Boys Don't Cry

tearsofher

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 25/04/2004
Last Updated: 15/07/2004
Status: completed

The night before the Final Battle, Harry has to make promises that he is unsure whether he will fulfill, and send away the girl he loves without saying goodbye. But when he returns from victory, he comes back to find the girl he loves in ruins and that he had just lost the one thing he swore to return for. Her heart. ------ PK STAFF NOTE: Author never got to post the epilogue, but some readers say this fic can be read as complete. Hence, I'm marking it as complete. -gal-texter Mar 2010 ---

Chapters

1. Leaving

2. Abandon

3. Window

4. Moonbeam

5. Secret

6. Home

7. Home-part Two

8. Downfall

9. Downfall-Part Two

10. Crimson

11. Amulet

12. The Ending Chapters: Resurrection

13. Promise

14. Promise-Part Two

15. Remember

16. Remember- Part 2

1. Leaving

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, just the plot. The title is from the song `Boys Don't Cry' by The Cure.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

`Boys Don't Cry' is my favorite song from The Cure, and although the song is quite dance-y and energetic, I'm afraid that this fic will be quite the opposite. It's.. well, gut-wrenching, in a way, and sad. It's a bit dark; nothing really like Lovesong. But, nonetheless, I hope that you guys still like it, and review!!

I'd love to know what you guys thought about it.

I got the idea of this by listening to the song, and technically, Harry is already a man here, eighteen years old. But he tries to hold in his tears each time that sharp hint of tears comes. Maybe because he knew there had to be a strong one, and that he had to be the one, for Hermione.

This is not really a one shot fic, but a short one. It will have only a few (very few) chapters. It's like a one-shot extended.

**to CB. I wish you were here. We miss you.**

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He could still remember that night. He could still remember feeling her hot, smooth skin underneath his blistering fingertips. He could still remember the way she had whimpered and whispered his name, clutching him so tightly that her fingers were digging into his back. He could still remember the way he had held her, never wanting to let go, afraid that she was going to leave him all alone once freed her. He was afraid that she was going to vanish, disappear and leave him all alone, just as his mother, father and Sirius had. He knew that he could not bear it if she left him, if she had faded away into thin air. He loved her too much to ever let that happen, to let her slip from his fingertips. He would not let her withdraw from his embrace, and she didn't try. She held on, as tightly as she could, crying onto his chest.

She knew what had been at risk. Except she wasn't thinking of her life, that she could possibly be killed. She was thinking of him. Of never seeing him ever again.

She did not even stop to think of herself, and he just felt like shaking her and trying to make her understand that her life was just as much at risk as his was. But he just held her, holding her firmly and tight. He told her that it would never happen. She would see him, walking back, Voldemort dead and the Wizarding World safe once again. But she just cried harder, and for once in his life, he felt like crying too. He had not felt this way since Sirius had died, and he feared for her so much that he was having difficulty keeping down his tears and sobs. But he did, no matter how painful it was.

“Why does it always have to be you?” she cried. “Why? Why are you always the one to face him? Why does it always have to be you?” He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, the moisture attaching itself to his skin. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes tightly.

“I don't know, Hermione,” he whispered, his voice strained and slightly breaking. “I don't know.”

“I'm coming with you, Harry,” she said, and he felt everything inside him turn cold and freeze over. His blood ran cold, icy and numbing, his heartbeats ceasing. “I'm coming with you. I'm coming with you.” Harry pulled away immediately, framing her face with his hands. Tears were still pouring down her cheeks, her lips trembling and her eyes brimming with the downpour of bittersweet drops. He took in a sharp, ragged breath, as he looked into her eyes. He was shaking.

“You can't come with me, Hermione,” he whispered, his voice severing so much from the strong hint of tears. “You can't-“

“Harry,” she said, “you-“

“No!” he yelled, shaking her. “You can't come with me! You can't, Hermione! You're going to get killed!”

“What about you, Harry?” she shouted. “What about you? What if you-“ she paused, taking in a ragged breath. More tears slid down her face as she looked up at him. “What am I going to do? What am I going to do without you?”

“You're not going to do anything without me,” he said, “because I'm going to be here. I'm not going to go anywhere. I'm going to be right here, with you. I'm not going to leave you.” She sobbed, sinking to the floor, on her knees.

“You don't know that,” she said, shaking her head. “You can't know that. You don't know if you're going to come back. You don't know if you're going to be here with me,” he voice faded into a whisper. He swallowed hard, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling. The pit of his stomach seemed to be searing in deeper, pushing and slicing to drop further. His lungs were aching, throbbing with toxic heat. He kneeled down in front of her and pulled her close. He could smell her hair, fragrant and sweet. He could feel the glowing warmth fill him when he held her in his arms. He could feel her tears on his skin, his hands tightening around her.

“I'm going to come back,” he said to her softly. “I'm going to come back for you. I'm not going to go without saying goodbye.” His throat tightened, almost suffocating him. She cried harder into his chest, and he felt he could not speak anymore. His mouth was dry, sour and bile. All he wanted to do was hold her, spend these last few moments with her. He did not know if he was ever going to see her again, though he tried his best to reassure her that he did. He was terrified. He was so scared of not seeing her again.

He was so scared of leaving her.

