Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: I am so sorry for how long it's been!!!! I had hoped to have this finished before HBP but it didn't happen and then HBP and the Interview of Doom happened, distracting me from this fic for months and months. However, it is, finally, finished-and this is the end! I only hope this chapter is worth the wait.
(The rating has been upped to PG-13 and may qualify for PG-15…)
Complicated
Chapter 7
My Confession
Hermione was woken up to the sound of the Detection Charm she'd set up around her one fireplace which was connected to the Floo network to notify her when she was floo-called and out of the room.
She blinked, staring at the clock by her bed and then frowned. It was just after 2 am. There was something seriously wrong.
She grabbed her robe and threw it on as she hurried out of her room and into the living room to find Arthur Weasley's head in her fireplace.
He looked pale and tense but relief crossed his face when he saw her. "Thank Merlin you woke up. I've already tried Ron's flat but he sleeps like the dead and all my calling didn't wake him." He spoke rapidly, looking harried.
"I had a Charm set up so an alarm goes off in my room," she explained quickly. "What is it?"
Mr. Weasley's mouth set in grim lines. "I think you'd better awaken Harry so I can tell you both together-and I thank Merlin he's back."
Oh God… No. Not now, not like this.
The wizarding world needed Harry again. She fought back her instinctive protest that he'd only just returned and was entitled to live as a normal private person for a while, only nodded and knocked quickly on the door to the spare room.
After a moment she heard a groggy response and then the door opened to reveal him, his hair standing up on all end as it tended to after he'd been sleeping, in a t-shirt and sweats. His eyes were alert as they met hers.
"Hermione, what is it?"
"It's Mr. Weasley. Something's happened and he needs you."
Harry stiffened visibly, a shadow crossing his face, but he said nothing as he followed her back into her living room.
"Good, you're here," Mr. Weasley said briskly as he saw them. "Harry, we need you to help the Aurors. I got a floo-call from Tonks-you know she's one of the leading Aurors now-and Minister Stendall and her two children have been taken hostage in their home."
Hermione interrupted at this point, frowning. "The Minister's house is one of the most secure private homes in the country; how did they-"
Arthur sighed. "That's exactly it. The Aurors don't know how they got past all the wards, which is why Tonks contacted me to get either you or Ron's input because of your closeness to Harry and first-hand knowledge from the war, not knowing that Harry's back. An initial team of Aurors was sent out and they can't get into the house; whoever did this is extremely powerful and the shield around the house is beyond the Aurors' capability to break through, short of destroying the house itself and everything in a 20 meter radius of it." He turned to Harry. "Harry, I know you wanted to keep your return secret for a little while longer but this is an emergency. They're asking for the release of all the highest security prisoners in Azkaban."
"Death Eaters," Harry said flatly, his voice and his expression grim.
"Yes, undoubtedly, their intention is to recover some of their leaders and form again- without Voldemort or not, continuing his mission." He paused and then added, "The ransom note which first alerted the Aurors to this is quite vicious in their condemnation of Minister Stendall being Muggle-born."
"Obviously we haven't released any of this information to anyone and won't until all rescue options have been exhausted. It'll only start a general panic as it's the first sign of a resurgence of the remaining Death Eaters and panic is the last thing we want."
"Harry, will you help?"
Hermione wondered that Mr. Weasley could even ask the question; surely he knew that Harry was fundamentally incapable of not helping out in a situation like this. It was just part of who he was; what made him a hero, that he always wanted to help.
"I'll need the coordinates of the Minister's house," was Harry's only answer and Mr. Weasley nodded, giving them to him.
"Thanks, Harry," Mr. Weasley said and then his head vanished from the fireplace.
Hermione shivered slightly, though not from cold. It was happening again; Harry was needed to be the hero again-he would be in danger again. He would be in danger again.
Harry didn't say anything as he left the room and she followed, hurrying into her own room and quickly dressing.
She found him dressed, his wand in his hand, as he looked at the paper on which he'd jotted down the coordinates of the Minister's house.
"I'm coming with you," she said, breaking the silence.
"No, you're not," he countered flatly, finally looking up at her. "These people are dangerous; you'll be a target for them."
Her eyes narrowed. "I can take care of myself. And I can help you; you know I can!"
