Rain falls quietly and I tighten the grip on the bouquet. Beside me, Ron looks solemn, sad, as he holds the umbrella above our heads. I expect my face is that, too.

Since his body was never found, the only place we could visit was the monument in front of Hogwarts. I almost find it funny, because it looks so Muggle-like, without it waving and disappearing and such. But maybe because his death is still so fresh that they cannot bear to make a monument of him that is shrouded with magic. Death is so...Muggle.

I kneel before the monument and put the fresh pansies before it, wiping my eyes slowly. Then, I turn to Ron. "We should be getting back."

"Let's just stay a bit longer," he says quietly.

I fall quiet. Unlike Ron, I do not feel the need to linger here and remember. The memories are always so horrifying, the news too intense for me to take.

"Ron..."

"Just a little bit longer," he tells me, facing me with a small smile.

And then, from behind us, a voice says graciously, almost sadly, "Yes, please stay longer."

The umbrella falters. I turn and look up, feeling the bile rise in my throat. Beside me, Ron trembles. The rain falls over us and the umbrella waits on the ground, forgotten. A hand flies to wipe the rain from my eyes.

"Hello," the man who stands before us says, smiling, "Hermione and Ron."

"Harry," I whisper, feeling faint.

There is a moment of silence.

Then Ron takes a hesitant step forward, raises his hand, and punches a very much living Harry Potter.

~ * ~

The rain steadily falls.

Dumbledore's office holds a very faint spell. I have never been here except for special times, and I wonder, a little hysterically, if this really is going to be one of those special times. It should be! Harry Potter is alive!

After the scene, I had grabbed Ron's arm and told him sharply, "What on earth are you doing?!" This seemed to bring a little sense in him because he hauls a motionless Harry and I into the nearest building where the hallways were empty because of classes. However, Professor Trelawny met us on her way to the North Tower and ogles. I found it very funny. After her predictions that Harry Potter would die, and finding him very much alive, it is almost enough to see her reaction.

However, on the way, Harry seemed to remember something and pulls away from Ron's grasp. "Dumbledore," he said simply.

So we had trooped quietly to the office, and Harry said the password as if he'd known it all his life: "Trampling trolls." The frame swung open and let us enter.

Once inside, Dumbledore fussed over us, waving a simple spell for dryness and ordering hot drinks, not letting us talk, as if he'd known all along.

Now, we are sitting here, Dumbledore beside Harry on the couch as if giving him support. I sit at the chair across them and Ron stands behind me.

"Harry," I repeat dumbly, because there seems to be nothing else to say.

Harry offers a small smile and shrugs. "It's...been a long time?" he says uncertainly.

Ron crosses his arms. "Three years," he says in a level voice.

"I would like to explain," Harry starts but Dumbledore holds up his hands.

"Let me," he interrupted, eyes serious. He stands and starts to pace around. "You see, three years past, Harry Potter faced Voldemort in an engaging battle of life and death and won. But he died. Or so you thought."

"We?!" I exclaim, frowning. "What do you mean, you knew this all along?"

"We thought it all up," Harry pipes in.

I glare at him. "Thought all what up?"

"After Voldemort died," Dumbledore continued, "the spell had not yet been perfected, you see. It requires a great deal of power and concentration, both of which Potter here has displayed lots of. But the Death Eaters went underground, especially those who were very loyal to Voldemort. The spell Harry cast required no other magical attack, not even the simplest ones, to him for three years or else he shall die.

"So I arranged for his 'death' so no other Death Eaters, or any unknowing fellow, cast a spell unto him. Harry has been hiding in the Muggle world until the such time the three years would end."

"Today," I say, frowning. "What spell is this?"

"Disengage," Harry replies dismissively. He leans forward. "Look, Hermione, Ron, I'm really sorry for all this but--" He looks sad. "It hasn't exactly been easy for me, either."

"Three years," Ron utters, a little amazed.

"Where have you been staying?" I ask.

Harry smiles, a little relieved. "A secluded spot in Switzerland."

"Who else knew of these?" Ron asks.

His voice drips with iciness that Harry starts and I turn to Ron. His face shows no emotion. "Who knew?" he repeats.

"Only Dumbledore," Harry says, then quickly, "Look, Ron, I--"

"Three long years," Ron spat. "Three long wasted years."

"You have to understand," Harry goes on desperately, "we won but I was also too scared--"

"Has all our friendship been nothing, then?" Ron asks, glaring at him. "Was everything just nothing because you never trusted us?"

I start. "Trust is nothing now, Ron, now that Harry's back--" I say.

"Trust is everything," Ron cuts in, glaring at me as well. "Apparently, you don't hold the same regard for it as I do."

"Ron--" Harry begins.

"Ron," Dumbledore says, shooting a sharp glance at Harry, "I know how you feel. The three years was long on you, and we all know how it was--"

"No you don't," he cries out. Angry red splotches are on his cheeks, as if drunk with rage. "You don't understand all those time waiting, wanting--" He breaks off and I stare at him, surprised as he struggles to compose himself.

"Ron," Harry says sadly, but there is nothing else to say.

Ron turns away. "I'm glad you're still alive, Harry," he says quietly. "But, please, if you ever valued our friendship, I hope you will never show yourself to me again." He moves to leave and Dumbledore puts a hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him.

I watch quietly, remembering, and everything comes back. I turn to my other friend, the one who has been lost and found, and embrace him. "I'll see you later and we'll talk," I whisper to him.

He hugs me back and nods.

~ * ~

Ron is on the train station, waiting for the next express to take him to King's Cross Station. I quickly snag the seat beside him, brushing some drops of wetness from my dress.

"Hermione," he says without motion, looking up.

I smile at him and hold out a hand to him. "You forgot this," I tell him quietly.

He stares at it for a moment as if he had forgotten he even owned it before taking it from my hands. "Thanks." He places it at his lap where it begins to form a small damp area on his pants.

I touch his hand. "I know it's hard."

"I shouldn't have said that," he says softly. "But it was such a shock, and it just came back, rushing back..." He stares at his lap blankly.

"I guess love is always like that," I say, hopefully without my trembling voice.

He glances at me before turning away once more. "Ah. So you know."

"Ron, you were always obvious." I lean at the bench seat and stare at him. "So. Is that going to be all?"

He suddenly laughs bitterly. "You know, I was asking him that the day he died. Is that all? Nothing else? I kept thinking, for Harry Potter, there's got to be something else, something better. And it took a long time to accept that." He takes a deep breath and looks up at the empty station. "And now he's back, he's alive, and I'm so scared that there's probably more...but it doesn't involve us anymore."

I am taken aback at his words and, inexplicably I know what he is trying to say. "I know," I whisper. "I do, too."

He is silent.

I tap his clenched fist almost playfully. "But you know what?" I go on lightly. "I don't care if it doesn't involve us anymore. This is Harry Potter, and there's always going to be something better. It may not contain us. We may even be pushed aside and forgotten. But--" I put a chin on his shoulder and say softly, "I trust him more than that."

There is a light flinch and I smile as it seems he remembers something. "Ron, I--"

"The train is here," he says, almost jumping with relief. He turns to me and gives me a hug. "I'll see you, Hermione. Owl me, okay?"

"Ron." I grab his arm before he boards. "Ron, you have to tell him. Promise me, okay? No matter what?"

He blinks and shakes his head. "I can't promise that," he tells me quietly. "You know I can't." He looks at the waiting train. "I don't trust myself enough to do that," he says, a little to himself.

I let him go and he climbs the platform to the train, not even turning back. I watch silently as the train lurches forward, going smaller, smaller, before disappearing from my sight.