I’m laughing. It could be because I never brought up SPEW once this year – the organization I devoted my life to for the past two years – or it could be because this is my way with dealing with sorrow, with the death of Dumbledore.

I laugh harder, and Lavender and Parvati are staring at me now. I can’t stop, and I find myself unable to breathe. After several difficult and deep breaths, I finally do take control, but I wonder what will happen at the funeral. Will I end up in laughter again, or will my barriers break down, and will I end up in tears?

Not that there’s anything wrong with crying, I reprimand myself. But, as I mentioned before, I don’t cry. It’s part of who I am. Now more than ever, I’m determined to remain strong for Harry.

For Harry…Harry…

His name echoes in my mind. Does he really need me to stay strong for him? After all, he has Ginny. Perfect Ginny Weasley, who is everything that I’m not, whether the good or the bad.

Unfortunately, Harry only sees the good, and I’m left to wonder if, in return, he only sees the appalling aspects of my character.

I shake off these thoughts. Now is not the time to be selfish about my love life, or lack thereof. Today is the day to commemorate Albus Dumbledore.

Today is the last day of Hogwarts.

I know that even if they do open Hogwarts, Harry won’t return. He’ll go after the Horcruxes and fulfill the prophecy. And I know that I won’t return either. NEWTs will have to wait. I’m not staying behind.

My mind travels back to our fifth year, when Harry tried to trick me into staying with everyone else. I smile as I remember how surprised he was, not to mention infuriated, by my outrage at being left behind. I’ll throw such a fit again if he insists I remain here, safe and sound. He’s my best friend. He’s the person I care about more than anything. I’m not going to leave him to face Voldemort, friendless and alone.

I walk over to a drawer and search through my dresses. I normally don’t wear dresses, but for such an occasion I find it only fitting. I find a simple, black, velvet dress – almost like a cocktail dress from the 60s. It’s straight and doesn’t show off much of a figure (not that I ever have been one to show off my figure), and goes to my knees. I slip the dress on, hoping that it won’t be too hot out today, and grab some black flats.

I stare at myself in the mirror, and I feel horrible. A muggle dress? I’m going to wear a muggle dress to the funeral of the greatest wizard who ever lived?

I instead return to my drawers and pull out the new dress robes I bought right before school started. They’re periwinkle, just like my originals, and simple – just the way I like it. I’m about to charm it black when I think about who Dumbledore was. Would he want the students mourning or celebrating his life? I think about the man whose first speech to us contained, “Nitwit, oddment, blubber, and tweak,” and I leave them as they are and put it on in the stead of the black dress, replacing my black flats with periwinkle ones.

I pull my hair halfway back and I finally feel as if I’m presentable enough to honor the man who gave life to magic.

I grab my cloak from the hook (heat no longer exists in my train of thoughts), and I rush down the stairs, just in time to see Ginny walking out of the portrait hole, her red hair bouncing prettily behind her, escorted by a subdued Harry.

Ron is waiting for me. He too is in his new dress robes, which Fred and George bought for him fifth year. It seems everyone else who is leaving is in his or her dress robes, as well. Apparently everyone had thought among the same lines.

Ron tries to catch my eye and I look away. For a second, I feel guilty.

“You look…er…nice,” he says lamely.

I close my eyes. I know he’s trying hard, but I just can’t stand it. He’ll never understand what goes through my head – he’ll never understand me.

“The point isn’t to look nice today, Ronald,” I say briskly, walking towards the portrait hole as he follows me. “It’s to give tribute to Dumbledore.”

“Of course!” Ron says, in a rush. “I just…I…” he trails off and I can tell from his tone of voice that he’s just shook his head in defeat. I know both boys so well now.

We end up in the Great Hall. Ginny, looking gorgeous and alive in green robes that set off her hair, and match Harry’s own robes, sits next to my best friend, talking softly with him. I stand there for a second, watching their interactions, and then Ron and I join them.

“Hi, Harry,” I whisper, ignoring Ginny.

“Hey,” he says, looking limp. His state depresses me to no end.

“Are you alright?” I ask, eyeing him worryingly.

“I’ll be okay,” he says, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach his usually bright eyes. Ginny sees our interaction. After giving me a deathly stare that everyone else seems oblivious to (after all – to the rest of the world she remains an angel), Ginny grabs Harry’s attention again by placing her lithe fingers on his shoulder. He gives her a smile – a real smile. The kind he used to give me.

