Chapter Four

Disclaimer: These are all JKR's characters. I just like to manipulate them.

A/N: I personally love this chapter ending. I can only hope that you won't stone me for it!

A few more days went by before the guys were willing to discuss what had happened at the memorial service.

Harry was fixing breakfast in his flat when he saw Ron's owl heading for his open window. He knew immediately what it would pertain to. Shaking away the sense of foreboding, he went to the owl now perched on the windowsill and read the letter.

Harry,

Ron

The word 'Malfoy' had been written in an angry hand, leaving an indention on the parchment. In the space between the two paragraphs were some ink splotches, as if his friend had been trembling before he calmed down enough to write again. Knowing Ron, it was more than likely.

Tearing off the bottom half of the parchment Harry replied.

Ron,

Harry

Sending the owl back to his best friend, Harry turned to the breakfast that wasn't finished and sighed. Waving his wand, it all disappeared. Even thinking about what would be said that evening made him lose his appetite.

The day went by slowly for Harry. He had numerous job interviews lined up, but they didn't start until next week, as today was Saturday. He tried to distract himself by imagining how the Auror interview would happen. It worked only briefly. Deciding he couldn't stay home and brood, he Apparated to Diagon Alley. He needed to purchase the promised Firewhisky anyway.

Harry spent most of the day aimlessly perusing the wizarding shops that usually made him enjoy his life. All the strange places, smells and people were constantly surprising him. After realizing at eleven years old that he wasn't alone in being different, he finally began to feel accepted. Yes, the incessant talk of being The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice would grate on his nerves, but it was better than living with his Muggle relatives who acted like he didn't exist at all.

His shopping done, Harry looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly five.

Have to get home and straighten up a bit. He chuckled silently to himself. Don't know why I'm going to clean up with Ron coming over. He'll just make a bigger mess anyway, especially with the conversation we're going to have.

Deciding to walk home from Diagon Alley instead of Apparating, since it wasn't that far, he began the journey to his flat. He tried not to think about what they were going to discuss in just a few short minutes; instead, Harry focused on Quidditch.

He remembered the good days at Hogwarts when he was Gryffindor Seeker, reveling in the freedom he felt every time he rode a broom. The feeling of superiority he felt with his entire House cheering him on. The way Hermione had always helped him when he needed it before a match.

Hermione! He'd been doing so well, not thinking about her. He had thought Quidditch was a safe way to go, but then she had been in the crowd cheering, too, and she had taught him that Impervious spell to keep his glasses from getting fogged in the rain. Idiot!

Harry was standing at his front door when he began chastising himself for his stupidity. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside. He suddenly swirled around, wand at the ready, his key forgotten where it fell on the floor.

There, a shock of red hair sprouted out of the top of his recliner.

"Ron, I could have killed you! I told you five-thirty." He glanced at his watch. "Its only five-twenty!"

"Humph," came from the other side of the chair that was facing the fireplace.

Setting down the bottle of Firewhisky wrapped in its brown paper sack, he walked over to face his long time friend. Hot tears were flowing fast down Ron's cheeks, leaving trails across his freckles.

Reaching out a hand to place on the redhead's shoulder, Harry searched for something to say. It was always awkward when one of them cried in front of the other, both pretending to be too manly for such things. Both knowing they weren't. Thankfully, Ron beat him to it.

"I can't ... can't s-stop thinking about her." Hiccup. "She was every thing t-to me. I always thought, hoped, that she would be with me in ... in the end. When the War was over and V-Voldemort was dead, she was supposed to love me like I loved ... love her."

His crying became sobs.

"I still love her, Harry. I always will. Aside from you, she was the only one to see me for who I w-was. And she was the only girl I ever saw myself with in the future. But now that's she's gone," he bit out the last word, "there won't be a future for me anymore." He ran his fingers through his fiery hair with a lost look in his blue eyes.

Harry didn't know what to say. He, of course, had known that Hermione and Ron had dated in their seventh year and had been doing fine together – well, as fine as Ron and Hermione could.

They would argue over stupid things only to shut each other up in a fierce snog-fest. Of course, their snogging was quite uncomfortable for everyone around them when it escalated into a battle of wills to see who could kiss better than the other. These weird battles for dominance usually resulted in hair tugging, feral moans and removal of some clothing in the common room, before separating long enough to see who could win a race to the Head Girl's private chambers.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. Out of all their crazy competition, he had never heard either one of them say they loved each other. But, knowing Hermione, she had probably laid down a rule in the very beginning of the relationship to not say "I love you" until they knew for certain.

And knowing Hermione as well as he did, he was also willing to bet that once Ron had tried to say he loved her, she would have cut him short and said in her know-it-all voice, "Now Ron, you don't know that you love me. You couldn't possibly know. We're still in school, so we can't say those things yet. Believe me; I've researched this quite thoroughly."

Harry tried to hide his smirk at the thought.

Deciding to say something, Harry asked the first thing that came to mind. "So, when did you fall in love with her? And why didn't you ever tell me?"

The sudden question abruptly ceased Ron's tears.