But slowly, he pulled back. There was one more thing he had to ask of her. He cupped her face, wiping away her tears.

“Promise me,” he whispered, “promise me that you'll stay here. Promise me that you won't follow me.” Hermione's eyes filled with tears.

“Harry-“ she objected, her voice trembling, but he cut her off.

“Promise me, Hermione,” he said to her. “Promise me that you won't come after me. Just promise me.” Hermione nodded, crying silently. He looked at her, his eyes tracing her features. She still managed to take his breath away. He stifled the urge to let the tears pour, the sobs to escape. Instead, he pulled her in his tight embrace, holding her firm and strongly. He did not know if he was going to able to let go.

But he loved her too much to let her stay with him. He loved her too much to let her risk her life, when just being with him already put her life in danger. He loved her too much to let her follow him into the final battle.

He loved her so much it was strangling him. It was making his lungs crumble away, weakening from the lack of air. His mouth was dry, a stone lodged in his throat. His hands felt as if they had been bathed with fire, his skin stinging with raw heat. Suddenly, he heard her murmur something onto his chest. He pulled back slowly, and she was looking at him sadly. Her once bright, happy eyes were now dark, solemn and pained. Her spirit had been broken. She now had a burden set upon her shoulders.

Him. He was her burden. She was not willing to let him go.

He looked at her, staring into her eyes intently.

“What is it?” he asked, his arms still around her.

“I can't let you go, Harry,” she whispered shakily. “I love you.” Harry felt his heart stop, frozen still. Silence surrounded him as he stared into her eyes.

She loved him. She loved him.

She loved him as much as he loved her.

A tear slid down her cheek. Harry could feel the chilly air sting his blistering hands. He wanted to speak, but he did not know what to say.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her so much that he was not willing to let her go, but knew he had to.

But he knew that if he told her now it would make things harder. It would be harder for him to leave her behind; it would be harder for her to let him go. He could not risk it.

He loved her too much to tell her.

Instead, hoping that actions did speak louder than words, he crashed his lips into hers, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffened at first, but answered, kissing him back as passionately. She entangled her fingers in his untamed midnight hair as he deepened the kiss. He could taste the sweetness and warmth of her mouth, salty and bittersweet from her tears.

He knew, that one moment that he had laid his lips on hers, that she was the one. She was the one. She was the one he could not live without; she was the one he could not bear to be without. The moment she had kissed him back.. He was complete.

He was finally complete. Whole, and free.

For years he had been looking for that one person. Searching through everyone, looking for the person he would love and live with for the rest of his life. He knew he still had years to go, that people who also looked did not find them so early in their life.

But he did. And he knew it, right away. She was it. Hermione was the one.

All he wanted was to be with her, to spend the rest of his life beside her. He wanted to love her without any boundaries; he wanted her to know that he would do anything for her.

And he would tell her. He swore to himself that he would kill Voldemort. He was going to tell her, he was going to confess his love for her that had been locked in and bottled up for so long. He was going to come back.

He was going to let her know how much she meant to him.

Before he knew it, she was laid back on the bed, her back molding into the cushion beneath her. He was working to free her from her blouse, unbuttoning her shirt, one by one. He trailed his kisses down her neck, tasting her skin and marking her invisibly with his kisses and burning touch. He could feel her breathing hard, her hot breaths sticking to his skin, as he arched her body up. She caught his mouth for another avid kiss.

She slid her hands into his shirt and rolled it up for him to take off. He threw it behind him, returning to her as her hands explored him. He placed kisses on her neck, her navel and stomach, her collarbone; stripping off every article of clothing she wore. She held him close, the heat between them fighting to dominate over the cold air that prickled and pierced.

She did not hesitate or object. She did not pull or turn away. He joined with her, skin to skin, and she welcomed him. This was either the end, or the beginning. But she did not think to analyze, as all she could think of was him, and the fact that they were sharing something that she only vowed to do with someone she loved.

She did not push him away. It was too real, too passionate and intense. He was showing her, for telling her, uttering the words he meant would make things too difficult.

The night was theirs, and their love was too strong to break it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Harry lay awake, watching the woman sleeping next to him. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, as if never wanting to let go. He remembered watching her fall asleep, her curls falling across her face only for him to sweep away with his fingers. He never wanted it to end. He never wanted the moon to fade, the stars to vanish, the sky to lighten. He wanted to stay that way.

He did not want to leave.

His arms were on her naked flesh, warmth invading, skin-to-skin, no barriers. He could hear her soft breaths filling the room, and it only made him choke on his tears. He held her closer, pressed against each other once again, wishing that things didn't have to be this way.

He wished that he could stay with her, until the sun lit up the sky and her eyes fluttered open. He wished that he could tell her how much he loved her. He didn't want to leave. He did not want to consider the possibility that this would be the last time he would see her. It broke his heart just thinking about it.

He had waited so long and now it was being delayed, or taken away coldly. But he would tell her. He would come back and hold her in his arms and tell her.

Then he would ask her to spend the rest of her life with him, just as he wanted to with her.

But as he lay there, his eyes roaming his features and memorizing her face, he knew that it was unnecessary. He was going to see her, fighting Voldemort. He was going to have her in his heart and mind, fighting to come back to her just as he had promised.

