Author's note: This is the first installment of a series that follows "Corresponding Thoughts." Please read that first, as this will make infinitely more sense. To those of you who have read CT, this begins where that one left off. The beginning is a bit draggy, but that's necessary for later on developments, so my apologies. Thank you and enjoy.
Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's
Aftermath and Awakenings
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira
***
Ron Weasley stared at the letter in his hands, and re-read it for the tenth time that evening. He felt like the most idiotic person on earth while doing it, but he had to be sure that the words he saw really existed, and were not just what he wanted to exist. But, no, after reading those beautiful, beautiful words eleven times it was painfully obvious that this was one of the few times in life where dreams and reality coincide.
Just as Ron was about to make it an even dozen by reading the letter yet again, a figure appeared at the door. "Ginny!" He sputtered in a hasty attempt to hide the letter. "What're you doing here?"
"I live here?" Ginny retorted without hesitation. While her infatuation with Harry might give one the delusion that she was nothing more than a giggly schoolgirl, in reality she was very quick-witted while not in Harry's presence.
Ron mumbled an apology and then gestured towards the door pointedly. His sister, however, didn't budge, but merely said, "Your Royal Majesty, I so humbly beg of you to forgive my shortcomings. However, as dinner is being served, I thought it such a tragedy if you didn't grace our meek little family with your exquisite presence. So forgive me, King Ronald, for not wanting to see your divine self perish for lack of food, because that would be just so catastrophic."
Ron opened his mouth to make a witty comeback, but quickly shut it when he couldn't think of one. Half of his brain was still on the letter that his bed covers now shielded, which left little room for sarcasm. Ginny, meanwhile, only smiled sweetly, though the sardonic edge could not be missed. "Apologies for disrupting your Majesty, though you'd be advised to know that your potatoes are growing cold."
She left without another word, leaving Ron to his very dazed thoughts.
*
"Well look at who finally decided to join us," was Fred's response to Ron's entrance.
"Shut up," was the most creative reply Ron could think of.
Fred looked like he was about to say something more, but he was quickly silenced by a look from Mrs. Weasley. "Where were you, Ron dear?" she questioned briskly. "I'd have thought you'd want to know who Dumbledore's named as Minister!"
For the first time since receiving Hermione's letter earlier that afternoon, Ron expressed interest in something other than his mail. "Who then?"
"Arabella Figg," his father replied. "Brilliant old witch. She's Dumbledore's good friend. He's quoted as saying that she'll be a fine Minister of Magic, etc, etc. Doubtless she'll handle the current…situation better than Fudge did."
There was a murmur of agreement around the table, and within a few minutes the regular strained attempts at normal conversation continued as George talked animatedly about a new top-secret invention; Mrs. Weasley had long since stopped caring about the twins' plan to open a joke shop.
Lost in his own world though he was, Ron couldn't help but notice that the tension in the air was considerably less. No doubt that had to do with the relief that there was now a competent Minister to deal with the threat posed by the Dark Side. Just like Hermione said, he thought with awe. Time to look towards the future.
*
A few days later, the excitement of Hermione's letter had died down considerably, and Ron snapped back into his usual personality. Glad though he was that the feelings he had were mutual, once he had regained his common sense he saw plainly that he couldn't let that dominate his life. Like everything else, this was one thing that was just going to have to be taken one step at a time.
Admittedly, Ron had spent considerably more time than necessary composing a reply to Hermione. After an hour (and many crumpled pieces of parchment), he opted for a simple and frank message:
Dear Hermione,
I wish I could say everything I want to say to you in this letter, but I've never been particulary good with words. We can talk when you get here. Speaking of which: we can pick you up next Sunday at 7:00. With Floo Powder, of course. You don't have an eceltic fire like Harry's, do you? Well, see you then.
Yours,
Ron
Though dissatisfied with the fact that the letter was purely non-personal, Ron sent it, along with a letter for Harry:
Harry,
You can come! Dad will Apparate to your place with a Portkey leading here at around 5:00 Monday. (Told you we wouldn't use Floo Powder.) Send a note back with Pig if that's all right. Oh, and in case Sirius hasn't gotten to you yet, Arabella Figg's Minister. See you soon!
