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“The balmy days slid gently through May, and Ron seemed to be there at Harry’s shoulder every time he saw Ginny. Harry found himself longing for a stroke of luck that would somehow cause Ron to realise that nothing would make him happier than his best friend and his sister falling for each other and to leave them alone together for longer than a few seconds. There seemed no chance of either while the final Quidditch game of the season was looming; Ron wanted to talk tactics with Harry all the time and had little thought for anything else.”
- Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 18: Sectumsempra
Take care of me
Talk all day then at night fall in deep
Stimulate me
I want you mental and physically
- Belong to You, Sabrina Claudio
"I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of the life to start as soon as possible."
- Harry Burns (Billy Crystal), When Harry Met Sally …
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Despite priding herself on being a logical and rational person, Hermione Granger was an absolute sucker for love. One could always count on finding at least one steamy romance novel in her current rotation of books. As for her comfort film during visits to the Muggle world, it was the 1989 classic, "When Harry Met Sally…" And it didn't feel like a coincidence that her real-life Harry happened to be the leading man in the sweetest love story Hermione had ever known.
No, this isn't a love story about Harry and Hermione. Good God, no. Harry and Hermione were strictly platonic; it had been that way for years and always would be. Moreover, describing Hermione's love life—or lack thereof—as "sweet" was a stretch to say the very least.
This is a story about Harry and Ginny. After five heart-wrenching years of watching her best girl friend quietly and unrequitedly pine for Harry, Hermione couldn't help but feel giddy with joy as she noticed the pendulum starting to swing the other way. And swing it did. Harry never explicitly told Hermione anything (he never told Hermione anything), but it was in the way he laughed a bit too loudly at Ginny's jokes and how he couldn't take his eyes off her that clued Hermione into the depths to which Harry had fallen.
One late night in the Gryffindor common room in early May, Ginny seemed to have captured Harry's attention a bit more than usual. It had been two weeks since Ginny broke up with Dean, and the tension between her and Harry had been thickening. Hermione wondered if even Ron—especially dense when it came to matters of the heart—had picked up on the growing vibes between his sister and his best friend.
Probably not, Hermione thought. The idiot's been too preoccupied with the Quidditch final to notice if he's even walking in the right direction.
She looked across to the idiot in question, the mercurial object of her own traitorous affections, asleep with his head on the table. Well, Ron certainly looked the part, with his mouth open, snoring softly, drool pooling onto his Charms essay. Despite her attempts at resistance, Hermione's heart softened. Ron's anxiety tended to skyrocket when a match was upcoming, leaving little room for rest. She debated prodding him awake, as every minute Ron was asleep meant every minute Hermione wasn't. But her tragically asymmetrical love for him meant his needs typically won over hers.
Thankfully, Harry had forgone his game of eye tag with Ginny to wrap up the final paragraph of his Charms essay. As thrilled as she was for the lovebirds, Hermione was more thrilled by the idea of sinking into her warm bed. Within five minutes, Harry's essay was in Hermione's hands. Within twenty, Hermione had finished her revision and was in the middle of sharing feedback when Ginny once again caught their attention.
"Coming, Ginny?"
Harry looked up at the utterance of his beloved's name, perking up immediately. Hermione surreptitiously observed. Ginny, seated on a loveseat about ten feet away, tilted her head towards her friend who was standing to leave. After flashing a glance over at Harry, she murmured something to the girl, who then left after bidding goodnight. Ginny locked eyes with Harry once more before looking back down at her book. It was a clear invitation; judging by Harry's glance at Ron, he was debating on accepting.
"Oh, just go, Harry!" said Hermione after it was clear that her existence, let alone Charms, had been driven completely out of Harry's mind.
Harry jolted in his seat, tore his eyes from Ginny, and turned a deep red. After fully processing Hermione's words, he looked at her in disbelief.
"I'll wrap this up for you," she said, reaching back for his essay.
Harry's eyes bugged out at the offer. He glanced at Ron again.
"Quickly, before he wakes up!" urged Hermione, smiling. "I'll distract him if he does."
Harry briefly considered Hermione with narrowed eyes before pointing a stern finger and saying, "Not a word about this later, you."
"I make no promises, Harry Potter," said Hermione, mischief making her smile grow wider.