He was not going to break that promise. He was going to kill him. Whatever it took, Voldemort was going to lay dead on the floor, and he was going to return to her.

He raised his hand and laid it on her cheek, her warmth spreading through his fingers then coursing through his body to fill him. It made him breathless, just looking at how beautiful she was. It made his stomach fill with restless butterflies along with a flooding feeling of love and longing.

He adored her. Every single inch of her, every single drop of her soul, every single twinkle and flicker in her eyes.

But he knew what he had to do. It broke his heart inside, but he knew it was right. He knew it was the only way she wasn't going to follow after him.

He placed a soft kiss on her lips, then on her forehead, as he got up. He put on his clothes and dark robes, putting his glasses on. He ran a hand through his hair, his skin stinging, the icy air piercing him like needles. He missed the warmth she brought. His hands felt cold and empty. The frosty air was too bitter to face alone.

He walked over to the fireplace and threw in floo powder, and Remus's head appeared in the fire. Remus seemed deathly tired; pale, dark circles under his eyes with his hair sticking up as if he had just been electrified. He seemed concerned, as he spoke first.

“What is it, Harry? Did something happen?” Harry shook his head, looking over at Hermione.

“I'm going to apparate over to the Order,” he said quietly. “I need to bring Hermione over there.” Remus shook his head, exhausted.

“It's too dangerous. He, or one of his Death Eaters, could track you.” Remus furrowed his eyebrows. “Didn't you want her to stay with you? You insisted that she stay there until you departed.” Harry sighed inaudibly.

“I can't risk her following me,” he said. “You know how she is. She's stubborn.”

“Surely if you tell her, she'll stay.”'

“No, Remus. She has to stay over there. I-“ he paused, feeling that overwhelming feeling of fear and swell inside up him. “It's better off that way, Remus.” His voice dropped lower. “I don't think I can ever bear to leave if she's still here.”

Remus looked at him, before sighing.

“I can arrange someone to apparate over there and get her,” he said. “But you have to have her ready by then. Say your goodbyes, and make sure there will be no delays.”

“Actually, she's going to be asleep.”

“What?”

“I.. if I wake her, she'll never go.”

“But if she wakes up while they're apparating, everything will go wrong-“

“I know, Remus,” he said. “But she won't wake up. I'll put a spell on her to make sure she doesn't wake until.. until I'm gone.” Remus sighed.

“Alright then, Harry. Ger her ready. Someone will arrive shortly.” Harry nodded.

“Thanks, Remus.” Remus stared at him, worried.

“Just take care of yourself, Harry.”

“I will.” And with that, Remus disappeared. The fire flickered weakly, as it slowly vanished and the aroma of smoke filled the room. Harry sighed, as he grabbed his wand and headed over to Hermione. The snow-white blanket was covering her, her face seeming so serene and peaceful. He could feel his throat tighten, as he slowly got her clothes from the floor. He muttered a spell, and the clothes disappeared from his hand. They appeared on her body, now fully clothed as before. He watched her, his hand stroking her hair softly. He felt the pit of his stomach cave in deeper and deeper, painfully. His lungs felt too small, his throat clogged. His eyes brimmed with hot tears, but he did not let them escape. He kneeled down and held her hand. He kissed her forehead, and then pressed his lips against her hand. Her hand was warm, but limp. Memories rushed back to him, and he could feel himself being strangled by the flooding of reminiscence.

“I love you,” he whispered to her, still holding her hand. “I love you so much, Hermione.”

He stiffened a sob, as he held her hand tighter, holding it closer to him. His chest felt heavy, too heavy that it felt as if it were to rip through him and fall out any moment now. He fought to keep the tears inside. He was not going to cry. He was not going to cry. He was going to see her again.

He was going to return to her.

“God, Hermione,” he said, his voice strained. “I love you so much.. I love you.. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” And as he placed a last kiss on her hand, he finally pulled away and seized his wand. He pointed it at her sleeping face, his heart being torn apart internally. “Levisomnus Commoror,” he whispered, as a faint and misty stream of light shot out of his wand. It covered her body, before seeping into her and disappearing. He let out a painful, ragged breath, as he put his wand back in his robe. But just as he was about to kneel down, he felt a sudden cold breeze sweep past him. He turned around swiftly, and saw a hooded, dark cloaked figure standing in the room. Harry felt a shiver trace up his spine, as he stood up cautiously.

“Who are you?” he asked, not willing to take any chances if one of the Death Eaters had intercepted and heard his conversation with Remus.

“I'm here for the girl,” the hooded figure said, revealing a deep voice.

“Take off your hood,” Harry said, “how I am to be sure you're one of the Order?”

“There is no time for this,” the figure hissed. “Just give her to me so we can be off.” Harry was beginning to get angry.

“How am I supposed to know that you're not a Death Eater?” Harry shouted. “Do you expect me to just hand her over to you without even knowing if you're-“ Dumbledore suddenly appeared next to his side. Harry halted his words, as Dumbledore walked over to him and glanced at Hermione.

“Be calm, Harry,” he said. “You're going to need your strength. There's no need to shout over this matter. This here is Matthew. He's new to the Order.” Harry looked into his Headmaster's once twinkling blue eyes, which were now so much different, dark and cloudy. They were solemn and serious, and Harry nodded as he let out a breath. He ran a hand through his hair. He looked over to the figure, feeling sadness but relief washing over him.

