Hey! I'm so, so late with this. But I can't find my dear lovely and very busy beta Steph (if you read this, I hope you're ok, sweetie!). So, once again, here I am, totally betaless, writing in another language, and about to break a promise I made about this being posted by today (kids, never make promises unless you're sure of what you're doing ;)).

The thing is, I hope you can read it without your eyes bleeding.

It's the…let me check, IV part of this kind of story I'm writing fic by fic. Girls POV galore this time.

Thanks for reading this boring prologue, and a bunch of thanks if you're reading the rest, and reviewing. Imagine! :D

PS: Really, don't be too hard on me, guys! It's been a hard couple of weeks

MaDeLaiNe

oOo The heart of the Burrow oOo

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They are coming today.

I've spent the whole morning waving my wand here and there, helping mum to make the house spark, just for them. As if they hadn't been here before. As if they didn't know already what a…a burrow, the Burrow is.

Ron apparated yesterday. Just like that, out of the blue. We hadn't seen him since Bill's wedding. And even if I didn't want to, my eyes searched for something else, someone else, behind him. But no one came. He was alone.

When mum finally released him and stopped sobbing, my brother told us that he just had come to say hi -he was ogling the food on the table as he spoke, the moron- and let everyone know that they were ok. But, of course, mum didn't let him go that easily and, in the end, and with his stomach very much sated, Ron promised they would try and have dinner with us the next day.

But again, he would have promised an Avada on himself had food been involved.

So, tonight we're seeing them again.

I still don't know if I want to. I'm still mad at Harry. For being so stupidly noble. For not wanting to make room for me in his life, not really. For choosing them, her, over me.

I thought it would be different at Bill's wedding. I spent so much time on my dress, my hair, my face, my smile…I wanted to look perfect. Harry would see me again, and maybe… I don't know. Maybe I had envisioned a kiss under the stars. A confession of undying love, perhaps. But I was almost sure that, at least, I could make him reconsider his decision. He had caved in once, allowing them to go with him, wherever it is he has to go.

But things couldn't have been different. He barely acknowledged my presence through the entire day, even if I had caught him staring at me a few times. He was transfixed, watching me dancing with that handsome cousin of Fleur's. And I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Would have he cut in? I'll never know, because before anything could happen, he got…distracted. Well, not exactly. Something else, someone else, caught his attention. I saw him look around, his eyes frantically scanning the room.

I knew who that someone was immediately. And she wasn't even there.

I saw the way he run to ask Tonks. I swear I could almost hear what he was saying, even with the loud music playing and the distance between us. Have you seen her?

Again, her. Not me. If I didn't know better.

And just like that, he walked outside.

Which is exactly what I shouldn't have done. I'd never felt so humiliated in my life. There she was, and him with her, and my own brother telling me that I didn't belong anywhere close to that picture.

But tonight they're coming, and I'm not going to back off again. He'll have to listen.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

“Ginny, what-”

“We need to talk,” I say firmly as I take him by his left arm, leading him to the garden. He's reluctant, but I was ready for that.

“Ginny, wait, if this is about you coming with us again-”

“Don't I deserve five minutes of your time, now?”

He has the decency to look ashamed, and follows me towards the stony bench by the fence. I'm slightly nervous, but I know what I'm doing. And I know him.

Just as we sit, and before he can suspect anything, I take his head in my hands and kiss him. Just the way I know he loves to be kissed.

I get no reaction from him at first, though I think I feel his lips are about starting to respond. But when I try to deepen the kiss, he pulls away.

“Ginny, I don't think this is a good idea.” He looks really uncomfortable.

“Harry,” I say, and I take his hand in mine. “You don't have to pretend. I know you miss me. Merlin, I don't know how I'm making it, the uncertainty of not knowing…”

He still doesn't look at me. He's staring at our hands entwined. I tighten my grip, just in case. “I know you're not going to take me with you,” I go on, “I don't like it, but I accept it. I just want you to tell me one thing.”

He looks up, not sure of what my next move is going to be. I'm good at this.