I remove my gaze from the pair. It’s too painful. Soon McGonagall announces it’s time, and we file out of the Great Hall and head outside for the funeral.

The four of us sit in seats by the lake. Ginny is at the end, and Harry sits beside her. I sit next to him, while Ron sits on my other side.

The funeral begins and I watch, slowly feeling the energy drain from me, as the witches and wizards honor Dumbledore.

Hagrid walks down the aisle, holding Dumbledore, and places him, wrapped in purple velvet splashed with golden stars, on a table.

I feel a tear splash onto my hand, and I instantly raise it to my face. It’s wet. I take my hand down and examine it to find a salty tear. I realize I’m crying. Suddenly, I can’t stop. Tear after tear rolls down and splashes into my lap. My barriers have broken.

A speech is made, but for once in my life I pay it little attention. I simply remember Dumbledore, for that’s why we’re all here: to remember him. To never forgot.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Harry crying. I reach out to place my hand on his, but he turns away from us all. I return my hand to my lap and look down.

Maybe he really doesn’t need my reassurance any longer. Maybe the boy I helped escape death six years ago has finally figured out how to go about life on his own.

The speech ends and arrows soar through the sky. I quickly look to the right, and across the rows of people I can see hooves racing away. I smile gently. The centaurs.

I look in front of me again. There are no more tears falling from my eyes, but my face is still wet. I take a deep breath and turn to talk to Harry, only to find he’s talking in an undertone to Ginny. I can’t hear what he’s saying. I turn away and stare out into the distance again. The tears are starting to return, and I feel a sob in the back of my throat. Now that my barriers have broken, I’m not sure if it’s because of Dumbledore or because of the rejection I’m experiencing.

Ron’s staring at me as another tear falls down my face. I turn once more to Harry. I need him. For once in my life, I need him. I need him to comfort me; to tell me everything will end up fine; to tell me that I will get through this.

But he’s gone. Ginny is sitting alone, looking out at the lake, and Harry has disappeared. I reach out to the air where his shoulder once was, and I feel my body shaking. I look at my hands, and I look at the people around me.

I think about everything that I’ve done and what people demand of me because of it. I always have to be at the top of my class. I always have to know the answer – my hand must always be in the air. I always have to be the know-it-all, the rule abider.

And my heart, however untrue it is, must always belong to Ron.

So I do what society requires. I turn to my right and I sob onto Ron’s shoulder. He places a hand in my hair and strokes it. I continue to cry – for Dumbledore’s death, Harry’s reliance on Ginny. Everything.

And I cry for the fact that those around us will be whispering to one another, “Finally.” I cry for the fact that this could never be with Harry – that I’m in a one-sided love. I cry because so is Ron, only he doesn’t know it, nor does the rest of Hogwarts.

I cry because I’m leaning on Ron, because I know I’ll end up with Ron.

I cry because I can imagine Harry and Ginny’s wedding a few years from now. I cry because I imagine myself standing off to the side as a bridesmaid, watching Harry whisper, “I do,” while I finger the ring symbolizing the engagement to a man I never loved, nor ever will.

I cry because even now those around us have begun whispering, “I told you so,” – because they all anticipated it.

I cry because falling in love with Ron was all that was ever expected of me.

Fin

---

There you have it - the end of the story. Before you all kill me because it never was officially H/Hr,I'd like to remind you of 3 things (two of which I said in my author's note of the first chapter):

1. This follows CANON HBP, just putting things in the perspective of an H/Hr shipper Hermione.
2. I said this would be angsty. Angst stories rarely end happily. This is an example of it.
3. Life isn't always a happily ever after. Sometimes we're forced to accept what's given to us, no matter how much we wish we had other options.

Also, I made this an H/Hr story because Hermione is still clearly in love with Harry, even if it IS one-sided.

Again, thank you so much for your support, and I'd be honored if you reviewed - I love hearing how I could improve my writing skills.

If you are looking for a lighter story, please be sure to check out, "I'm Not Neurotic! The Diary of Hermione Granger," which is a romantic H/Hr comedy.

Until my next story,

HermioneCrookshanks919 (HermioneCrookshanks on Portkey and Harrypotterfanfiction)