Ron
PS: I kind of have something important to tell you when you get here.
The P.S. had been cause for much internal debate. Ron wasn't quite sure what the thing between him and Hermione was, or if it even was a thing, but he felt like keeping it to himself for a while. Still, Harry was his other best friend. If anyone figured it out, it would be him. Better to just come clean with it; he'd be hurt if neither of them said anything to him, and that was the very last thing either Ron or Hermione wanted to do right now.
On a different level, Ron was simply aching for somebody to share his feelings with. Though not by nature a person who was open about emotions, his mind was too full of them to be able to keep them to himself. To a certain extent, Ron was anticipating Harry's arrival not only to see his friend, but to be able to lift a few weights off his chest.
Ron just sighed. Sunday night couldn't come soon enough for him.
*
Hermione Granger was not one to be hoodwinked. Perhaps her perceptiveness was overlooked by her studious nature, but in reality she was very shrewd when it came to figuring out what people meant by their words and actions. Ron's letter was no exception. The casual tone of the letter didn't fool her for an instant. She also knew, however, that trying to work out their newly found feelings through owl post wouldn't work out. He was right: they needed to talk face-to-face. Chewing on the end of her quill, Hermione wrote a reply in flowering script:
Dear Ron,
I agree: we definitely need to talk in person. And we will. Sunday night is fine for picking me up, and no, we do not have an ELECTRIC fire.
With Love From,
Hermione
PS: When's Harry coming?
Satisfied, Hermione tied the note to Pig's free talon-he was carrying another letter-and wondered how it was possible to look towards Sunday with both giddy excitement and undeniable dread.
*
The dream came again. As real as it always was. The boy called Harry Potter tossed and turned in his sleep. Wake up! Wake up! He pleaded silently. But he never could. Not until the dream was over.
With a gust of cold air, Harry felt his body give way as he landed on hard rock. Trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg, he asked Cedric where they were. But he only shook his head as both boys glanced around at their surroundings. It was quite obvious they had left Hogwarts; how far away was anyone's guess. The castle and its surrounding mountains were nowhere in view. Instead, Harry found himself looking at the outline of a small church. Surrounding it were graves with moss sprawled all over. They were in a graveyard, Harry realized. But how? And why?
To their left loomed a hill, on top of which the outline of a large old house was just barely visible in the darkness. "Wands out d'you reckon?" came Cedric's voice.
Harry heard himself murmur agreement as they both pulled out their wands and continued to watch in silence. "Someone's coming," Harry said suddenly.
Indeed, a short person could be seen walking towards them through the graves. His face was hidden with a hooded cloak, but he appeared as though he was carrying something of great importance. The figure stopped before a lofty marble headstone, not more than six feet between Harry and Cedric.
All of a sudden, a searing pain ripped through Harry's scar. His wand slipped from his fingers as he collapsed to the ground, the anguish too much for him to bear. He felt as though his entire head was on fire. Then, Harry heard a shrill, cold voice that seemed to come from elsewhere: "Kill the spare."
Then came the words of another voice. "Avada Kedavra."
Though terrified over what he might see, Harry mustered up the courage to open his eyes. He stared into the lifeless face of Cedric Diggory…
"No!" Harry screamed into the night air of Number Four, Privet Drive. His sheets had been tossed on the floor, sweat marked his pillows, and now cold tears ran down his cheeks.
"Oh, God," Harry murmured, glancing out at the pitch-black sky. He could only hope he hadn't woken the Dursleys. The very thought of explaining his nightmares about Cedric and Voldemort to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was, at best, laughable. But no, he realized. If he'd woken them, they'd have gone rampaging into his room before now.
Harry closed his eyes and wished he could just block out the events and pretend they had never happened. Unfortunately, he knew better. Lord Voldemort was back, and he and the rest of the wizarding world would just have to cope with that.
At least there was now a competent Minister of Magic running things now, Harry thought, his thoughts turning back to the letter he had just received from Sirius. To be sure, his godfather had described Arabella Figg as a "boring old witch-but devilishly clever. If anyone other than Dumbledore can handle the situation, she can. She's a retired Auror, actually."