“Tell me,” and I feel that I'm losing some of my nerve for some reason, “tell me that you love me, Harry. Tell me that you're missing me the way I'm missing you. Tell me you'd rather have me there, with you, every day, and that will be enough. I'll know then that you'll come back to me.”

I see him shifting on his seat, and I can feel his own nervousness. But I need to hear it from his mouth. His hand suddenly escapes my grasp. He touches his forehead, as if he's suffering of a terrible headache. Why is he hesitating so much? I know he still has some troubles at showing emotions, but…Does he think this is some kind of trap to go with them? That I'm going to throw a tantrum?

“Ginny, I…” and he trails of, because a figure has appeared at the veranda, and he, of course, has spotted it immediately. My poor little hero, alert at all times. But then he keeps staring, so I turn to watch what it is.

Ah. Of course.

“She's ok, you know,” I say more bitterly than I have intended. “We're safe here, and she's not alone, but with my brother.”

“I know,” he says. And I remind him we were talking about something important.

“Ginny, I…” he seems to be doing great efforts to find the words. “I can't give you what you're asking for, Ginny. I'm sorry.”

I can't believe it.

“Harry, I don't get it. I'm not asking for -”

“I know.”

And this is it.

“So, what are you telling me exactly, Harry? That you don't really think of me ever? That you don't miss me? That you don't wish I was there when you see my brother snogging Hermione?”

He looks at me as if I just punched him.

“They don't snog.”

I laugh cynically.

“Of course, they don't snog. Have you ever thought that it's just that they don't do it in front of you?”

I don't really know if that's the truth, but I want to hurt him if he's thinking of…well, what I've always been afraid of.

His eyes turn to look at the porch, where my brother is still peacefully chatting with Hermione.

“We're barely apart, Ginny, and we have more important things to do than snog each other, you know.”

His voice sounds strained, and I finally know I'm hitting home. I can't stand it anymore.

“No, I don't know,” I say, rising my voice a little more than I wanted. “You never told me! But even you must have noticed! Don't you feel envious, sometimes?”

He suddenly looks at me, a look of sadness, and then his gaze falls somewhere on the grass under our feet.

“Yes,” he finally confesses in a whisper.

I feel my heart beating faster, and lift my head up to the stars above. I knew I was right. He misses me. He cares for me.

But when I look at him again, I freeze inside.

Because he's looking at her. He's looking at her with a look I know very well, a look I've been seeing in the mirror for six long years. A look of longing.

And for the first time in my life, I'm desperate to be wrong.

“Stop staring at her, for Merlin's sake!”

I didn't want to yell, I swear I didn't.

“Ginny, please calm-”

“Why, Harry? Why can you leave me here but you can go on without her?”

“Ginny, it's dif-”

“Has she finally stuck her ugly nose between us? Has she succeeded?”

“Ginny-”

“Because in case you haven't noticed, I have, Harry! She's not that innocent! She wants nothing more than-”

“SHUT UP!”

And I do, startled by Harry's explosion.

“Why are you doing this, Ginny? This is not about you and me anymore, right? Why this suddenly disliking of Hermione? You used to be friends, and you know very well what she means to me. She's my best friend.”

“She's been sticking her nose between us since the very beginning, Harry! She can't accept you're not her business!”

“But I am her business, the same way your brother is my business, too!”

“Oh, yes,” I laughed, getting cynical again, “it is the same.”

I've wanted his eyes on me all night. But right now, I would rather not have them looking at me this way. Like they loathe what they're seeing.

“You had no right to tell her about me not being her business, Ginny,” he says, more calmly now, which makes it all worse.

“See?” I say heatedly, “She told you! Little Miss Perfect ran to you and told you what Bad Ginny had said, right?”

“I heard you,” he says angrily, but trying to stay calm. “I heard you talking in your room. You had no right.”

“Of course I had! I'm your girlfriend, Harry! And she's Ron's girlfriend, in case you've forgotten. Maybe not in act, but we all know it's just a matter of time. But still she acts like she owns you! I had to make her see that she wasn't the woman in your life anymore, because I am your bloody girlfriend!”

The moment I end my rant, the sound of my words echoes inside my head. A tantrum. That's what my brother called it last time, in a night just like this.

“No, you're not.”