Harry tried to fake annoyance, but the corners of his mouth and the gratitude in his eyes betrayed him. He turned back towards Ginny, braced himself, and got up decisively to walk over to her. Ginny, meanwhile, was clearly watching Harry out of the corner of her eye while she pretended to read. Hermione could barely make out Ginny's mouth curving slowly into a smile.
Hermione smiled too as she turned her attention back to Harry's essay.
"Oh, hello Harry," she heard Ginny say in a honeyed drawl. "Fancy seeing you at my humble abode."
"It's nice," Harry joked back. "I like what you've done with the place…"
As Harry and Ginny's voices melded into the background, Hermione gleefully concluded that it was only a matter of days before they finally became an item. Surely, they had enough sense to steer clear of the tactics from Ron and Hermione's brilliant Handbook of Courtship, greatest hits including: deny feelings and play immature mind games for over two years (both of them, but mainly Ron); cruelly, inexplicably blow the whole thing up just as things start moving in the right direction (Ron); start dating the conventionally pretty girl you've been ogling since her boobs arrived, even though she's completely wrong for you (Ron); rub your new girlfriend in the other person's face through public displays of affection just shy of actual rubbing (Ron); get mauled on a date with a total heathen just to make the other see red (Hermione); decide to be friends again after a near-death experience even though attraction lingers (both of them); try not to blur lines while one figures out how to dump his girlfriend (both of them); be too much of a coward to dump your girlfriend (Ron); blur lines anyway and feel guilty as girlfriend inevitably notices (both of them); mire yourself in self-loathing for being tantamount to "the other woman" to a half-brain you can't seem to stop loving even though he keeps hurting you (Hermione); endure mortifyingly public dumping by girlfriend once she's had enough (Ron); get invoked in mortifyingly public dumping (Hermione); and finally, finally, return to square one, only this time with a mountain of regrettable past decisions and glaring uncertainty looming over you (both of them).
Hermione Granger, ladies, gents, and everyone in between. Ever the sucker for love, indeed.
As she contemplated these things, it was as if the force of Hermione's glare towards Ron triggered the loud snore that jolted him awake. Hermione quickly averted her eyes while Ron sat up, rubbing his face dumbly.
"Glad you could join me, Ron," quipped Hermione, not taking her eyes off Harry's essay.
Ron, still groggy, looked around. "Where'd Harry go?"
Hermione's eyes inadvertently flicked behind Ron, and she immediately cursed herself. Ron whipped around to see Harry and Ginny absorbed in conversation with mirrored positions: one leg tucked as the other dangled off the loveseat, bodies angled towards each other, their laughing heads resting on the seatback.
As Ron made to move in their direction, Hermione launched her body across the table and grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"
Ron looked down quizzically at Hermione in her awkward position. His eyes travelled to her hand on his forearm. They had come to an unspoken agreement to limit touching while Ron was with Lavender, but now that they'd broken up, it was slowly but surely finding its way back into their repertoire. This was mostly thanks to Ron, who seemed to have developed a keen interest in finding excuses to keep his hands on Hermione.
Hermione had mixed feelings about this, of course. On one hand, she was an addict to his touch; as she half-laid across the table clinging to him, it was not lost on her that she looked the part. On the other, she was loath to give Ron tools that would allow him any upper hand in their joke of a relationship. But she clung tighter, refusing to betray her promise to Harry.
As amusement grew on Ron's face, she quickly said, "If you're not done with your essay in ten minutes, I'm not reviewing it. I was supposed to be in bed half an hour ago."
Amusement immediately gave way to panic. "Let me just tell Harry an idea for a play before I forget. I'll be quick, I promise," Ron assured her.
"Ron. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Harry doesn't want to talk about Quidditch every single moment of the day?"
Ron glanced behind him. "But the match…"
"Which is this weekend, can wait. This Charms essay due tomorrow morning cannot."
Ron regarded Hermione for a moment before dropping into his seat. "All right, fine."
Hermione quickly let go of his hand as if it were a flobberworm. Ron raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Ron looked down at his essay, grimaced at the splotch of drool, and quickly tapped it with his wand. Hermione, trying not to be impressed by his use of nonverbal spellwork, focused on wrapping up Harry's essay. Moments later, Ron handed over his parchment to Hermione for review. They made eye contact. Hermione set to work on his essay while Ron, after a more surreptitious glance at Hermione, pulled out a strange-looking black book devoid of any markings.
"What's that for?" Hermione asked.