That was good enough for Harry. Dull or not, anyone capable of responding to the threat posed by Voldemort had Harry's seal of approval. He could only hope that it would be enough to stop the Dark Lord from doing more damage than he had already caused.
A sudden tap at the window put an end to Harry's rather morbid thoughts. "Pig!" Harry exclaimed when he saw what it was. "Have you got something from Ron for me?"
Sure enough, no sooner did Harry open the window than did Pig drop a note in Ron's familiar scrawl. He quickly read it, a ghost of a grin working it's way across his face. Ron had said that Mr. Weasley would pick him up on Monday; today was Saturday. He wouldn't have to endure the Dursleys much longer. This had the prospect of lightning Harry's mood considerably. Though images from his earlier nightmare still tried to creep their way into his thoughts, he quickly blocked them out by thinking about staying at the Burrow.
The P.S. in Ron's letter did strike him as odd, however. "I kind of have something important to tell you"? It wasn't like Ron to withhold information like that; it must really be something important. Harry immediately thought of Voldemort, but then realized that Ron wouldn't wait to tell him something so vital. So it had to be something different. All sorts of possibilities formed in Harry's mind, but none that seemed probable. He let out a shrug. He would just have to wait until Monday to find out just what it was that Ron was being so evasive about.
*
"Hiya, Herm."
Hermione couldn't help but grin as the face of Ron Weasley appeared in her fireplace with a 'pop.' The rest of him followed as he quickly stepped out of the fireplace. As Hermione looked him over, a brief thrill that she couldn't quite identify fluttered through her heart. Stop it, she ordered herself quickly. Act normal. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn't think of anything. Neither could Ron, apparently.
Thankfully, the two weren't left alone much longer. Mrs. Weasley's figure appeared in the emerald fire soon after. Hermione noticed, as the kindly woman stepped out of the fireplace, that she appeared significantly more stressed than usual. Still, she greeted Hermione warmly. "And how have you been, dear?" Not waiting for a response, she continued. "I've come instead of Arthur because goodness knows we can't send him to a Muggle house, he'll be pestering your parents about all that plug nonsense."
At this point, Molly Weasley seemed to notice Hermione's parents, who were watching from a sofa at the end of the room. They had viewed the Weasleys entrance with awe, and were now giving Mrs. Weasley awkward grins. "Good day," Mrs. Weasley said to them in her typically cheery manner, rushing over to offer a hand. "So very pleased to meet you."
After a brief and polite conversation, Mrs. Weasley lit a fire with her wand and threw a dash of Floo powder into the fire. "Ron and the trunk first," she instructed, as Hermione helped Ron lug her trunk into the fire, carefully avoiding his eyes.
"The Burrow!" he shouted, disappearing into the flames.
"Now you, dear," said Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione bid farewell to her parents, stepped into the roaring fire, and said her destination. A minute later, she was face to face with Ron Weasley.
*
"So," Ron said nervously. It had taken quite some doing to find a place where he and Hermione could talk privately. Finally, they had settled on Ron's room after dinner. "I think we both know what we need to talk about."
Hermione nodded in agreement, so he continued. "We need to talk about, well…us."
"Is there an 'us'?" Hermione questioned suddenly.
"I don't know," Ron replied, his ears turning red. "But I'd, well, kind of like there to be."
"So would I," she spoke up. "So let's just…see where this takes us, I guess." She managed a smile, which Ron returned.
Put at ease by Hermione's words, Ron spoke. "In that case, Hermione Granger, would you like to put our newly found understanding to the test with a walk? Only we'll have to dodge the twins unless you want them teasing us for all eternity."
Hermione spoke earnestly. "I would love to."
*
"So here we are. Another month of blessed freedom, and we can't even enjoy it," Ron's words echoed throughout the night.
For once, Hermione didn't scold him on needing to work harder at school. Far more important matters were on both of their minds. "I know, I know…but let's not talk about that right now. Let's just watch the sun set and be grateful that Harry's alive and that now we have a capable Minister and that things are already improving. The storm is far from over, but now we've a fighting chance. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."