He's not even looking at me.

“What?”

“You're not my girlfriend, Ginny. Not anymore.”

I don't know why his words, which are technically true and nothing I didn't know, make my heart break into pieces. It's over, a little voice whispers inside my head. It's over, for good.

I feel like I should fight, like I should say something to make him see what kind of girl Hermione Granger is. But I can't. Not when a terrible realization has me frozen in place. I was right all along. There's only room for one woman in Harry's life.

“It's her, isn't it?” I whisper, the bitterness in my voice not lost. He finally turns his head and looks at me.

“Ginny, what-”

“Silly me, of course it's her,” I go on. “It's always been her, isn't it? Not only for my brother.”

“Ginny, I don't know what-”

“Don't,” I say, standing up suddenly. I don't want to hear anything he has to say, because I know it'll hurt. Even more. But I didn't cry at Dumbledore's funeral. I'm not going to cry tonight. “Goodnight, Harry. Good luck.”

He doesn't ask, he doesn't follow, he doesn't speak. And perhaps it's better this way; I don't want him near me right now.

As I walk towards the house, its contours a blur, my brother stands up, looking at me with concern.

Her eyes, however, are intently looking for the bench. Of course.

I don't even look at them as I enter the house.

I know that, before I reach my bedroom, she'll be there, sitting with him, with or without my brother. It doesn't matter. Maybe I should tell him. He's so thick I bet he doesn't even imagine what's really going on. But it's not my brother I want to hurt.

If we all make it to see the end of the war, things will be different. As they should be.

oOo

“You better check on him, Hermione,” he tells me the moment we see Ginny slamming the door. “This was something big.”

He's just being prudent, of course. We heard the yelling. But she is his sister, and he is his best friend, and I've always been better at these things anyway. With a silent nod, I start to walk towards the bench.

Our bench.

He looks at me as I approached, but only to avert his eyes a moment later. I take in his figure: his hands on the bench, his head down, his shoulders hunched. He looks so tired of everything. I can't bear the thought.

“Harry,” I almost whisper as I sit beside him, not sure if I'm invading one of his moments of solitude.

Slowly, so very slowly, he turns to look at me, and I shiver. His eyes speak of pain.

“I'm ok, Hermione,” he says before I can even start asking. “Everything's ok now.”

“Harry, we heard…” I begin, but I suddenly stop. I don't want him to think we we're spying them or something. I hadn't wanted to come out and intrude on their privacy, but Ron insisted that we better kept an eye on them, just to be sure they were ok. Now I understand he wasn't talking about Death Eaters.

He smiles at my troubled face.

“I know you didn't want to hear, so stop worrying about that.”

I smile back, and for a moment everything's perfect. Until I sense something shifting in the air.

“Hermione,” he says, and I take in his hard features. Ron was right, yet again. This is big.

All kinds of terrible scenarios pop in my head all of a sudden, while I try to remember any little clue about something wrong these past days. But we were ok today, weren't we? And yesterday, and… What could possibly…? And then I feel my stomach clench.

She told him.

What if…oh, Merlin. What if Ginny told him about her suspicions? About how she is convinced my feelings are not as platonic as they should? Perhaps she told, and then he remembered the other night, and all the little gestures I can't control sometimes, and-

“I'm going to ask you something, Hermione, and I want the truth.” His voice interrupts my thoughts, and I can do nothing but stare and nod. If I open my mouth, I might throw my anxiety up. “I'm not going to get mad, whatever the answer is.”

I nod again.

“Do you…” he begins, as if trying to put the words in the correct order. “Do you and Ron snog when I'm not around?”

For a moment I'm sure I haven't heard correctly. But as my brain registers his question, I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. Utter confusion, disbelief, nervous laughter... But I don't feel like laughing at all.

“What…Harry, what kind of question is th-”

“Just answer, Hermione. It's not that difficult, you know,” he cuts in. I still I have no idea of what's going on.

“Why…of course we're not snogging behind your back! How could you…” I trail, because I feel my heart finally catching up with my head. And from stunned and utterly confused, I go to hurt and disappointed. And slightly angry, too. “Is that what you think of us? That we could tell you one thing and then do the opposite the moment you turn your back?”