"Oh, it's some, er, independent research…"
"For what class?"
Ron, appearing to have selective hearing, opened the book so that it was perpendicular to the table (angled to make it impossible for Hermione to see a word) and began to read.
Hermione would have liked to engage her curiosity about this book he so obviously magicked, but a yawn reminded her of her priorities and she turned to his essay.
"Ron?" she said after five minutes of reading.
"Hm?" he grunted behind his book.
"What's this rubbish, 'Hermione inserts some crap relating Quintessence to the previous point?'" It was a bracketed sentence, a variation of which was sprinkled in about a dozen times throughout the essay.
Ron's head popped out of his book. "Is it not self-explanatory? Look, I charmed them your favourite colour so that it's easier for you to edit—"
"Oh, you charmed them blue for me—"
"Cerulean, specifically." He beamed with self-satisfaction, likely for both the spellwork and knowing the exact shade of Hermione's favourite colour.
"Sorry, Cerulean, how so very kind of you," Hermione finished snapping. Ron grinned infuriatingly at her tone. The cerulean of his own eyes was bright. (For the record, the favourite colour predated the boy. As hopeless a romantic Hermione may be, she was not that hopeless.)
"For the last time, Ron, I am not doing your work for you," she seethed, throwing her quill on the table and crossing her arms.
"I'm not asking you to do the whole thing, am I?" reasoned Ron, borderline begging. He closed his book and set it down. "Just the parts about Quintessence, you know I'm hopeless with that stuff—"
"I keep telling you, once you get the hang of it, it's simple. Quintessence, also known as the fifth element—"
"Ah, Hermione, no, please," whinged Ron, covering his ears. "The last thing I need right now is a word-for-word narration of that damn book. Look, I know the basics, alright? Building blocks of magic, matter found beyond the terrestrial sphere, blah blah blah. I just get lost when it gets too theoretical."
Hermione opened her mouth to berate Ron for being so ill-prepared for his N.E.W.T.s, but Ron, anticipating the censure, beat her to the punch.
"How about a trade?" he urged. "Do this and I promise I'll let you drag me to the library one day and yammer at me until I've memorised Quintessence: A Quest."
Hermione's mouth hung open. "How am I winning at all in this trade?" she demanded. "My reward for doing extra work is more work?"
Ron looked at Hermione in disbelief. "What, you're telling me the idea of holding me as a prisoner for hours while you wax poetic about the…” — Ron waved his hand carelessly while he searched for the right words — “the sheer beauty of celestial matter and the…I dunno, the unfathomable, infinite magical possibilities contained in them or some crap, you're telling me that doesn't sound appealing?"
Hermione was not sure what her expression was communicating to Ron, but he paused and observed her with the tiniest smile playing on his lips. Hermione felt herself blush and berated herself for being so easily bought. She tried to remain impassive, but she didn't think she was doing a good job. Ron slowly leaned in, making her slowly forget how to breathe.
"You don't, er…" he began before glancing at his mysterious book and looking back at her with decidedly more confidence. He leaned mesmerisingly closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. "You don't like the sound of the two of us…cosy in some corner in the depths of the library…contemplating the stars, the cosmos, the profound vastness of the universe together…letting our imaginations run wild…"
Hermione could not help but let Ron's bold words wash over her like a hot bath. My, he had certainly come a long way from the juvenile mind games and timid flirting he wasted all of fifth year with.
His eyes turned dark. "Nothing around to keep us company but stacks and stacks of books shielding us from the prying eyes of Madam Pince…"
Hermione tried to remind her body that Ron's newfound powers of seduction were due to the months of nonstop face-sucking he enjoyed with Lavender (and likely more), but her body seemed reluctant to listen.
His knee pressed into hers. "Finally free to do what we've been wanting for so long…?"
A shock ran through Hermione, forcing her to jerk her leg away and avert her gaze.
Did she like the sound of that? Of course, she liked the sound of that. She loved the sound of that. Hopeless, bookish romantic as she was, it should come to absolutely no surprise that Hermione long had fantasies of them in that exact setting. The most memorable one happened when her curiosity regarding the "Patented Daydream Charm" Fred had gifted her over the summer finally bested her. After dosing on the charm, she came to thirty minutes later, her body on fire, not too dissimilar to the way she was feeling that very moment.