"When you put it that way…" smiled Ron.
The two didn't say anything for several minutes. Both just gazed into the purple-reddish sky and it's looming ball of gold, each lost in their own thoughts. Though no words were spoken, both found a strange comfort in the other's presence.
Looking back, Ron never was quite sure exactly what it was that made him do what he did next. He took Hermione's hand in his own and held it. She flushed a bright magenta. But she didn't remove his hand.
*
Harry checked his watch for the tenth time within three minutes. Only 4:53…darn it. Would 5:00 never come? He couldn't stand being under Aunt Petunia's loathing gaze for a moment longer. She and Uncle Vernon were nervously waiting in the living room with Harry, looking like they expected the house to burst into flames at any given moment. While Harry had repeatedly (and rather unsuccessfully) attempted to explain the concept of Apparating and Portkeys, that didn't stop Uncle Vernon from staring at the repaired fire place with a combination of fear and hatred.
4:56…4:58…Please, hurry up, Harry thought. Several tortuous moments later, Arthur Weasley appeared in the center of the Dursleys living room, carrying a book which Harry assumed to be the Portkey. While the Dursleys were staring at Mr. Weasley's tattered robes with great distaste, he greeted them cordially and Harry brightly. Vernon and Petunia returned the greeting with minimal politeness, as Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand from Apparating.
Harry all too gladly reached out to touch the book, trying to forget his last experience with a Portkey as he did so. Hello to the Burrow, he thought with a grin as the familiar house zoomed into view.
*
A few hours later, Harry was full with Mrs. Weasley's cooking, and brought up to date with all the news in the wizarding world. ("Arabella Figg's already taken steps towards removing Azkaban from the control of the dementors, see? Now that's what I call a competent Minister!") He was thrilled at being with his two best friends again, and had enjoyed catching up with them. In fact, Harry was so happy from the sheer joy at being with Ron and Hermione that he was quite oblivious to their change of behavior towards each other. What brought even more euphoria to him were the plans made for his birthday in two days. Dumbledore had explained about Sirius to the Weasleys, and they believed him. Arrangements had been made for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to visit Sirius and Professor Lupin for his birthday. Harry was already eagerly counting down the days to when he could see his godfather under pleasant circumstances-as well as what would likely be the best birthday of his life.
Caught up in the joys of the moment, Harry almost forgot about the peculiar post-script in Ron's letter. Almost-but not quite. He decided to wait until they were both lying in bed. "Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"What was that thing you wanted to tell me?"
Ron's now-red face was barely visible in the darkness. "Well…it's about…you know…well…Hermione," he finally blurted.
"What about her?" Harry carefully kept his tone neutral.
"Well, see, she went to Bulgaria. And I was a bit, well, rude about it. But then it turns out she didn't have such a great time after all. So I thought maybe…I wrote her and admitted that I, well, liked her. I don't know what made me do it. But then-she wrote back and said that she liked me too. And that's it, really."
A slow grin formed on Harry's lips. "So you two are an item now, eh?" he asked, a smile in his voice.
"You could, er, put it that way," murmured Ron.
"Well that's great!" declared Harry. "I think you two would make a good couple-"
He was about to continue, but was cut off by Ron's snores.
*
'Hermione and Ron! How strange-yet I'm not surprised. In fact, I should have guessed all along,' thought Harry. Reflecting on the previous year, Harry could not understand why he hadn't seen this coming. Ron had hardly been discreet with his dislike for Viktor Krum. Harry supposed he'd simply been preoccupied with the Triwizard Tournament…
With that, Harry drifted off to sleep.
*
A few hours later, he woke up screaming. His scar was stinging him with almost as great torment as it ever had. And the dream with Voldemort-it had all been so real.
Gripping onto his pained head, Harry forced himself to draw several deep breaths, forlornly trying to keep his mind off of the haunting images that had just appeared in his dreams. Hastily, he reached for a piece of parchment and quill and began to write:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I've just had a dream about Voldemort...