“She's on the bed,” he said, quietly. “She won't wake during your apparation. I put a spell on her that'll last for a couple of hours.” The hooded figure walked past him, Harry watching cautiously, Dumbledore by his side. The dark cloaked man lifted her off the bed easily with both his hands holding her body from underneath her, as he nodded to Dumbledore. Dumbledore stepped back from Harry.

“It is time for us to leave. I'll see you within three hours, Harry.” And with a slight nod from Harry, they disappeared. Harry could almost feel the air surrounding him become cold and icy as they had gone. The room was silent, and he could feel his hands throbbing, his veins stinging as if a bitter acid were coursing through him. He sighed, closing his eyes.

She was gone now. In three hours time, he would be waiting to face the man who had killed Sirius, his mother and father. He would be waiting to finally decide the fate of their cold-blooded murderer.

Or his fate. It all depended on it. Everything, his hopes, his dreams, his future.

He was going to finally avenge Sirius, and his mother's and father's deaths. He was going to fight for them. And for Hermione. He was going to fight for her.

He was going to fight for their future.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

They were not certain as to when Voldemort and his Death eaters might show, but they were sure he was going to appear. Voldemort, in his own words, said that any one of these days was going to be the Final Battle. They would've thought it was a trap, a trick set up to capture just Harry, but Harry could feel Voldemort's impatience and determination. They waited eagerly, tired, but determined and anxious. Each of them kept their eyes out for any sign of a sudden ambush, never getting any sleep for those few days. Their hearts were set on killing him, and each of his Death Eaters.

Each heart was set on seeing Voldemort dead.

It had been the second day when Harry approached Remus, his eyes still out for any odd movement.

“How is she?” Harry asked in a low voice, almost inaudible. Remus looked at him, weary but too strong-willed to rest. “How's Hermione?” Remus's eyes looked dark, so dark they seemed like bottomless pits. He pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes gazing sharply at their surroundings.

“It's best you not know, Harry,” he said. Harry looked at Remus, confused. But as Harry was about to object, Remus spoke again, looking at him harshly.

“She's already distracting you. I see you, thinking about her and dazing off. It's too dangerous. Keep your mind off of her; remember that this is what will decide everything. Everyone's fate. Her fate, yours. If you don't kill him, know that she's going to be the first one he's going to go after.” That struck Harry hard, his body feeling stiff and frozen. He was right. He had to stop thinking of her.

One moment he could possibly be thinking about her could change everything.

Harry nodded, his emerald eyes dark but blazing. He turned and started to walk away, but halted as he heard Remus's voice again.

“Molly's keeping an eye on her, just so you know.” Harry let out a breath, as he felt somewhat relieved, but continued walking.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was on their fourth day when it had started to rain. The air was cold, the droplets bitter and piercing to the bare skin. It was close to midnight, the night still and quiet besides the sound of the rain. Harry kept concentrated, taking a glance at the others who had put a barrier from the rain with their wands. The place was lit; a spell that Dumbledore enacted. The trees around were dark and seemed as if to reach any down any minute and grasp them. He heard the fluttering of the leaves, heard and felt the rhythm of the wind. The glowing moon was high in the sky, thin and almost barely there. The dark sky was cloudless, although the downpour was strong.

Harry could still feel the cold prickling his skin and making shivers travel up his spine, despite the shield he had, along with the others. It was transparent, but strong, as he could see the harsh wind and raindrops bounce off of the blockade. The lights around the forest did not dim or vanish from the wind or water, but instead glowed even brighter against the black night. In this forest, the light dominated even against the dark.

Harry wondered if that was somehow a sign. If that was also true for good and evil.

Everyone was silent, and had been for the past few days. Their mouths and lips were tightly shut, their ears and eyes sharp and fast. They knew Voldemort was to be expected, and they were not going to take any chances of being attacked unaware. Harry looked at their faces, observing the other members, as one of their hands was tightly clutched on their wand inside their robes. Their hands were deathly pale, their knuckles turning white. Their faces looked determine but almost vacant of any trace of happiness or joyous emotions. Their faces were cold, bitter, cruel. Full of hate. They almost looked scornful. But he understood why, and slowly, he felt the same happening to him.

Someday along the waiting, he felt his heart slowly turning cold and bitter, just as the rest of them had already succumbed to. He had wanted to kill Voldemort with his bare hands, rip him apart, tear his flesh and slice his heart to pieces. He wanted to make sure he was dead. He wanted to show him pain, just as he had caused so many people from his murders. He became angry. So angry that he had begun to go crazy.

His mother and father. Sirius. Hermione. All of those innocent people. Voldemort had tried to get his hands on Hermione in the past, and had succeeded on nearly killing her.

Voldemort had known who had dominated his heart, and used it against him. He had used Hermione as an advantage. He had tortured her, hurt her in a way he could not even imagine. And he had made sure Harry knew what was happening to her.

He had made sure that Harry had heard her screams and pleads. He had made sure the Harry saw her being tortured in his dreams.