Finally free to do what we've been wanting to do for so long…
The words echoed in her head, making her body and soul ache. She had been dreaming about this forward version of Ron for years— years—and he had finally arrived. But the gulf between them had grown too large for her to be tempted so easily. A sucker for love as Hermione may be, her respect for her dignity would always prevail.
"No," she said, pushing the essay back towards Ron and acting as though her body wasn't waving a white flag. "I don't like the sound of that."
As Ron looked down at the essay, layers of disappointment and rejection coloured his face. Before Hermione could wonder if she was being too harsh, Ron suddenly looked down at his leg to find Crookshanks brushing against him. In a swift motion, Ron picked up the catlike creature and set him on his lap. Get a grip, Hermione told herself as she felt her resolve weaken at the sight of Ron morosely seeking comfort in the strokes between the ears of the kneazle he used to hate.
Crookshanks turned, repositioned himself to rest his paws on Ron's shoulders, and mewed in his right ear.
Ron glanced at Hermione before petting Crookshanks' back and muttering, "It's a no-go, Crooky. She won't do it. Now I have to spend all night doing something that'll take her bloody fifteen minutes, twenty tops…"
Crookshanks headbutted Ron's jaw.
"You want to try talking to her? Be my guest, although I'm not sure what good it will do…"
Ron lifted Crookshoonks so that the kneazle hid his freckled face. In a high, scratchy pitch, he said, "C'mon Her-meow-ne. It's not Ron's fault that he's an idiot lacking your super-human powers of concentration and intellect. Look at him. Look at how pitiful he is."
At this, Ron swung Crookshanks down for a second, allowing Hermione a glimpse of lugubrious blue eyes and an exaggerated pout, before Crookshanks' unimpressed muzzle covered Ron's face once more. Desperate not to give Ron's ridiculous little performance an inch of credit, Hermione bit hard into her cheeks.
"See?" Ron continued in his "Crookshanks" voice. "The prat's basically a charity case. Since you love starting up useless charities so meow-ch—with horrendous branding and marketing, might I add—how about—?"
And that stupid joke was what did it. At the sound of Hermione's laughter, her double-crossing pet escaped from Ron's clutches, mission accomplished.
"What d'you say, Hermione?" said Ron between his own self-satisfied chuckles. He watched her as she doubled over, his eyes jubilant. "Be my founding partner of the…Save Ron Weasley From Academic Ruin Foundation?"
Hermione let her laughter subside before contemplating the acronym. "S-R-W-A-R-F?"
At Hermione's playing along, Ron's grin widened. "Yeah, or Swarf for short. Or hang on, is it Srawrarf? Swar…sraw…whatever, it's still a far cry from fucking spew."
Hermione kicked his shin, trying to look cross, but failing due to the uncontrollable giggles spilling out of her mouth.
They shared laughter again until it gradually petered into a lingering heaviness. Ron kept his eyes on Hermione, his expression indefinable. As she looked away, she noticed that her leg somehow got trapped between his, likely during the kick. She withdrew her leg once more and resolutely avoided eye contact while anger flared inside her.
This is what Ron does, she thought. He makes it impossible for me to hate him.
The thought made her pause. Why did that sound so familiar? Then it clicked. It was the same line Sally said in When Harry Met Sally… when Harry showed up at the New Year's party to declare his love for her.
Swatting this frivolous idea away, Hermione attempted to hold onto her anger to regain control of the situation. Ron was manipulating her as usual, and she was not going to tolerate it. She stiffened her resolve and looked up at Ron. His eyes held a desperate plea. Just like that, her resolve was annihilated.
Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched the essay back. "This is the last time I'm checking your essays."
After all of that show of emotions, a lazy smirk settled on his face far too easily.
"Sounds familiar," said Ron, sinking into his seat and nudging her leg softly with his.
"I mean it this time."
"Sure you do." Another nudge.
Ron had sunk so low in his chair that his long legs had fully invaded Hermione's territory. The feel of his jean-cladded limbs on either side of her, pressing into a good length of her bare legs, was warm and intoxicating. She cursed and praised herself for wearing a skirt that day.
Hermione felt Ron's eyes on her as she reread the first paragraph and tapped her wand to change the first bracketed sentence.
"I love you, Hermione," he sing-songed with another careless caress of his legs.
"Sure you do," she echoed, eyes fixed on his essay as she scooted back in her chair until her body was out of reach.