***
Author's Note: Does that count as a cliffhanger? Anyway, hope you liked. It *will* pick up, I promise. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to get the next part out ASAP.
Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's
Aftermath and Awakenings
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira
***
Ron Weasley stared at the letter in his hands, and re-read it for the tenth time that evening. He felt like the most idiotic person on earth while doing it, but he had to be sure that the words he saw really existed, and were not just what he wanted to exist. But, no, after reading those beautiful, beautiful words eleven times it was painfully obvious that this was one of the few times in life where dreams and reality coincide.
Just as Ron was about to make it an even dozen by reading the letter yet again, a figure appeared at the door. "Ginny!" He sputtered in a hasty attempt to hide the letter. "What're you doing here?"
"I live here?" Ginny retorted without hesitation. While her infatuation with Harry might give one the delusion that she was nothing more than a giggly schoolgirl, in reality she was very quick-witted while not in Harry's presence.
Ron mumbled an apology and then gestured towards the door pointedly. His sister, however, didn't budge, but merely said, "Your Royal Majesty, I so humbly beg of you to forgive my shortcomings. However, as dinner is being served, I thought it such a tragedy if you didn't grace our meek little family with your exquisite presence. So forgive me, King Ronald, for not wanting to see your divine self perish for lack of food, because that would be just so catastrophic."
Ron opened his mouth to make a witty comeback, but quickly shut it when he couldn't think of one. Half of his brain was still on the letter that his bed covers now shielded, which left little room for sarcasm. Ginny, meanwhile, only smiled sweetly, though the sardonic edge could not be missed. "Apologies for disrupting your Majesty, though you'd be advised to know that your potatoes are growing cold."
She left without another word, leaving Ron to his very dazed thoughts.
*
"Well look at who finally decided to join us," was Fred's response to Ron's entrance.
"Shut up," was the most creative reply Ron could think of.
Fred looked like he was about to say something more, but he was quickly silenced by a look from Mrs. Weasley. "Where were you, Ron dear?" she questioned briskly. "I'd have thought you'd want to know who Dumbledore's named as Minister!"
For the first time since receiving Hermione's letter earlier that afternoon, Ron expressed interest in something other than his mail. "Who then?"
"Arabella Figg," his father replied. "Brilliant old witch. She's Dumbledore's good friend. He's quoted as saying that she'll be a fine Minister of Magic, etc, etc. Doubtless she'll handle the current…situation better than Fudge did."
There was a murmur of agreement around the table, and within a few minutes the regular strained attempts at normal conversation continued as George talked animatedly about a new top-secret invention; Mrs. Weasley had long since stopped caring about the twins' plan to open a joke shop.
Lost in his own world though he was, Ron couldn't help but notice that the tension in the air was considerably less. No doubt that had to do with the relief that there was now a competent Minister to deal with the threat posed by the Dark Side. Just like Hermione said, he thought with awe. Time to look towards the future.
*
A few days later, the excitement of Hermione's letter had died down considerably, and Ron snapped back into his usual personality. Glad though he was that the feelings he had were mutual, once he had regained his common sense he saw plainly that he couldn't let that dominate his life. Like everything else, this was one thing that was just going to have to be taken one step at a time.
Admittedly, Ron had spent considerably more time than necessary composing a reply to Hermione. After an hour (and many crumpled pieces of parchment), he opted for a simple and frank message:
Dear Hermione,
I wish I could say everything I want to say to you in this letter, but I've never been particulary good with words. We can talk when you get here. Speaking of which: we can pick you up next Sunday at 7:00. With Floo Powder, of course. You don't have an eceltic fire like Harry's, do you? Well, see you then.
Yours,
Ron
Though dissatisfied with the fact that the letter was purely non-personal, Ron sent it, along with a letter for Harry:
Harry,
You can come! Dad will Apparate to your place with a Portkey leading here at around 5:00 Monday. (Told you we wouldn't use Floo Powder.) Send a note back with Pig if that's all right. Oh, and in case Sirius hasn't gotten to you yet, Arabella Figg's Minister. See you soon!
