Hermione

It's funny really, how some things never change.

"Harry! It really wouldn't kill you to help out around here!" I yell in frustration, struggling with a stubborn Doxy in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

"I'm coming!" he yells back, his voice carrying down the floors. 

"You too," I add to a sniggering Ron.  

Harry bursts into the kitchen, and I don't miss the layer of sweat on his neck. 

"What have you been doing? Why are you sweating?" Ron asks curiously. 

Harry looks up, eyes bloodshot. 

"Harry," I start tentatively, exchanging a worried glance with Ron. "Have you been crying?"

"No," he says firmly, but his voice wavers, and he stuffs something into his pocket. 

"What's that?" I ask sharply. 

"What's what?" he asks, trying to make his tone innocent. 

"Get it, Ron!" I order.

Ron makes a lunge for Harry's pockets, pulling out whatever he's crumpled inside. Ron bounds to my side, un-wrinkling it. 

It's a picture of James, Sirius, Pettigrew, and Lupin. They all have careless smiles on their faces, hair blowing in the wind. Sirius seems to be squinting into the sun, with his arm around James. 

"Harry-" I say softly, but he's already gone, and I can hear him stomping up the staircase. 

"Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!" screeches the portrait of Sirius's mother. 

Harry, Ron, and I race to it, wrenching the curtains shut with difficulty. 

"We better go to sleep early," Harry says abrubtly. 

"Let's go over the Ministry plan one more time," Ron says nervously, hurrying back into the basement kitchen. 

We go over the Ministry plan for hours, and Ron keeps on insisting that we call it, 'Mission Impossible.'

"Ron, that's a muggle film!" Harry and I say at the same time. 

"I know. Came out in 1996 and everything, didn't it? Dad took me and Charlie to see it the first week of summer," Ron says, looking a little proud of his muggle knowledge. 

I roll my eyes. 

"It's weird, isn't it?" Harry asks suddenly. "To think that everyone is at Hogwarts now, and we're not."

"Weird?" I laugh. "You two have been wanting to ditch school ever since we started!"

But I do get what Harry's saying. It feels wrong, not being at school. 

"Seeing as you just said that we're not smart enough for school, I'm off to bed then," Ron says dryly, leaving the kitchen. 

Harry remains, and he leans back on his chair, closing his eyes. I sigh, and get up, ready to leave too.

"Hermione," he says suddenly, his eyes boring into mine. "Are you feeling alright? Strange, perhaps?"

"No . . ." I trail, confused.

"Are you sure?" he presses. "No strange symptoms?"

"Ron!" I yell, frustrated. "Get back down here!"

He runs back down, stopping at the kitchen door, and breathing heavily. 

"Yes?"

"Both of you, sit," I bark. 

They look bemused, but Ron sits next to Harry. 

"I've told you, repeatedly, that the old Firewhiskey is not to be drunk!"

"We didn't drink it!" Ron argues. "Not today, at least."

"Then why is he acting like he drank a bit too much at a dinner party?" I scoff, pointing at Harry. 

"I'm not!" Harry defends. "I just asked if you were feeling alright!"

I shake my head, looking down at them in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. 

"Get lost, go to sleep," I groan, shooing Ron out, and gesturing for Harry to follow him. 

"No, but I'm serious," he says in a low voice after Ron has left. "Do you remember anything?"

"Harry, you're sounding like a crack head," I sigh. 

"Just answer me! Do you remember anything- or anyone from Hogwarts?"

"Er, of course I remember Hogwarts!" I say.

Then, gritting his teeth, he asks, "So you don't remember like- Malfoy or anyone?"

"Of course I remember Malfoy! How could I forget that git, after all the bullying he did?" I say, bewildered. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Harry says, with a sigh of relief.

Is that - pity - in his eyes?

But Harry shakes his head, and the odd look dissapears. I must have been imagining it. 

"That will teach you and Ron to drink old Firewhiskey just because you're bored!" I call after him. 

"We didn't drink it!" Ron yells from floors above. 

That sets off Sirius's mother all over again. 

***********************************************************************************************

"Is your arm feeling okay?" I ask Ron, concerned. 

"Fine," me mumbles. "It's fine."

I can feel it now, the tenderness in me for Ron. But something about it feels familiar. Have I felt like this for someone before?

I frown, deep in thought. True, I liked Ron last year. But I didn't have the caring feeling for him back then that I do now. So why does this feel familiar?

"Hermione?" Harry asks. "Do you mind taking night shift tonight?"

"Yeah, sure," I say, sighing. 

The sky gets darker, and I settle down outside the tent, the canopy of the forest calming me down a little. 

It's pitch dark when Harry comes out. 

"Where's Ron?" I ask softly. 

"Sleeping."

I don't get up for a few minutes, and Harry doesn't tell me too. He stares into the night, obviously tensed. 

"Nobody can find us here," I reassure. 

"I know. It's not that," he says tentatively. 

"Then what?"

"It's nothing," he sighs. "I'll take watch now."

"No, tell me."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

Then, he says very quietly, "Ginny."

I nod in understanding. 

"We're in the middle of a Wizarding War Harry. Frustrating, I know, but it's not the time for romance."

I can see him biting back his retort, his question about me and Ron.

"Ron and I are . . . different. Don't take it personally. Harry, I'm sorry if you've been feeling lonely-"

"No, no Hermione, don't apologize," he says. "We knew it would be like this."

I yawn, and get up, ready to enter the tent. 

"Be careful Hermione," Harry advises. "Sometimes things we don't expect happen to us."

I ignore his random warning. He's been saying stuff like this to me for the past couple of weeks, ever since we saw Lucius Malfoy at the Ministry. 

"Harry," I say suddenly. "Do you also feel a type of, I don't know, er, Déjà vu?"

"What do you mean?" he says at once, tensing. 

"I don't know . . . Did someone get hurt last year?" I ask, confused. "The memory of the bandages on Ron's arm, the tears, I vaguely remember something about it."

Harry looks very taught now. 

"Ron was poisoned last year. Maybe you're thinking of that?" Harry asks hastily. 

"No . . . It's not that, Harry. Ron didn't have any bandages on his arm when he was poisoned, remember? There wasn't blood, and, er, I didn't cry then either!"

"You're probably just not getting enough sleep," Harry says hastily, taking the Horcrux from my neck.  

"I don't think so . . . I definitely remember being worried about a bloody, bandaged wound Harry."

"It's just the stress, okay?" Harry says, terse. 

"Merlin, fine. It's the stress," I agree, and duck back into the tent. 

When I'm zipping it back up, I hear him grumble, "Fuck you, Malfoy."

I shake my head. It's been a year, and Harry is still not over his Malfoy obsession. I bet he's got some other nonsense theories now, for which Ron and I will have to suffer through. 

I fall into an uneasy sleep, with the thought, 'I've felt this before' running constantly through my mind.