He looks down, and I can see that his knuckles are white from the pressure. I know I'm overreacting. It was just a question. But all this time here I was, wondering if he had somehow got an accidental glance at my feelings. The thought that he hasn't…somehow makes me angrier.

“I told you about Ron and I, remember? Same bench and all,” I say, calmer this time, because I refuse to go down the same path Ginny went. “We wouldn't lie to you about something like that, Harry. I wouldn't lie to you. Ever.”

Those green eyes are suddenly on me.

“Ginny told me,” he says, ashamed perhaps that he has jumped into conclusions. Yet again. “She told me you do.”

I can't believe it.

“Harry,” I say, and I realize that suddenly I don't really care if she told him about my feelings, or if he believes her. “How could Ginny possibly know that?” Should I…?

He looks at me, into me, as if searching for a hint of a lie. I can't stand it anymore. So, as always, I break the rules for him. My own, this time.

“She doesn't know, Harry,” I say, taking his hand in mine, saying with my eyes what I can't with my voice. “She doesn't know a thing.”

I move closer, and my hand squeezes his. I want him to believe me. I need him to believe me, even if...well, even if it doesn't change the fact that it's not jealousy over Ron kissing me what's on his mind, but only the hurt of his best friends lying to him.

But then, before I can even know what's happening, I found myself in his arms, one around my waist, the other on my back, his face on my shoulder. I can feel his hot breath on my skin. Merlin, this is too much. How long? How long until I can't restrain myself anymore and do something stupid?

I wrap my arms around his waist. The best place in the world, indeed. And it's Ginny's, a voice reminds me. He'll be back to her when everything's over. Don't forget it, Granger.

But the voice is suddenly interrupted by a pair of lips. On my neck.

Is he…?

And then a nose nuzzling that same spot. He murmurs something, something that sounds familiar.

My name.

“Harry,” I breathe.

And I regret it, because I sense how he stills, and then lifts his head to look at me. His cheeks are red, and his eyes talk about embarrassment. About lines crossed. About Ron.

He's about to voice an apology, but then… then he looks at me, and realisation lights up the eyes of my best friend. And that's it. I know he finally knows. He has seen. My eyes have finally betrayed my soul. This is the moment I've been dreading, and wishing, for a long time. And now that it's here, I can't think, or breathe, or move. He's never looked at me like that. Ever. And I wasn't prepared.

Just when I'm about to say something, anything, to break the silence, he does the last thing I would have ever expected.

He laughs.

It's a nervous, wonderful laugh. And he seems to find my confusion funny, because he laughs a little more.

When I'm about to ask whether he feels ok, really worried about his mental health right now, he puts me into a bear hug. So like mine.

“Hermione,” he says, the echoes of his laughter in his voice. “

Could it be…?

He ends the hug, and takes my hands in his, sobering a little. I stare at him, more stunned than anything right now.

“I'm not in love with Ginny.”

“You're not in love with Ginny,” I repeat stupidly, making his grin broader.

“No, I'm not. Are you…” and he suddenly falters, caressing my hand with his thumb. “Are you in love with Ron?”

I can't believe it. What if I'm reading this all wrong? What if somehow I'm just hearing what I want to hear, but he's saying that he does love Ginny and… But I look at him, and I know I'm not reading wrong. I know him. I still can't understand it, but I know I'm not wrong.

“No,” I finally say, almost unable to contain my own grin. “I am not.”

“Good,” he says, smiling. “Because you promised.”

I don't know what he's talking about, but I forget to ask.

Because he has kissed me. On the mouth. Harry has kissed me. Not Ginny. Not Cho. Hermione.

It's been quick, and soft, and almost not there, but definitely there.

“Come on,” he says, standing up all of a sudden, offering me a hand. “It's freezing out here, Hermione. Ron gets nervous when any of us is out at night, you know.”

Perhaps I have dreamt the whole thing, I consider, still sitting there, on the bench, utterly stunned. But there's something tingling on my lips, under my fingertips, which I must have placed on my mouth at some point.

I look up at him. Harry, my Harry, is waiting for me. And so I follow. Always.

oOo