Ron
PS: I kind of have something important to tell you when you get here.
The P.S. had been cause for much internal debate. Ron wasn't quite sure what the thing between him and Hermione was, or if it even was a thing, but he felt like keeping it to himself for a while. Still, Harry was his other best friend. If anyone figured it out, it would be him. Better to just come clean with it; he'd be hurt if neither of them said anything to him, and that was the very last thing either Ron or Hermione wanted to do right now.
On a different level, Ron was simply aching for somebody to share his feelings with. Though not by nature a person who was open about emotions, his mind was too full of them to be able to keep them to himself. To a certain extent, Ron was anticipating Harry's arrival not only to see his friend, but to be able to lift a few weights off his chest.
Ron just sighed. Sunday night couldn't come soon enough for him.
*
Hermione Granger was not one to be hoodwinked. Perhaps her perceptiveness was overlooked by her studious nature, but in reality she was very shrewd when it came to figuring out what people meant by their words and actions. Ron's letter was no exception. The casual tone of the letter didn't fool her for an instant. She also knew, however, that trying to work out their newly found feelings through owl post wouldn't work out. He was right: they needed to talk face-to-face. Chewing on the end of her quill, Hermione wrote a reply in flowering script:
Dear Ron,
I agree: we definitely need to talk in person. And we will. Sunday night is fine for picking me up, and no, we do not have an ELECTRIC fire.
With Love From,
Hermione
PS: When's Harry coming?
Satisfied, Hermione tied the note to Pig's free talon-he was carrying another letter-and wondered how it was possible to look towards Sunday with both giddy excitement and undeniable dread.
*
The dream came again. As real as it always was. The boy called Harry Potter tossed and turned in his sleep. Wake up! Wake up! He pleaded silently. But he never could. Not until the dream was over.
With a gust of cold air, Harry felt his body give way as he landed on hard rock. Trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg, he asked Cedric where they were. But he only shook his head as both boys glanced around at their surroundings. It was quite obvious they had left Hogwarts; how far away was anyone's guess. The castle and its surrounding mountains were nowhere in view. Instead, Harry found himself looking at the outline of a small church. Surrounding it were graves with moss sprawled all over. They were in a graveyard, Harry realized. But how? And why?
To their left loomed a hill, on top of which the outline of a large old house was just barely visible in the darkness. "Wands out d'you reckon?" came Cedric's voice.
Harry heard himself murmur agreement as they both pulled out their wands and continued to watch in silence. "Someone's coming," Harry said suddenly.
Indeed, a short person could be seen walking towards them through the graves. His face was hidden with a hooded cloak, but he appeared as though he was carrying something of great importance. The figure stopped before a lofty marble headstone, not more than six feet between Harry and Cedric.
All of a sudden, a searing pain ripped through Harry's scar. His wand slipped from his fingers as he collapsed to the ground, the anguish too much for him to bear. He felt as though his entire head was on fire. Then, Harry heard a shrill, cold voice that seemed to come from elsewhere: "Kill the spare."
Then came the words of another voice. "Avada Kedavra."
Though terrified over what he might see, Harry mustered up the courage to open his eyes. He stared into the lifeless face of Cedric Diggory…
"No!" Harry screamed into the night air of Number Four, Privet Drive. His sheets had been tossed on the floor, sweat marked his pillows, and now cold tears ran down his cheeks.
"Oh, God," Harry murmured, glancing out at the pitch-black sky. He could only hope he hadn't woken the Dursleys. The very thought of explaining his nightmares about Cedric and Voldemort to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was, at best, laughable. But no, he realized. If he'd woken them, they'd have gone rampaging into his room before now.
Harry closed his eyes and wished he could just block out the events and pretend they had never happened. Unfortunately, he knew better. Lord Voldemort was back, and he and the rest of the wizarding world would just have to cope with that.
At least there was now a competent Minister of Magic running things now, Harry thought, his thoughts turning back to the letter he had just received from Sirius. To be sure, his godfather had described Arabella Figg as a "boring old witch-but devilishly clever. If anyone other than Dumbledore can handle the situation, she can. She's a retired Auror, actually."