The restraint he'd been keeping around his emotions vanished and he whirled on her. "No! You're not coming; I won't have you in danger- not now, not again, not ever." The last 6 words were spoken softly, more to himself than to her, but she heard them and the level of caring in his voice shook her resolve.
"I can help you- even if I never go into the house, I can help you break through the wards," she spoke calmly, rationally.
His face changed, his entire body stilled, his gaze suddenly becoming distant, remote, as if he was only there physically while his mind had gone some place far away. "I can get past the wards," he said and it was a simple statement of fact.
There was something- cold- about his tone and she flinched involuntarily, for the first time feeling a flicker of fear-not of Harry- she knew he'd never hurt her- but of what he was, the power he had. And she suddenly realized she really didn't know just how much magic Harry was capable of. The thought disturbed her, made her feel-somehow, almost irrationally-as if she really didn't know Harry at all… As if he had suddenly become a stranger-an immensely powerful stranger-in front of her eyes.
But then he blinked and he was her Harry again, the Harry she knew and loved. "Let me come with you." She kept her voice calm, gentle.
He shook his head. "No," was all he said but the finality of his tone was eloquent enough. He turned to look at her, one hand gripping her arm. "Promise me you won't come."
"Harry, I--"
"Promise me!"
"I promise." She couldn't deny him when he looked at her like that, couldn't deny the desperate plea in his eyes. She would have to let him go alone. "Just-be careful."
He nodded, his expression and his stance easing slightly with her promise not to come with him. "I will."
She threw her arms around him, hugging him hard, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek quickly.
He returned the hug somewhat stiffly, looked back at her one last time, and then he had Apparated away.
Leaving Hermione alone.
~*~
She had no clear idea of how she got through the day. She went through work as if by rote, just barely managing to summon up enough concentration to treat the patients with something approaching her usual skill. And she had never been more thankful in her life for the day to end, for once not staying later to finish up any research on special Healing Charms or Spells but hurrying back to her flat the minute she could.
He was back, sitting in the living room of the flat, his wand out on the table in front of him. He was staring at his open hands and his wand as if he'd never seen them before, as if they were foreign objects to him. Something about his position, the utter stillness, struck a chill to her heart but she ignored it, telling herself she was being ridiculously paranoid.
He didn't move, didn't look at her, even though she knew he knew she had come back.
She moved to stand next to his chair, looking down at his unruly hair.
"How is Minister Stendall?" she finally asked softly.
"She's fine; her children are fine; they're all fine." He spoke grimly.
And even though she'd never really doubted that he would, she couldn't keep from saying, "You did it. You saved them. Oh Harry…"
"Don't!" His voice rang out sharply in the silence of her flat, as he leaped up from his chair, backing away from her. "Don't say that as if I'm a hero, as if I've done something admirable. I'm not a hero. I- I don't deserve to be treated like one."
"But, Harry--"
He cut her off again. "I killed him."
She sucked in her breath sharply, feeling all the blood leave her face. "Killed who?"
"The leader who planned this. Sebastian Rosier. He was the one who managed to get past the wards of the Minister's house. I killed him. Broke his neck."
His voice was so-distant, so harsh, his face suddenly looking gaunt, his nose standing out in sharp relief, as his expression hardened.
"I'm no better than the Death Eaters."
She caught her breath again, this time from dismay, and she didn't need to hear anything more. Denial-instinctive, immediate, and absolute-surged up within her at his words and for a moment, she couldn't speak for the intensity of her reaction. But she forcefully swallowed past the obstruction in her throat.
"You're not!" Her voice was sharp, firm. "You're nothing like them! You could never be. You're not capable of that sort of evil."
"How can you be so sure?" He spoke in a tortured whisper, not looking at her and making an instinctive move back, increasing the distance between them as if he couldn't bear to be close to her right now.
"Because I know you," she said simply and stepped closer to him. She touched his chest and then his forehead gently, feeling him shudder slightly from the touch as if he wanted to push her away but couldn't, as she said, again, "I know you and I know that you're a good person, a good man. I know you-and I love you."
She hadn't meant to say the words right then but somehow she knew it was right that she did. It was the best way to tell him, to convince him that, no matter what he might have done, he was a good person-and she'd never leave him.
He stiffened, sucking in his breath audibly. "Hermione, I- you- you shouldn't- I- I'm not good enough…"
"Don't say that! You are nothing like Voldemort; you're a good person, I know you are," she insisted and before he could respond, she kissed him. Acting out of instinct and desperation, she kissed him, firmly, not letting him push her away and not letting go of him.