"W-what?"

Harry had no idea if it was that he had finally said something, or if the nature of the question had silenced him. Probably the latter.

Idiot, he told himself.

Trying to cover his tracks and shove the rude question under the rug, he blushed and said, "Never mind, mate. If you didn't tell me, you probably had a good reason, and I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." Realizing his hand was still on Ron's shoulder, he removed it hastily and shuffled his feet on the rug.

Recovering from his shock, Ron shook his head slightly.

"Don't be sorry, mate. I should have told you, but at one point during seventh year I thought you liked her, too, and I thought you were jealous, and I didn't want to make you even madder at me." He flushed at the admission.

"I know now that you were never jealous of us, so much as you were jealous that we had someone. You were still afraid to date Ginny, in case Voldemort tried to hurt her."

Harry nodded, but continued staring at the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Ron told him, "I didn't actually know that I loved her until Bill and Fleur's wedding, and I saw her in her in those green dress robes, and then I knew. Even all the times that we had gone to her Head Girl's room and ... and ... well, you know!"

Ron's face was a shade darker than his hair now, and when Harry glanced up at him, he almost burst out laughing. Harry nodded his understanding, which allowed his friend to continue.

"Yeah, well anyway," he cleared his throat. "That day it hit me like a ton of Bludgers pounding me all at once. I tried to tell her over the years, but I was never sure if she wanted me to."

Ron was struggling to make himself understood, looking for just the right words.

"At times, I would go to her and begin to let her know, but when I looked in her eyes, there was a warning telling me not to say anything else. Does that make sense?"

Harry looked at him oddly. "You mean the one that meant 'if you do that, I'm going to either kill you or turn you in' when we were off to break the rules?"

Ron paused and licked his lips nervously. "N-no. It was more of a 'don't say another word; now is not the time' type look. Of course, I never knew if I was wrong, because I never told her. And then the night of the Final Battle, when we couldn't find her, my heart broke into a million pieces. How could she be dead before I could even tell her?"

Tears were threatening to return. Taking a moment to compose himself again, Ron continued smiling brightly. "And then I found her. I found her! My heart leapt for joy knowing that I had been given a second chance to redeem myself. To profess my love for her, loud enough for the whole world to hear!" His smile faded as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Then we found out what she was, and that it had been Draco fucking Malfoy who had corrupted the one shining star in my life." Ron was speaking in very quiet tones that Harry recognized as bordering on murderous.

Ron's fists were clenched so tightly against his sides that his knuckles were turning white. Popping out of the recliner so quickly that even Harry's lightning fast reflexes weren't ready, Ron was in his face with his wand aimed directly at Harry's heart. Slowly, purposefully and ominously he spoke.

"I am going to impale Draco bloody Malfoy directly through his black, dead, withered heart for taking my Hermione," Ron growled menacingly.

Harry was truly terrified of his friend at that moment. Looking him in the eyes, he saw a thirst for vengeance such as he had never seen before.

Not even in Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes the day of the Final Battle, when Harry dueled with her before he killed the Dark Lord.

Harry tried to be steady and casual when he spoke next, but the words still wobbled slightly on his lips.

"Ron, mate. I will help you get Malfoy for what he's done, but you need to relax right now. I could do with a shot of Firewhisky, how about you? What do you say?"

Ron's eyes cleared and became calm, deep blue once more, losing their stormy black depths. Glancing down and seeing his wand aimed at his best friend, he took a couple long steps back, breathing heavily. Running his long fingers through his bright hair again, Ron stammered an apology to Harry, mumbling that he should leave.

But Harry just steered him to his couch and told Ron to calm down while he got them a couple of drinks.

Ron sat down on the soft couch with a heavy sigh, trying to keep his long legs from knocking over the coffee table. He stared into the fire, thinking of his beautiful Hermione, plotting how to best kill the bastard Malfoy. He was shaken from his reverie by the clinking of ice cubes by his ear.

Harry handed him a tumbler with a decent amount of throat-burning alcohol on the rocks. Ron noticed he had given himself a fair amount, as well. A good night for it, too, Ron thought. Taking a generous swig, he both grimaced and enjoyed the feel of the drink literally leaving a trail of fire down his esophagus.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The only sounds in the flat were the crackling of the fire and the occasional chink of ice when they drank. Ron had just emptied his tumbler when Harry broke the silence.

Staring into what remained of his Firewhisky, he asked, "If you're going to kill Malfoy, what are you going to do about Hermione?" Green eyes met blue as they stared at each other from across the coffee table.

"I don't know," Ron whispered looking at the floor. "I know if I don't kill her, she will just kill me to avenge Malfoy."

A single tear ran down his cheek.

"But I can't kill Hermione. I can't. I know what she is, but all I see when I think of her is how she used to be. How we used to be." More silent tears were following in the wake of the first. Harry nodded in the silence, quickly downing the last of his liquor, giving him the courage to say what needed to be said.

"All right, then. I'll kill Hermione."

Piercing emerald eyes met sorrowful sapphire across the table. The redhead nodded.