That was good enough for Harry. Dull or not, anyone capable of responding to the threat posed by Voldemort had Harry's seal of approval. He could only hope that it would be enough to stop the Dark Lord from doing more damage than he had already caused.
A sudden tap at the window put an end to Harry's rather morbid thoughts. "Pig!" Harry exclaimed when he saw what it was. "Have you got something from Ron for me?"
Sure enough, no sooner did Harry open the window than did Pig drop a note in Ron's familiar scrawl. He quickly read it, a ghost of a grin working it's way across his face. Ron had said that Mr. Weasley would pick him up on Monday; today was Saturday. He wouldn't have to endure the Dursleys much longer. This had the prospect of lightning Harry's mood considerably. Though images from his earlier nightmare still tried to creep their way into his thoughts, he quickly blocked them out by thinking about staying at the Burrow.
The P.S. in Ron's letter did strike him as odd, however. "I kind of have something important to tell you"? It wasn't like Ron to withhold information like that; it must really be something important. Harry immediately thought of Voldemort, but then realized that Ron wouldn't wait to tell him something so vital. So it had to be something different. All sorts of possibilities formed in Harry's mind, but none that seemed probable. He let out a shrug. He would just have to wait until Monday to find out just what it was that Ron was being so evasive about.
*
"Hiya, Herm."
Hermione couldn't help but grin as the face of Ron Weasley appeared in her fireplace with a 'pop.' The rest of him followed as he quickly stepped out of the fireplace. As Hermione looked him over, a brief thrill that she couldn't quite identify fluttered through her heart. Stop it, she ordered herself quickly. Act normal. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn't think of anything. Neither could Ron, apparently.
Thankfully, the two weren't left alone much longer. Mrs. Weasley's figure appeared in the emerald fire soon after. Hermione noticed, as the kindly woman stepped out of the fireplace, that she appeared significantly more stressed than usual. Still, she greeted Hermione warmly. "And how have you been, dear?" Not waiting for a response, she continued. "I've come instead of Arthur because goodness knows we can't send him to a Muggle house, he'll be pestering your parents about all that plug nonsense."
At this point, Molly Weasley seemed to notice Hermione's parents, who were watching from a sofa at the end of the room. They had viewed the Weasleys entrance with awe, and were now giving Mrs. Weasley awkward grins. "Good day," Mrs. Weasley said to them in her typically cheery manner, rushing over to offer a hand. "So very pleased to meet you."
After a brief and polite conversation, Mrs. Weasley lit a fire with her wand and threw a dash of Floo powder into the fire. "Ron and the trunk first," she instructed, as Hermione helped Ron lug her trunk into the fire, carefully avoiding his eyes.
"The Burrow!" he shouted, disappearing into the flames.
"Now you, dear," said Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione bid farewell to her parents, stepped into the roaring fire, and said her destination. A minute later, she was face to face with Ron Weasley.
*
"So," Ron said nervously. It had taken quite some doing to find a place where he and Hermione could talk privately. Finally, they had settled on Ron's room after dinner. "I think we both know what we need to talk about."
Hermione nodded in agreement, so he continued. "We need to talk about, well…us."
"Is there an 'us'?" Hermione questioned suddenly.
"I don't know," Ron replied, his ears turning red. "But I'd, well, kind of like there to be."
"So would I," she spoke up. "So let's just…see where this takes us, I guess." She managed a smile, which Ron returned.
Put at ease by Hermione's words, Ron spoke. "In that case, Hermione Granger, would you like to put our newly found understanding to the test with a walk? Only we'll have to dodge the twins unless you want them teasing us for all eternity."
Hermione spoke earnestly. "I would love to."
*
"So here we are. Another month of blessed freedom, and we can't even enjoy it," Ron's words echoed throughout the night.
For once, Hermione didn't scold him on needing to work harder at school. Far more important matters were on both of their minds. "I know, I know…but let's not talk about that right now. Let's just watch the sun set and be grateful that Harry's alive and that now we have a capable Minister and that things are already improving. The storm is far from over, but now we've a fighting chance. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."