He had stiffened and his hands closed around her arms-but he didn't try to push her away. He knew he should; his mind was screaming that this wasn't right, he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be allowing this-but he couldn't help it. His lips softened and he angled his head slightly to allow him better access as his hands let go of her arms and flattened themselves on her back instead, bringing her in closer to him.
Her arms went around him and she arched against him making a soft noise in the back of her throat as the kiss changed, became more tender, more sensual, the heat of desperation gone now.
His hands roved over her shoulders and back and down to her butt in a restless caress, feeling every inch of her body pressing against his, knowing she could feel the growing hardness of his arousal.
In some part of his mind he was vaguely aware that he should stop this before it went too far, that this wouldn't solve any problems, would only complicate things further-but then her hands slipped inside his robes to caress his chest and he was lost. Lost to the desire, the lust, the passion, the love… He'd wanted this for so long, dreamed of this for so long-and now that she was here, in his arms, he couldn't stop this.
His hands cupped her bottom as he lifted her up against him, carrying her blindly to her room, not breaking the kiss until he put her down again.
He tore his lips, finally, from hers, to plant kisses along her jawline and down her neck, finding a sensitive spot that made her shiver and her head fall back with a breathless moan.
His last coherent thought as she lay back on her bed, taking him with her, her hands busily removing his clothes, was that this- this passion, this irrevocable next step in their relationship- was somehow inevitable. It had always been going to happen- somehow. And not all his denials of his feelings for her before he admitted the truth, not all his fears and his secrets, not all the months he'd spent away from her- had changed that. It had always been meant to happen, was, somehow, only right. That after knowing her for so long, knowing everything about her so well, he was getting to know her body as well…
And then he stopped thinking altogether, lost in the feel of her, the heat of her, the beauty of her…
~*~
She was sleeping, snuggled up next to him. Not surprising, since he knew she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before since Mr. Weasley had awoken them.
But he couldn't sleep. Was suddenly, inexplicably, wide awake.
Dear Merlin, what had they just done?
The question drifted through his mind- not with regret so much as simple disbelief.
He'd just slept with Hermione. He'd had sex with Hermione. He'd made love to Hermione.
And he loved her. God, he loved her so much! He wouldn't have thought it possible but he loved her more now than he had before- loved the passion of her that he'd only just discovered, loved the responsiveness of her, loved the sounds of her, loved the way she moved…
He just loved her. And he couldn't leave her.
No matter what his fears, no matter what his deep-seated reluctance to burden her with his secrets, no matter what he knew he was-he couldn't leave her now.
He saw their faces- the blank, expressionless, lifeless faces- in his mind and shuddered, his arm tightening convulsively around her.
God, how could he tell her-and yet, how could he not?
He couldn't stay here, with her, and not tell her-and he couldn't leave her either.
He knew she was awake before she spoke, felt the increased tension in her with the return of awareness, felt a pang of guilt at having woken her with his tightened grip.
"Harry…" her voice was quiet, full of sympathy, of faith, a silent question in her tone… And there wasn't the slightest bit of surprise or awkwardness or regret in her tone from waking up beside him-and that fact warmed his heart almost in spite of himself.
God, what would he do without her? What would he do if she hated him for what he was about to tell her?
He closed his eyes, so he couldn't look at her-and finally, finally, felt the words, the truth, he'd held inside him for so long, come from his lips. He knew there was something-wrong-about simply blurting this out in the aftermath of what had just happened between them, but he couldn't help it. Now that he had decided to tell her everything, it seemed as if the confession was simply spilling out of him.
"I- I have to tell you something." He felt her stiffen at his very un-lover-like beginning, to say nothing of his grim tone, but she didn't say anything and he continued on, wondering with a rather sick feeling if she would even want to stay next to him, if she would ever let him touch her again, when she knew the truth about him. The thought-the fear-that she might not, hurt him with an almost physical pain, but he had gone too far now to go back. And he had promised to tell her.
He moved his arm from around her, rolling over onto his back, so he was no longer touching her in any way but simply lying beside her. He wouldn't-he couldn't-be touching her when he told her.
