Epilogue

Harry Potter was not having a great morning. Deep down, he knew that he had nobody to blame but himself. However, he still chose to lay a bit of the responsibility on the pair in the room next door. He'd been determined to delay going to bed the night before, so he remained in the pub until closing time, becoming intimately acquainted with an unfamiliar beverage called tequila and a Canadian tourist named Gretchen

He had to admit that it was refreshing to talk with someone, oh hell, flirt with someone - especially someone who had no idea who 'Harry Potter' was. She had no way of knowing that the young man in front of her was doomed to either kill or be killed. She couldn't possibly be aware that he was burdened with a megalomaniac stalker, that he'd personally witnessed three murders in the last three years, that his parents had given up their lives for him and that he'd been forced to give up the girl who'd given him hope for the future.

All she saw was a quiet bloke with bright green eyes and baggy clothes, sitting by himself and nursing a Bass Ale. The first words out of her mouth were not, 'you look just like your father,' nor 'you have your mother's eyes,' nor worse yet, 'can I see your scar?' She merely made some banal remark about the weather and clearly stated her intention to get thoroughly pissed.

He would never have flirted with her if he hadn't been trying to forget that at that very moment, his two best friends were upstairs losing their virginity together. The irrational jealousy he was feeling was something he was not quite ready to look at too closely, and he hated the fact that he was sitting alone in a pub, feeling sorry for himself, while their relationship took a giant step forward. He tried not to worry that they would become so wrapped up in each other that Harry would fade into the background. He tried not to dwell on the possibility that he might die before ever getting the chance to do what they were doing with someone he loved.

And so, when the pretty girl with the dark brown hair and blue eyes offered to buy him a shot, he had accepted. He felt the liquid burn down his throat, causing a pleasant warmth to spread through his veins within seconds. She'd showed him how to make it go down easier, offering salt for before and a slice of lime for after, and he'd found that it actually tasted pretty good. So he'd tried another, then another. She talked a lot, about her travels and her plans, about the interesting people she'd met and the beautiful places she'd seen. Harry allowed himself to picture a life like the one she was having, with very little responsibility and a wealth of life experiences.

It would have been so tempting to follow her example, to run away from everything that had been thrust upon him unwillingly. But he thought about the two people upstairs, and knew that he wouldn't. They ought to have had it better than they did. If they hadn't chosen to come with him, to support him, their relationship could have developed more slowly, as it had been doing for years. They might have waited longer to take this step. But only yesterday, they had faced death at his side. If they wanted to grab a bit of life today, they'd certainly earned it. He wouldn't begrudge them their happiness. At least he hoped it would result in happiness. Ron did have a tendency to blow things rather spectacularly when it came to Hermione.

That didn't mean that he wanted to lie in the room listening to them, though, so he'd stayed downstairs for as long as possible. And he'd left the pub without even kissing the girl, though he'd been sorely tempted to.

He awoke with a screaming headache and a mouth that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Not only that, he'd woken up far earlier than he'd planned because the very noises he'd hoped to avoid hearing were loud enough to seep through his walls. You'd think a girl as smart as Hermione would know that sound carried in a bathroom. Or at least be conscientious enough to throw up a silencing spell. But no, apparently not. And it seemed to go on forever, too. He turned up the wireless and buried his head in his pillow, humming along with the song to the best of his recollection.

Once the noise had stopped, he'd thrust his aching head under a lukewarm shower with not nearly enough water pressure to do anything about his stiff neck. He tried to banish the random and unwelcome mental pictures that kept popping into his head, not only of what they had gotten up to on the other side of the tiled wall, but also what he would very much like to get up to with the younger sister of one of the participants.

Still aching, he made his way gingerly down the steps to the public room. He hesitated in the doorway, hoping that he would not catch his two best friends snogging over breakfast.

Oh, crap, they are snogging over breakfast. Well, he's trying, anyway; she's laughing and pushing him away.

Harry tried to reason with himself. He really ought to be relieved; at least they were speaking to each other. If the reverse had been true, things could have gotten really uncomfortable.

He took another look at them as they ate and tried unsuccessfully to keep their eyes off each other. Harry had never seen Hermione look quite so pretty, and it had nothing to do with what she was wearing or how she'd done her hair. It was in her eyes, every time she looked at Ron, and the flush of her cheeks, and that smile that he didn't think he'd seen before. Or maybe he'd tried not to look when she had her eyes on Ron.

