Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or the magical world they live in; that all belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am making no money from the writing or posting of this story.

A/N: I have to thank dynonugget for reading over this for me real quick-like!

She was furious.

She wasn't quite sure just who she was more furious with; Ron for being a right git or herself for allowing him to upset her so.

Hermione clung tightly to the form next to her, letting the tears loose.

She felt his hand tighten its grip on her hand, letting her know he knew the pain she felt.

“It feels like this.”

Yes, he knew all too well the pain she was feeling in her chest. He knew what it was like to watch the one you longed for snogging another.

“He'll see soon enough, Hermione.”

She sniffed back more tears at his words, wanting them to be true but not quite believing them. “He seems to fancy her quite a bit,” she mumbled.

“She's made it clear she fancies him.”

Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth, determined to ignore the fact that she should have shown more interest in her ginger-haired friend. She was determined not to take the blame for being less pushy than Lavender Brown.

“He's a fool.”

She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You're beautiful, you know. Ron knows it. I know it. I think… we just have a difficult time with it.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Whatever are you talking about?”

He chuckled slightly. “It's not easy for us, seeing you this way. You're no longer the bushy-haired eleven-year-old that happened upon our train compartment.”

Tears continued to glisten in her eyes. “I wish I was. I wish things were still simple. I wish I could go back to the time when I didn't fancy Ron.”

And for a short amount of time, Harry felt normal. These were the types of problems that teenagers were supposed to experience. In this moment, he and Hermione were two typical people dealing with heartache.

He looked at his friend; her eyes slightly red, the tear stains on her cheeks, her hair softly moving in the wind.

She truly was beautiful.

And Ron was a git.

“You're my best friend, Harry.”

She whispered the sentiment, her breath tickling his nose as he caught hints of mint.

Once again, she rested her head on his shoulder, burrowing herself closer to him.

Harry, too, wished that things were simpler. He wished he could go back just a few moments ago, a time when his stomach hadn't fluttered from Hermione's friendly touch.