Hermione had no desire to hear those wretched words again. Words he only ever said in that annoying tone whenever he wanted something. Words he never meant the way Hermione needed him to mean.
He doesn't only say it when he wants something, said the reasonable part of Hermione's brain. The last time he said it was because you offered to do something nice for him.
Hermione had no patience for the reasonable part of her brain.
Moments passed. Hermione tapped a sentence on Ron's essay as another thick silence billowed around them.
"I do," Ron finally said, his voice completely different. Hermione nearly dropped her wand, and her heart staggered without warning.
Hermione forced herself to focus on Charms as she tried not to think too deeply about Ron's words. All it meant was that he genuinely loved her. Well, of course, she knew that . She knew it was impossible to have a friendship as deep as theirs without some sort of love factoring in. Just because he loved her and was attracted to her didn't mean that he was in love with her. If he was truly in love with her, he never would have hurt her the way he did.
She felt Ron's eyes on her but she resisted the pull to look up. What succeeded in finally lifting her head was Harry. At the sound of Harry's guffaws, Ron had also whipped his head around. They both watched as Harry dissolved into stitches due to something Ginny had said. Momentarily soothed from her woes, Hermione felt her heart balloon at the novel sight. Not even Ron had ever made Harry laugh like that.
Ron had made Hermione laugh like that, though. Countless times, the last one just moments ago. But before she could get irritated with herself for the thought, Ron turned back around.
"Git," he muttered.
Hermione stared at him.
“Harry's trying to shag my sister," Ron explained darkly.
There was a pause before Hermione sniggered.
"I'm not joking," he frowned. "It's true."
“I know it's true, you idiot. I just wouldn’t have put it that way.”
“You knew?”
“Harry refuses to tell me anything," she sighed. "But come on, Ron. He’s been quite obvious about it the entire year. I’m surprised you’ve only just caught wind of it.” She paused, smirking. “On second thought, I’m not surprised at all.”
Ron scowled and held up his index finger. “Don’t underestimate the power of denial. I’ve learned it from the best: my mother.”
"That certainly explains a lot," said Hermione quietly, before she could help herself.
Ron observed Hermione for a moment before saying softly, "Well, I'm not in denial any more. About loads of things."
The ground started to give away, tilting Hermione towards the abyss of contemplating Ron's feelings yet again, but she firmly planted her feet. “Good for you. What finally gave it away about Harry and Ginny?"
Ron noted the change in subject, but didn't press the issue “I heard Harry say Ginny's name in his sleep about a week ago." He wrinkled his face in disgust and horror. "Alongside things my poor ears will never unhear…”
Hermione smirked at his discomfort before realising something. "That's why you've been harassing Harry about Quidditch, isn't it? I've noticed that every time Harry tries to talk to Ginny lately, you butt in about tactics."
"Partly," Ron admitted. "We also really need to talk tactics."
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “You know, I had always gotten the impression that you prefer Ginny to date Harry over anyone else.”
“Well, yeah," Ron acknowledged grudgingly. "I’ve always known they’d be good together. It’s just really weird now that it’s finally happening, I suppose."
"I don't think they're just good together," she said, gazing past Ron to again behold her friends' unfolding romance. "I think they're—"
"Let me guess," interrupted Ron, forcing her attention back onto him. His face glowed with the confidence of a good rejoinder. He put his hands over his heart, cocked his head, and fluttered his eyelashes before sighing in his "Hermione" voice. "They're simply the quintessence of love."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Very nice, Ron. So clever. Incidentally, I'm at the part of your essay where you request the phrase ‘quintessential quintessence’ to be used."
"Oh, good," Ron grinned. "So you're almost done then. It's taking you long enough."
She threw her quill at him, which he caught easily. Their fingers brushed as he handed it back. Ron's grin faltered. The air grew heavy yet again.
"You know," he began with no lingering cockiness. His eyes were fixated on his hand that just touched her, slowly dragging on the table away from Hermione's. It stopped at his book. "Since the whole almost dying thing…I've done a lot of thinking about the quintessence of love myself."
Her heart began to thud again, but Hermione worked to keep her voice neutral. "Have you?"
"Yeah," he said, tracing the blank spine. "And I've realised that when you love someone, when you truly love someone…It doesn't really matter whether or not they end up with you. It'd be brilliant if they do." Ron suddenly lifted his head and his eyes bored into Hermione's. She matched the intensity of his gaze, a tempest brewing within her. Ron's voice turned hoarse and emphatic. "Merlin, I can't think of anything that would be more brilliant."