And at that one moment, he had never felt so angry and hate-filled ever in his life. He had wanted to murder him. He had wanted to murder him for touching Hermione, for causing her such pain.

He remembered, those days he spent without Hermione, staying with the Order, he was filled with so much anger, scorn and bitterness. Each night, he could not sleep, knowing that she was alone and hurt. He could hear her cries.

He could hear her call for him.

It absolutely killed him that he could not reach her. He did not know where she was. He did not know how to reach her, and he almost broke down because of it. He had let those tears come so close to escaping, holding it in and feeling it mound and stack until he could not take it anymore. He wanted to find her. To kill Voldemort. He swore that he would see him dead, avenging Hermione and all the people that had been murdered in that bastard's hands and favor.

He had been so angry at the Order. They did not know where she was, or how to reach her either, although they had been doing all they could.

But it wasn't enough. It hadn't been good enough. Not for him. Not for Hermione.

They reassured him that she was alive, but he knew that to be too true already. She wasn't dead, no. She was just being tortured and being made to suffer. He knew that Voldemort wasn't a fool, and that he would keep her alive.

Until Harry came and found her. He would keep her alive until then.

Harry knew he wanted to kill her in front of him. He knew that he wanted to see him in pain, to suffer. To plead for mercy for the life of the woman he loved.

And that was enough to drive him over the edge.

Of course, they had found Hermione. Harry had barely escaped from Voldemort, the Order making sure that each of the Death Eaters were caught.

They managed to escape.

And Harry hadn't killed Voldemort. He was too weak. He hadn't been ready.

He hadn't been, until now.

Hermione had been unconscious, her clothes soaked with blood, sweat and tears. The healers said that she had been too close to dying. And that she would've, if they had gotten her there a minute later. Harry remembered, waiting for the verdict of her health, closing his eyes and trying to swallow down that stone in his throat.

He had never been so scared. He had never felt so helpless and useless, that overwhelming feeling filling him until he was sure that he could not take it anymore. He had tried to barge into the room, demanding wanting to see her, but they pushed him out. The Order had been trying to support and comfort him but with no avail.

Those terrifying moments in his life changed him. Those were what made him realize that she meant everything to him. That she meant more to him that he could ever imagine, more than he had ever thought she did. That he could not live without her.

He remembered feeling panic, fear and restlessness fill him, thinking about if she had not managed to survive..

He had never told her that he loved her. He had never had the chance.

And it made him choke on his tears, digging his head into his hands, knowing that she would never know that he loved her. He wanted to yell, shout, scream. He was so angry, that feeling of helplessness was too much for him to take.

He did not know what he would do without her.

Just then, Harry saw something stir in the trees. He felt his body stiffen, his hand tightening around his wand. He felt that hate, determination, and bitterness build inside him. This was it. He was sure. Suddenly, he felt his scar burn, excruciating pain sparking through him. He almost doubled over from the intense ache, but he forced himself to stay upright. He clutched his wand, whipping it out.

“He's here! He's here!” he shouted, and a blinding light and a loud, splintering crack filled their ears. Each of the Order whipped out their wand, their eyes blazing and flashing. They were ready.

This was finally it.

Dark figures in cloaks strode into the light, as Harry blinked furiously from the ache of his scar. He fought to keep the pain from intruding his vision, his fingers digging into his flesh as he held his wand tighter and tighter. The members of the Order shouted spells, as their barrier against the piercing rain had broken. Sparks, streams of light and beams shot out of their wand, their aim precise and true to the Death Eaters. Harry felt his scar burning and stinging so intensely, as he tried to look for Voldemort. But just then, his vision darkened, and he felt the ruthless wind slice through him. He could not see a thing, the pain on his forehead almost numbing.

Just then, his vision flashed once again. The rain struck him hard, stinging his skin and the bitter cold numbing him. The wind was harsh, blowing hard and making the impact of the rain sharp. He felt that same sea of emotions and pure hatred swirl inside of him. He felt the blood in his veins run icy cold. His emerald eyes flashed, pointing his wand at the figure that stood in front of him.

Voldemort's eyes glittered menacingly. His dark lips were twisted into a sickening, cruel smile.

“We meet again, Harry Potter,” he said. Harry's bones began to tremor slightly. He felt his hate and anger eat him whole, blanketing him with the need and want for murder. Voldemort's murder.

They were alone. He had transported them to a different place in the forest, dimly lit and the rain pounding harder than before. Harry felt his heart turn cold.

“This is the last time, Voldemort,” he said lowly and dangerously. “You'll regret ever stepping into this place.” Voldemort's smile widened.

“Be careful, Harry,” he hissed. “You never know if I just might force you to eat your words. But you are right, this is the decisive battle.” He looked at him. “And now, where is the one you have proved to hold your heart so strongly? It's a shame she managed to live. But, however, her managing to survive does have its perks, now, doesn't it? I've already put to my mind that she will be the second to die in my hands after you.”

“You bastard,” Harry said lowly and angrily. Harry shouted a spell at him, as a glowing beam of red light shot out of his wand. Voldemort managed to easily block it.

“In a hurry, are you? Well, I agree, we must get going. The earlier we start, the more time I have time to make you suffer.” He pointed his wand at him, his fingers thin and pale.