As for Ron, he was almost unrecognizable, too. His face was different, somehow. He seemed taller, possibly older. It hit Harry, then, like a ton of bricks, how lucky he was to have friends that were willing to sacrifice so much. Oh, he'd known that they would gladly give their lives for him, but somehow it had never occurred to Harry that they both were also risking the person that they loved the most, which somehow seemed to be more meaningful. He'd seen the look on Ron's face when he thought he'd lost Hermione, how all the color had seemed to drain from him, though he'd continued to work doggedly beside Harry.

He'd seen their faces as they reunited, too, and he remembered feeling that he needed to turn away, that the emotion between them was too much to look at without finding himself crying along with them and looking even more pathetic.

And somehow, for all that, they still managed to support him unwaveringly, and never let him feel like the outsider.

For all those reasons, and for many others, his half-baked plans of taking the mickey out on them for what they'd got up to in the shower this morning no longer sounded as appealing. Let them have their privacy. He owed them that much.

"Harry!" the sound of Hermione calling out his name pulled him from his musings.

He looked up to find Hermione wearing a welcoming smile and the barest hint of pink on her cheeks. Ron's ears were red, but his grin was warm, and just as goofy as ever.

"Morning," was the most neutral thing Harry could come up with in response. With a grimace, he sat down on the chair opposite them.

Hermione kept the smile on her face, but said, "You look pale, Harry. Is anything wrong?"

"Oh, had a bit too much to drink last night; tequila was what she called it. I think she might have been a Death Eater in disguise," he joked.

Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval. We'd better get you something to eat, then. And tea, too. I don't know if I packed a potion that would help, but you could probably get some aspirin from the manager."

"What's aspirin?" Ron asked.

Hermione shushed him. "I'll tell you later."

Harry laughed under his breath at them, and before he realized what he was saying, he said, "You look like you're feeling a lot better, Hermione."

She reacted immediately, her eyes widening and her cheeks turning bright pink. Ron coughed nervously as Hermione said, "Better? Did I look bad before?"

"Oh, no. I just meant…the caverns. You were a bit of a mess when we brought you back. So were we, of course, but…anyway, Hermione, I'm really glad you're all right. You gave me a bit of a scare, there. Ron, too."

Hermione's expression softened. "Thank you, Harry," she said, reaching across the table to place her hand on his.

Harry looked away from her, feeling a lump developing in his throat. He glanced up to meet Ron's eyes, which somehow conveyed not only his affection for his friend and his girlfriend, but also his gratitude to Harry for not saying anything about their conversation the day before.

As the waitress came over to take Harry's order he watched the two of them out of the corner of his eye, noticing how they sat apart, but seemed to be having an entire conversation without words.

"So," said Hermione, batting Ron's hand away as he tied to steal a piece of her bacon. "Back to the problem at hand. Did Remus respond to your message yet?"

"Not yet," Harry replied. "But it's only been twelve hours since I sent it." He saw them exchange a glance. Probably thinking about how much can happen in twelve hours, he thought. He snorted under his breath.

"That's all right. I'm sure we'll hear from him soon, but in the meantime, I think we should move on from this place. I did a lot of thinking last night."

Both Harry and Ron looked at her quizzically. Her eyes widened and she added, "I didn't get much sleep," which caused Harry to snort involuntarily and Ron to choke on his orange juice.

She reached over to pound her fist on Ron's back, ostensibly to help clear his lungs, but the glare she was giving him suggested she may have been doing it for another reason. She wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

He took pity on them, though the temptation to torment them came back with a vengeance. "Try not to kill the poor bloke, Hermione. Anyway what were you saying? Have you got an idea about destroying the cup or is it something else?"

Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement. "I think-" She paused for dramatic effect. "I think that I might know what 'something of Ravenclaw's' is," she whispered.

Harry and Ron leaned toward her eagerly. All unwelcome thoughts about Ron and Hermione's sex life immediately flew from Harry's brain. Back to normal, then. And aren't you the luckiest sod on earth to have them by your side?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fin

A/N: There is a possiblility that I will remove this particular story from this site, purely because it is a little too accessable to underage readers. If I do, it will remain available on Checkmated, where my pen-name is Ozma. I didn't think it would be fair to do that to those that have been following it here without some notice.

Thank you to all who have read and particularly those who have reviewed. This story has been a load of fun to write.