"It's about the last battle. You- you know that Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange and Wormtail died. But what you don't know is that I- I was the one who killed them." His voice dropped so low she could hardly hear it. He spoke dully, flatly, as if inured now to the darkness he was confessing. The sound of her sudden intake of breath sliced through him like a knife but he persevered, finishing his confession. "I killed them. In duels- but I killed them. I could have let them live- could have just let them be imprisoned-but I killed them."
She could stay quiet no longer. "That doesn't make you a murderer, Harry! It was self-defense; they would have killed you if you hadn't! You can't blame yourself for that!"
"But I don't!" his voice sounded harsh now. "I'm not sorry I killed them; I'm glad! I- I wanted them dead! I still do… And that's what makes me just like them. What kind of man am I- to kill and not regret it? I- I'm a murderer, a killer, just like Voldemort, his equal. I am!" His voice cracked and when he spoke again, it was hoarse, low. "So now you know. Know why I'm not worthy, why you shouldn't love me, why this whole thing is just wrong… Why you should hate me…"
She cut his words off with her lips- again. She pushed herself up, her lips finding his and lingering until she felt his automatic, instinctive response.
He tore his mouth away with a gasp, staring at her wide-eyed. "Hermione- I- you…"
She met his eyes and her own were clear, direct, and filled with the sincerity of her words. "I love you, Harry, for now and for always-and you're not a murderer. You're not. You killed them for what they'd done to you-and the very fact that you blame yourself, that you feel guilty for not feeling guilty, shows that you're not like Voldemort. He enjoyed killing; triumphed in it. It torments you. No, Harry, I know you-and you are, whatever you might have done, a good man. I believe it- and I believe in you."
She put all the force of her emotions, all the force of her love and her faith, into her words, willing him to believe her. She was shaken-she couldn't deny it-by his confession, but she also knew him. Somehow, deep inside her soul, she knew him-and the knowledge was what gave her the strength to comfort him now. She could only guess at the depth of his own self-torment; it had been enough to drive him out of England and kept him away for years. But he wasn't alone now; he had her now-and she wouldn't leave him. She would help him-somehow, some way…
"I- I wish I could believe you but I don't know if I can… I don't know if I can… How- how can you possibly love me, knowing all that I've done?"
"Because I know you," she said again, simply. She cupped his cheek in one hand, bringing his gaze, troubled and dark green, to meet hers. "And you don't have to believe it all right now. You just have to believe me, trust me… And I'll help you believe. Just trust me…"
"I do…" And, looking into her eyes, he thought for the first time, that maybe- just maybe- she was right… He didn't have to believe in himself all at once; he just had to trust her…
And after all his fear about telling her, all his dread of rejection, all his guilt-it came down to this. Love and trust.
It wasn't going to be easy; it wasn't going to happen soon. And maybe he'd never be completely reconciled to what he had done, would never be completely comfortable with the amount of power he had.
But he did trust her-as he had always trusted her. And if she believed in him, with her beside him, he could believe-for the first time in a very long time-that things might not be so bad. Because she believed in him…
"I love you," he found himself blurting out. It was the last confession, now that she knew the worst about him and was-miraculously-still with him, still cared…
She smiled, her expression lightening for the first time. "I love you too."
He finally let himself kiss her again, reaching for her, bringing her closer to him, holding nothing back… And as his hands roamed over her body, feeling her hands touch him in response, her lips on his, he felt-for the first time-a measure of peace. This-this woman, this love, this trust-was all he needed…
After years of running, running from the truth of this, avoiding the thought of what he'd done and what he was capable of… He had thought it was so complicated-and yet… It really wasn't.
It only came down to this: the truth of loving and the simplicity of trust… For now, forever…
~The End~
A/N 2: If you want to read a very fluffy sort-of past/future cookie from this fic (where you get a glimpse of the Happily Ever After), you can find it here: http://fanfiction.portkey.org/story/3830/14
I have been blind, unwilling
To see the true love you're giving
I have ignored every blessing
I'm on my knees confessing…
I have been wrong about you.
I thought I was strong without you
For so long
Nothing could move me
For so long
Nothing could change me…
You are the air that I breathe;
You're the ground beneath my feet.
When did I stop believing?
'Cause I feel myself surrender
Each time I see your face
I am staggered by your beauty
Your unassuming grace
And I feel my heart is falling into place
I can't hide
Now hear my confession…
~"My Confession", Josh Groban