“Let's make this worthwhile, boy,” he hissed, his eyes glittering now only darkly.

“Oh, believe me,” Harry said, darkly. “This will be.”

2. Abandon

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, except Matthew and the plot.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm sorry if the Voldemort thing seemed kind of off.. It was my first time writing one of Harry's encounters with him- I've never had the courage to actually write one.. I was afraid that I might mess it all up, and I really really didn't want to do that.

I'm not sure as to how many chapters there will be left after this. Probably one. Maybe two. There might be three, but I somehow really doubt that. I don't really know; I'm uncertain at this point. BUT THIS FIC IS NOT YET FINISHED.

Review, please! I still want to know what you think. Oh, and a reviewer asked me if I took requests on fanfics also titled by a Cure song. Well, you could email me, and I will definitely consider it, but I already have a lot of Cure songs I am planning to base my fanfics on- not really base, but title it by the song, and kind of base it, I guess. But yes, please email me if you have a request and I'll see if I can do a fic on it.

Thanks to all the reviewers! And thanks to Tic-Tac for reviewing; I really really admire your work! It meant a lot to me.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Abandon

Harry doubled over, shaking violently. The rain was pelting down on his skin, soaking through his robes. His hair and cold sweat stuck to his forehead, the cold downpour and wind sweeping through him. He was clutching his stomach, blood running down his hands and forearms. His vision was blinking and darkening, his world spinning rapidly. His body was sore, shock and pain shooting up through his body. His heart was pounding hard, threatening to leap out. He could taste the metallic and bile taste of blood filling his mouth. His wand was still in his hand, knees to the floor. The icy rain explored his palms, seeping into his wounds. He could feel the firm ground underneath him, the shrieking still echoing in his ears as he had shouted the final spell.

The final spell that ended it all.

It was over. It was finally over.

Harry looked up, his glasses cracked and severed badly, but he could still see the dark figure sprawled across the wet ground. He tried to stand, his legs feeling as if they had been broken and torn apart, but he bared the pain. He slowly walked over to him.

Voldemort. Dead. Gone.

The bastard was finally gone.

Harry could still feel anger, bitterness and hate swell up inside of him, looking down at the limp and lifeless body on the ground. He kicked it, with all his force, as he heard a sickening sound of bones breaking and flesh being ripped apart. Harry pointed his wand, trembling slightly, as he muttered a spell. Almost instantly, a glowing, menacing white fire blazed on the body. He could hear the crackling, the sound of the fire as it slowly ate away at his flesh. Harry burned Voldemort's wand along with his body, charring it into a pile of black powder that soon disintegrated and vanished. He watched the body burn, cold and dark satisfaction playing across his heart.

“You're pathetic, “ he said, watching the body burn. It consumed his organs, devoured its bones. “A fool.”

The rain did not let up, raining harder, but that did not disturb the white fire. It glowed and flickered strongly, blanketing the body and eating it whole. There would be nothing left, except memories. The body would be gone. It was finally over.

He had killed him. Voldemort. Just as he swore he would.

The sky was dark, the moon almost slightly smiling down on him. The trees swayed, the wind sang and bellowed. The rain tasted sweet, filling him and making him numb to his toes. Blood ran down his face, as he touched his scar.

It was gone. That blinding pain. It was gone. And it was never to return.

He raised his trembling hand to his face, smearing off the blood. His flesh felt smoldered, burned and twisting painfully inside. His veins had been warped and had been torn apart, blood pouring out. His skin felt tight, as if he had suddenly grown too much to wear it. There was pain, he could not deny it.

But then there was victory.

His robes were torn, his wrist broken on his left arm. There was a deep gash on his cheek, the wound stinging and throbbing. But most of all, he felt his heart. It was beating fiercely, hammering. He was alive.

He was going to return.

The flames played, fighting, as the rest of the body had disappeared. The fire played like a monster's mouth, devouring flesh and leaving no remains. It did not need a jaw full of jagged and sharp teeth; it did not need a throat or even a stomach. It just ate and consumed, neater than Dragons or monsters ever would. But it was brutal and vicious; performing such a spell could only be perfected from anger, coldness, and hate. It was a difficult and complex spell; everything could go wrong if it was enacted wrong even in the slightest way. But he had perfected it, training and practicing for this day. It was one of his most favorite spells, although it was such dark magic, because he knew that it would be the one he would use to dispose of his body. He knew that he would use it in the end.

He kept these things from people. Hermione never knew he was capable of such dark magic. Because he didn't want her to know; he didn't see any reason that she had to. He would never show this side when he was around her, unless it was desperately needed. This side, his dark side, was something rare but intense and powerful. Many people had never seen him this way, and if they had, they would call him ruthless, cruel and evil. Only he wasn't. He wasn't ruthless and cruel, or evil even in the smallest way. But everyone has that side, he knew. Everyone could be capable of doing evil things, of murdering and killing. Some of them relent too easily, the hunger and thirst for murder, as the case for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. But most of them don't even think of considering it.

Harry Potter was not ashamed of what he had done. Nor was he proud. He felt empty, in a strange way. But he felt, almost immediately that the spell had hit him, that burden, that heavy burden that he had carried for far too long, being lifted off. And now it was gone. He no longer felt as if he had boundaries, blockades, or as if he was chained to some invisible wall. He was finally free.

