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That afternoon still lingered fresh in his mind, like oil paint on a canvas of memories.

Hermione had invited Harry to read in silence beside her, away from Hogwarts, away from the glances, the tensions, and the gossip that echoed through the corridors.

At one point, when desire won out, he set his own book down on the grass and watched her in that warm silence.

Her curls bathed in the golden light of the sun, her delicate fingers resting at the edges of the pages, her eyes focused even on the intricacies of the footnotes.

Hermione.

His best friend, Hermione.

A living spirit of pure intellectual charm and innocent beauty that made the rest of the world lose its importance, made his heart warm and time pass.

Hermione then slowly looked up and noticed he had been watching her for longer than he probably realized.

"Everything okay?" she asked, her voice carrying that characteristic concern of hers.

Harry just smiled.

"I think so."

Hermione looked toward the castle reflected on the surface of the Black Lake.

"Hogwarts is beautiful from here, isn't it?"

Harry took a few seconds to answer.

"Yeah..." he said finally, his voice low. "It's beautiful."

He wasn't talking about the castle.

But Hermione didn't need to know that.