He was scared. What if he apologized and she told him that she'd already decided she was better off without him? She was there in the Common Room, frowning at her books and taking notes. Harry noticed that she had heavy bags under her eyes and her expression was weary. Did I cause that? He wondered and felt his chest tighten painfully.

He should have walked up to her then, but his courage failed him at the last moment and he ended up sitting on a sofa a fair distance away from her, pretending to read his Potions textbook. Great cover, he mocked himself, like she won't see through that right away. Contrary to his expectations, Hermione didn't look up even once and Harry unwittingly dozed off.

He woke to an empty common room and startled at seeing Hermione missing from her spot. He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted her sitting cross-legged on the carpet near the fireplace, gazing at the flames and lost in thought.

Harry walked over to her and sat down, his back facing hers.

"Hi." He said in a barely audible voice.

She flinched and was silent for a moment before asking, "Harry?"

"It's me." He stuttered: "Don't—don't get up, all right? Listen to what I have to say. Please."

He was relieved when she leaned against his back and continued, "Before I apologize, I figured I should try to explain why I was so angry in the first place. I wasn't thinking straight—I didn't really want to. Maybe having not just the opportunity to visit, but having someone to visit felt like such a novelty I got carried away. But at the core of it, I really just didn't want Sirius to be lonely. I know what it feels like—to be trapped in a house with no one who cares about you—and I didn't want that for him. I didn't want the loneliness to eat him alive."

"So when you said it was a waste, something just snapped inside of me. If you didn't care about Sirius and what he was going through, what would you say about me? I thought that you didn't understand—that you couldn't or wouldn't want to. Because there are more practical things to worry about, like rules and schedules and who cares about useless, overdramatic feelings anyway?"

"Harry, I would never—"

"I know."

Harry reached behind him and grasped her hand; Hermione didn't pull away and instead squeezed back tightly.

"Like I said, I wasn't thinking straight. By morning, I regretted the argument. But then... then I went to talk to Dobby and found you had reached him already. It really rubbed me the wrong way to know that you had used his loyalty and concern to turn him against listening to me. It felt like last year when you went behind my back to report my Firebolt to McGonagall. Maybe if you had talked to me in advance about limiting the visits to once a week when I had calmed down, I might have listened to you. But you didn't even try! You went ahead and made the decision yourself!"

He paused and took a big breath, trying to calm down and center himself. Harry turned his head and stared into the crackling flames in the fireplace, wishing he could find the right words to say. Wishing that he was a bit better at this whole communicating thing.

"All my life, I've been controlled and restricted and manipulated, with people taking away my right to a choice. And I know that was never your intention, but I can't have that with my friends too. As much as I respect and care for you, I can't have you making my decisions for me. We can make them together. Haven't I grown this year enough to prove that?"

"How was I supposed to know?" Hermione burst out, her voice rising in volume. "I'm so used to you going off on your own, being reckless and rash, getting yourself into danger and me having to bud in and save you somehow! That's practically my role in this school: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's brainy, bossy friend! Three years of habit is hard to break. How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't just ignore my advice and do whatever you wanted anyway like—like with third year?"

She suddenly sounded miserable, all the anger draining from her voice.

"I know my faults. I'm too used to being independent and taking charge, of wanting my own way. It hasn't been a problem as much until now because you and Ron didn't care about planning and the burden of that was always left to me. Yes, burden. It always felt like it was my responsibility to stop you from doing stupid things and keep you both alive; it sounds funny when I say it like that—like it's a job—but I took that responsibility very seriously. Maybe that's why I went ahead and just dealt with the problem myself."

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Harry, or made you feel like I don't value your right to a choice. It's only because for so long, I've been valuing your life more than anything else. It's the same reason why in third year, I went to McGonagall even though I knew you would hate me for it."

"I never hated you—"

"You didn't speak to me for a month! A month, Harry! You and Ron ignored my existence because I wanted to check a suspicious item when an alleged killer was after you. Imagine if Sirius hadn't been innocent and really was a Death Eater like the Ministry had reported; you would be dead the moment you sat on that broom. How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't be as stubborn and irrational as you were then?"

"Back then, you tossed away my advice and my friendship for a broom. With the Scabbers issue, you went with Ron while I was thrown to the side for months. I was second best then too. What now when it was me against Sirius—your family?"

Harry felt her tremble against him and turned around, forcing her to face him. There were tears glistening in her eyes and his heart constricted with the knowledge that it wasn't Ron or some other git who had put them there, but himself. He had made her— his best friend— cry; Harry had never hated himself as he did at that moment.

He forgot about keeping a distance or reasonably explaining why he had been angry as he gathered her in his arms and pressed her teary face into his shoulder, murmuring, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hermione," over and over again.

All that mattered now was that she stopped crying.

When she stopped sniffling, she miserably said, "Oh, I've made a terrible mess of your shirt..." and made a movement to leave Harry's arms. He pulled her right back in.

"Stay," He commanded. "You are going to listen to me and remember this well, Hermione Granger. There are two people who matter to me the most in the world. Yes, Sirius is my family and he's one of them. But the other is you. You will never be second best in my life. Not now, not ever."

For a long moment, Hermione looked like she didn't know what to say.

"I don't want you to think that I don't trust you and—oh, I know I shouldn't have gone behind your back like that!" She took a shaky breath. "Not when—not when you're one of the most important people in my life too."

He felt she was owed the truth, no matter how embarrassing it was. "You don't know how miserable this week has been. I've come to a realization: we may have more arguments and fights in the future, but I never want to be separated from you again. It just—it feels—"

Hermione supplied the answer: "It feels wrong."

They looked at each other, the corners of their mouths turning up slowly.

"Are we friends, again?" Harry asked tentatively. "I really am sorry, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry too," Hermione said. "But I would never stop being your friend, Harry—not even in the worst of times."

He blinked rapidly, not knowing why his eyes felt prickly all of a sudden. All he knew was that Hermione Granger was his best friend once more and they were together—both of them wearing the same giddy smiles on their faces—and everything in the world was right again.