They were all finally free.

The flames flickered, as the vanished. There wasn't a single trace, a sign. He was gone; Voldemort no longer had any haunting remains that could possibly revive him. The white fire slowly began to shrink, becoming smaller and smaller, its licks shorter and shorter. The rain poured down, sliding down his skin, the ground wet and muddy.

The flames disappeared, as Harry just stood, looking down at the exact spot where Voldemort had been. Slowly, he looked up at the sky, tasting the raindrops filling his mouth. He closed his eyes, feeling his heartbeats slowly fade as the sound and feel of rain swept through him. The cold numbed him, but he could still feel it as strongly as before. He could hear the rustles of the leaves swaying in the trees, the sound of the wind whispering to him. But suddenly, feeling a strange whisk around him, he felt a slight tug and opened his eyes.

He was back. He saw bodies on the floor, Death Eaters, and wounded members of the Order. As they saw him, their eyes widened as a smile dominated over their tired and exhausted faces. He heard shouts, cheers, as people rushed over to him. Dumbledore, his hand on his shoulder, beaming at Harry. Remus came and gave him a strong hug, smiling happily with tears in his eyes. The other members came, patting him on the back, smiling and crying at the same time, giving him hugs. Harry managed a crooked smile as he watched the others, grinning happier than he had ever seen them. Even the injured were smiling and cheering. Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder tightened, as Harry turned and smiled at him before he left to assist some members. Remus stayed at his side.

“It's finally over,” Harry said quietly.

“It is. Because of you. You did this, Harry. Look around. Look how happy they are, how grateful they are,” Remus said. Harry nodded.

“They deserve it.” Remus looked at Harry. He smiled, chuckling.

“You look like hell, Harry.” Harry smiled.

“Thanks, Remus. Same to you.” Remus grinned, putting an arm around Harry. Harry winced, and Remus laughed as he pulled away.

“Sorry. I forgot that if you look like hell, you must feel like hell.”

“I won't deny that one,” Harry agreed.

“We're going to get to St. Mungo's to heal and get better before we get home.” Harry beamed, feeling a warmth rise in him as he mentioned home. Remus noticed this.

“Ready to go home, Harry?”

“Too ready,” he grinned, his emerald eyes sparkling.

++++++++++

They stopped at St. Mungo's, as many healers came and treated their wounds, making them drink potions and serums for any aftereffects of the spells.

As soon as they saw Harry and the Order, smiling happily, they quickly caught on. First they were shocked, in awe of the young boy's achievement, but soon they were cheering and clapping, rushing to Harry. They all asked questions, as Harry wearily answered as many as he could. Many of them had tears in their eyes, thanking Harry repeatedly, as Harry just smiled and told them that it was no problem.

Soon, he was swept into a room as they mended his broken wrist and healed his cuts and gashes. They mended his glasses, giving him serums to make sure he was in perfect health. After about a three hours, Dumbledore and the others began to apparate back to where the others were, patiently waiting for the verdict.

Harry could feel his heart beating loudly and rapidly, as he heard Dumbledore's orders. He had practically leaped out of the bed, eager to return.

He was going to see her again. He was finally going to tell her that he loved her.

He was returning. Just as he promised.

+++++++++++++++++++++

They apparated, almost all at once. As soon as they landed, everyone burst into tears and applauses, cheers loud and smiles enormous. They all rushed to Harry and the others, bringing them into tight embraces and tearful thank-yous. But as he tried to get through the crowd, he did not see the one he had been most eager and determined to see. He searched through the smiling faces, as they congratulated him and thanked him enthusiastically. He did not see her.

Where was she?

Harry rushed into the kitchen, hoping she would be there, but there was no one. He heard the laughter and happy conversations in the other room, but all he could focus on was Hermione.

Where could she possibly be?

Harry heard footsteps, as he whirled around. Molly Weasley was standing in the doorway, holding a butterbeer in one hand, smiling.

“Harry,” she said, walking towards him. Harry stared at her, and swallowed hard as she handed him the butterbeer. He took it from her, slowly.

“Where is she?” he asked. “Is she alright?” He felt panic swarm through his body. She sighed, as she smiled slightly. She sat down, and she motioned him to take a seat. He gradually sat down, never taking his gaze off her.

“Hermione.. she-“ she paused, as she looked at him uncertainly. “When she woke up, after you had gone.. she was shocked, afraid. She did not know where you were, if something had happened to you. But I came up and told her that you had gone.. to the Final Battle. She didn't understand. She looked for you, calling around the house. But as I insisted that you were not here, that you were gone, she..” Molly looked at him, her blue eyes sad. “She did not sleep, she did not eat any of her meals, while you were away, Harry. She locked herself up in her room, crying and refusing to talk to anyone.” Harry felt guilt build up in him immensely. She sighed. “We were getting worried, and tried some spells on her door to get it unlocked, but she used some unbreakable charms that we were not able to get through. Until, this morning, Matthew used a spell just as powerful as hers, and got her door to open. We got her to take a sleeping potion, so she's asleep right at this moment. I'm sorry, Harry,” she said. Harry nodded, staring at the butterbeer in his hand. “I know that you wanted to see her when you got back.. I'm sorry.”