"When you put it that way…" smiled Ron.
The two didn't say anything for several minutes. Both just gazed into the purple-reddish sky and it's looming ball of gold, each lost in their own thoughts. Though no words were spoken, both found a strange comfort in the other's presence.
Looking back, Ron never was quite sure exactly what it was that made him do what he did next. He took Hermione's hand in his own and held it. She flushed a bright magenta. But she didn't remove his hand.
*
Harry checked his watch for the tenth time within three minutes. Only 4:53…darn it. Would 5:00 never come? He couldn't stand being under Aunt Petunia's loathing gaze for a moment longer. She and Uncle Vernon were nervously waiting in the living room with Harry, looking like they expected the house to burst into flames at any given moment. While Harry had repeatedly (and rather unsuccessfully) attempted to explain the concept of Apparating and Portkeys, that didn't stop Uncle Vernon from staring at the repaired fire place with a combination of fear and hatred.
4:56…4:58…Please, hurry up, Harry thought. Several tortuous moments later, Arthur Weasley appeared in the center of the Dursleys living room, carrying a book which Harry assumed to be the Portkey. While the Dursleys were staring at Mr. Weasley's tattered robes with great distaste, he greeted them cordially and Harry brightly. Vernon and Petunia returned the greeting with minimal politeness, as Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand from Apparating.
Harry all too gladly reached out to touch the book, trying to forget his last experience with a Portkey as he did so. Hello to the Burrow, he thought with a grin as the familiar house zoomed into view.
*
A few hours later, Harry was full with Mrs. Weasley's cooking, and brought up to date with all the news in the wizarding world. ("Arabella Figg's already taken steps towards removing Azkaban from the control of the dementors, see? Now that's what I call a competent Minister!") He was thrilled at being with his two best friends again, and had enjoyed catching up with them. In fact, Harry was so happy from the sheer joy at being with Ron and Hermione that he was quite oblivious to their change of behavior towards each other. What brought even more euphoria to him were the plans made for his birthday in two days. Dumbledore had explained about Sirius to the Weasleys, and they believed him. Arrangements had been made for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to visit Sirius and Professor Lupin for his birthday. Harry was already eagerly counting down the days to when he could see his godfather under pleasant circumstances-as well as what would likely be the best birthday of his life.
Caught up in the joys of the moment, Harry almost forgot about the peculiar post-script in Ron's letter. Almost-but not quite. He decided to wait until they were both lying in bed. "Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"What was that thing you wanted to tell me?"
Ron's now-red face was barely visible in the darkness. "Well…it's about…you know…well…Hermione," he finally blurted.
"What about her?" Harry carefully kept his tone neutral.
"Well, see, she went to Bulgaria. And I was a bit, well, rude about it. But then it turns out she didn't have such a great time after all. So I thought maybe…I wrote her and admitted that I, well, liked her. I don't know what made me do it. But then-she wrote back and said that she liked me too. And that's it, really."
A slow grin formed on Harry's lips. "So you two are an item now, eh?" he asked, a smile in his voice.
"You could, er, put it that way," murmured Ron.
"Well that's great!" declared Harry. "I think you two would make a good couple-"
He was about to continue, but was cut off by Ron's snores.
*
'Hermione and Ron! How strange-yet I'm not surprised. In fact, I should have guessed all along,' thought Harry. Reflecting on the previous year, Harry could not understand why he hadn't seen this coming. Ron had hardly been discreet with his dislike for Viktor Krum. Harry supposed he'd simply been preoccupied with the Triwizard Tournament…
With that, Harry drifted off to sleep.
*
A few hours later, he woke up screaming. His scar was stinging him with almost as great torment as it ever had. And the dream with Voldemort-it had all been so real.
Gripping onto his pained head, Harry forced himself to draw several deep breaths, forlornly trying to keep his mind off of the haunting images that had just appeared in his dreams. Hastily, he reached for a piece of parchment and quill and began to write:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I've just had a dream about Voldemort...
***
Author's Note: Does that count as a cliffhanger? Anyway, hope you liked. It *will* pick up, I promise. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to get the next part out ASAP.