Something about the determination on Ron's face made Hermione's mind flash yet again to the ending scene in When Harry Met Sally… But she was too focused on managing the chaos of her conflicting emotions to uncover why. Hot, angry tears finally escaped from her control and ran silently down her cheeks. Ron sighed and looked away, toying aimlessly with his book again.
"But when you tend to balls things up the way that I do, you learn that…At the end of the day, all you want is to see them happy. Even if you're not in the picture."
As Hermione watched Ron hang his head in unmistakable defeat, she realised why she was reminded again of her favourite film. Ron fixated on Hermione a look eerily close to the one Billy Crystal had when Harry Burns locked eyes with Sally Albright at the New Year's Eve party. And just like that, for the first time, it hit Hermione: while it did not feel like a coincidence that the hero of her favourite film shared a first name as one of her dearest friends, it also did not feel like a coincidence that that's where their similarities ended.
It was during the Christmas holiday of Hermione's first year when the weaving 12-year narrative of the serious Sally and the wisecracking Harry first enchanted her. Hermione watched, captivated, as their regard of each other slowly evolved from animosity to camaraderie to something far greater than either could have ever bargained for—two months after Hermione made a first true friend out of a wisecracker she initially hated as well. Perhaps it was out of self-preservation, an unconscious need to convince herself that such an ending could never be possible with Ron, but it was a marvel how she had never made the connection in all the times she had seen the film thereafter.
"It's fine, Hermione," Ron said, breaking her out of her epiphany. "I shouldn't have asked you to finish my essay. You should go to sleep."
Hermione didn’t move a muscle.
"Her—?"
"You know what I've realised about the quintessence of love?" she whispered.
Tempered hope flickered in his eyes. "What?" he whispered back.
"When you truly love someone…" — she allowed a small, watery smile — "you'll learn to eventually forgive their…balls-ups."
Ron's eyes widened as they tended to do when Hermione used strong language. Shock was quickly replaced with hope. "Yeah?" he breathed, his still-wide eyes holding galaxies of possibilities as if quintessence itself was contained within them.
And for just one second, Hermione lifted her feet and allowed herself to fall.
But just for one second only.
Then she came to her senses and placed her feet back firmly on the ground.
"Eventually,” she said, sniffing. "It could take months…or years.
"Who knows?" she added airily while Ron's expression held a mixture of dismay and amusement.
"Don't you think if you truly love someone, Hermione," Ron said, adopting her airy tone, "it shouldn't take that long to forgive them…" — his tone shifted, his eyes intense — "especially when you know how truly, deeply sorry they are for everything?"
Despite feeling the sincerity of his apology, a niggling little creature burrowing itself straight into her heart, Hermione refused to back down. Her dignity would always prevail, after all.
"Don't you think if you truly love someone, you'll wait as long as it takes to win them back?" she countered.
Ron, heaving a sigh, had the good sense of knowing that he was bested. "You're like the quintessence of beating my arse in any argument, you are."
Hermione returned to Ron's essay, smiling. She allowed herself to enjoy this one victory even though it was a partial, bittersweet one. "And you're like the quintessence of conning me into doing your homework for you, so I suppose we're even."
"I suppose we are," Ron grumbled, but the grin was evident in his voice.
Harry and Ginny joined them as Hermione handed Ron his homework. As Harry slid back into his seat, a bashful yet easy grin on his face, Ginny threw her arms around Ron.
“Why’re you being weird?” Ron grumbled.
“Because you’re not annoying, for once,” she responded.
As Ginny squeezed him tighter, Ron caught Hermione’s eyes before rolling his own. He held her stare even as Ginny dropped into the seat beside him, lamenting all the revisions she had left. Even as Harry plainly watched Ginny complain about potion antidotes as if he had never seen anything so extraordinary.
At last, Ron tore his eyes away, a careless quip ready for Ginny—but whatever he said, Hermione didn’t catch it. She was too consumed with how profoundly she felt, in that moment—as Ron failed to block a balled-up piece of parchment Ginny aimed at his forehead, and as Harry shook with laughter—that the four of them, together, were the quintessence of hope, of the promise that love prevails no matter what gets thrown at it.