He came at precisely 7 a.m.

He smiled as if nothing was wrong, as if everything was okay and nothing had happened. He greeted me as if it had all been a dream, that the past three years had just been one lonely nightmare that was gone with the first stream of sunlight on the window.

"Hi," he said cheerfully when I opened the door. "I brought you some of your stuff."

"Stuff...?" I asked him blankly, blinking as he gently pushed himself into my flat and dropped two large cartons on my living room floor.

"Yeah, stuff." He was pushing the other carton off to the floor and opening it. He looked up at me. "Mum sent you a Wormed Pie. You can eat it for breakfast."

The name suddenly sent my stomach into a weird dance of protest. "Um...maybe later."

"Okay." He jumped up and went over to the door. "No, hey, don't close it yet! There's still one last thing." He disappeared through the door and I risked a peek out to see his broomstick floating before him with his back towards me. When he turned, I had to give a wide grin and threw open the door.

"Hedwig!" I yelled out at the flash of white that was trapped inside a birdcage. "Oh, Ron!"

He grinned as he thrust the birdcage towards me. I quickly closed the door and opened the cage to let my magnificent owl out. Hedwig immediately hooted and flew to my shoulder where she began to peck the top of my head affectionately. Tears suddenly filled my eyes. God, I've missed this.

Ron was staring at the boxes and his face was suddenly open for inspection. His carefree expression was gone and replaced by a blank stare, almost angry. It was the face I had seen in Dumbledore's office when I had returned.

But then, just as quickly, he turned to me and the smile was back. "I brought some feed, so...you know, Hedwig won't get hungry. She deserves a break now that she doesn't have to share a room with that stupid Pig anymore."

I swallowed hard as he ripped open one of the boxes and pulled out a packet. Immediately, Hedwig swooped down towards his outstretched hand and began to feed.

"Ron," I said quietly.

He turned to me and, for another brief moment, saw the anger in his eyes; but he turned away quickly and watched Hedwig. "We missed you a lot, Harry," he replied, almost gruffly.

"I talked to Hermione," I said, sitting on the couch. "Ron...Ron please talk to me. I haven't talked to anyone but myself in a long time...please."

He carefully laid the food on the floor where Hedwig quickly followed it but she kept one eye trained towards us. My owl had always been smart.

"There's really nothing to discuss," he replied with a clipped tone. His back was to me once more as he began to unpack some things. Books, an old wand, my Invisibility Cloak that I had meant to take with me but had forgotten, a Quidditch Rule Book, a pile of photographs who were whooping and waving. Their little voices filled the suddenly quiet room, but they gave a muffled squeak when Ron pushed them back to the box again.

"Nothing?" I asked him hollowly. "Why, is this friendship of ours already 'nothing'?" I sighed. "What do you want, Ron? I already said I'm sorry."

"What I want," he snapped, "is the whole three years back." He seemed surprised at his outburst and turned away again. "Sorry. Harry, I'm sorry. I came here to make everything alright and...I'm ruining it, huh?"

I stood and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and forcing him to turn to me. "Is it trust? You don't trust me?"

"No, Harry, that is not it!" he cried out. "I trust you...I trust you with all my life! I just...I just don't...I just don't trust myself." He finished with an angry push and walked out of the door.

Stunned does not begin to describe my feelings.

Almost instinctively, I turned to the clock on the wall, which carefully informed me with a disapproving tone: "Ron Weasley walked out of the door at 7:37 a.m."

I remembered thinking numbly: And it would probably be the last time, too.

~ * ~

"Hermione," I say slowly, "you've always understood Ron better than I did, right?"

My friend gives a laugh as she leans on the bench, staring out at the different people on Hogsmeade area. "You say that because you two are arguing now. Three years back, when it was Ron and I arguing, I would ask you if you understand Ron better."

"I've been away a long time, haven't I?" I ask, almost to myself.

But Hermione nods. "Three years really isn't long, Harry," she tells me quietly. "But...but. It isn't the same without you."

I have to smile. "I'm flattered."

She takes my hand and pats it gently. "You want to know what Ron's afraid of?" she asks me.

A million things flash in my mind and I remember the last thing we argued about. "It's because I messed things up again, isn't it? Because he always feels like I'm getting all the sun and he's just a part of the shadow or some other crap like that--"

"That's not true," she interrupts, giving me a serious look. "It hasn't been true for a long time now, Harry."

"Then what's the truth?" I ask her, frustrated. "What is he afraid of?"

"Being left behind," she whispers.

I suddenly freeze and turn to her. She looks away. "Hermione...?"

"You know how I know?" she asks me, risking a glance. "Because I feel it, too. I feel--no, we know--you're destined for greater things and we're never going to get anything from you anymore, especially your friendship. It was never scary before, when you were 'dead' because, in a way, we would always have you. Now, though, you're 'alive' and we lost three years, and we've changed. You didn't change with us, and then you'll grow out of us."

There is a silence between us wherein only the buzzes of Hogsmeade can be heard.

"Hermione, I--"

"But I overcame it, Harry," she interrupts. "I believe, at least, that the only way I can still be your friend is to accept your change and, in some little way, let my change interchange with yours."

"Why can't Ron do that?" I ask her, confused.

She smiles at me. "Because, you na�ve little boy, Ron is in love with you, and you don't even get it because you're too busy loving him back."

~ * ~

"How did you know?" I ask her over butterbeer.

She gives a delighted laugh. "I hope you never ask a grown woman again that question. It insults her intelligence."

I grin back and contemplate.

~ * ~

Hedwig comes back with a reply only an hour after I sent her. She seems apprehensive as I hold out an arm to take the letter tied to her leg.

I carefully give her rewards first before unrolling the parchment that holds the answer to my request to see him. Like all messages from Ron, it is short, but is devoid of any other words.

Harry,

You're right. I'm not running away. I'll come. 4 p.m.

Ron.

I turn to the mirror and smile, in which my reflection immediately tells me: "Unruly hair, face needs to be washed." I don't care.

At precisely 4 p.m., Ron Weasley would walk through that door of mine, the horrid white-painted door that only opened to admit me. He would listen to me as I tell him all I felt, would hopefully tell me his apprehensions and hopes as well.

Hopefully, he would see my need for him to understand all I've been through. Hopefully, he would listen as I assure him I have changed, but my feelings have not, and that I will never, ever leave him behind.

Hopefully, Ron Weasley would not walk out of the door for the last time after the set time of 4 p.m.