“That's alright, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said quietly. “Do you know when she'll wake?”

“She should be awake by noon tomorrow.” There was silence, as Harry felt thoughts and questions cloud his mind. Just as Molly began to stand, Harry spoke.

“Is she angry?” Harry asked, as Molly froze. She looked at him, puzzled. “Is she upset about me leaving her here, without asking for her consent?” Molly's eyes darkened.

“I'm not sure, Harry,” she said. “She didn't speak to us at all.” Harry looked down at his hand; completely clean from the wounds he had gotten from the battle. There were no scars, no scratches or even a trace of what had been there.

“She's upstairs,” she said. “You can go visit her,” she looked at him. “She missed you, Harry. She'll be overjoyed that you're back.” And with that, she left him in the kitchen. Slowly, Harry raised the glass to his lips, as he felt the sweet liquid fill his mouth and warm him as it traveled down his throat. He felt a sort of empty sensation filling him, despite the affects of the butterbeer, his fingers buzzing and his skin feeling fuzzy.

He felt guilty about leaving her, so much, but he knew there was no other way. Somehow, deep inside, he knew that she was upset, although he insisted that she was a reasonable person and would understand. Which she was, but when it came to matters such as this..

When it came to him, she would do things that he was sure she didn't even think out the least bit. She was willing to come with him, into the Final Battle. She knew that she was going to get killed if she did, but she still insisted.

She loved him. So much that she would risk her life for him.

He loved her too much to let her.

He slowly drank the butterbeer until the glass was empty. He licked his lips, the sweet aftertaste affix in his mouth. He put the glass down on the table, the laughter and conversations distinct to his ears from the room next door. He sighed, closing his eyes and digging his head into his hands.

He was supposed to be overjoyed, to be happy and in a state of absolute bliss. He had killed Voldemort. He was supposed to be having the time of his life. So why was it that he was feeling this way? Sort of.. empty and dull? He dug his fingers into his scalp, his fingertips cold and almost icy. He could feel the warmth from his head, rising to his hand and palms. He missed her. Too much. He had wanted to see her, her sparkling brown eyes, her breathtaking smile. He wanted to hold her tightly and never let go, kiss her until he was turning blue from the lack of air. He wanted to tell her, to confess his love for her the day he got back. He wanted to show her that he had not broken his promise.

Somewhere, deep in his heart, he knew she felt betrayed. As if he had abandoned her, in a way. And he did, he had left her behind, because he couldn't risk the possibility of her getting hurt or killed. He knew too well what was to happen if he had allowed her to come. And he had been scared, nervous, just terrified out of his wits.

He could not lose her. He just couldn't.

Not like he had lost his parents and Sirius. He had had enough with the people he loved dying and leaving him all alone. He just knew that he wouldn't be able to take it.

He knew that if she had died, he wouldn't have been able to let her go though she was already gone.

He heard a voice, as he raised his head and looked up with weary eyes. Remus was there, grinning happily.

“Harry? Why don't you come join the party?” Harry shook his head.

“I'm not feeling up to it, Remus,” Harry said quietly. Remus frowned at him.

“What's wrong?”

“Hermione,” Harry said. “She's still asleep.” Remus looked at him, before he came in and sat down next to him.

“Well, then.. Can't you wake her up?”

“No, Remus,” Harry said. “She's asleep. She hasn't had any sleep at all for the past four days because of me. I left her. I didn't even say goodbye. I didn't even write her a note as to why I did what I did.” Remus sighed.

“So this is what it's about, is it, now?” he said. “Love? You love her, don't you, Harry?” Harry nodded. “Saying goodbye hurts, I know that,” he said, looking at Harry sadly. “You feel like you're just reassuring the fact that you're never going to see her again, and you don't want that.”

“But I told her that I would. But instead, I just left her. I abandoned her, Remus.” Remus shook his head.

“No, Harry. We both know that you did what was right. She'll understand.”

“You don't know her,” Harry said. “You don't know what she's willing to do for me. She was going to follow me into the battle. She knew that she was going to die if she did so, but she still insisted.”

“So you're saying that she won't understand?”

“I.. I don't know. I was hoping that I'd find out tonight.” Remus looked at him, his eyes dark.

“And what if she does, what'll you do then?” Harry smiled slightly.

“Well, I was hoping that I'd ask her to marry me.” Remus's eyes widened, staring at Harry. Harry felt a blush warm his cheeks, still keeping his expression serious.

“Harry, marrying her? That's a big step. You're only eighteen-“

“Nineteen in a couple of months,” Harry cut in.

“-and you've still got a few more months of Hogwarts-“

“We'll get married after we graduate,” Harry said. “Please understand, Remus. I love her. I fought Voldemort as hard as I did because I knew she was counting on me to return. And I returned to be with her. I returned because I love her, and I really do want to spend the rest of my life with her.” Remus quieted down, looking at the serious expression on Harry's face.

“Harry.. are you sure you're ready? I mean.. I'm not even married.” Harry smirked.

“You're the one afraid of commitment. Not me. You've got Tonks and you know she loves you as much. She'd surely say yes if you'd just ask her.” Remus frowned at him.

“We were talking about you and Hermione, not me or my personal life.” Harry grinned. Remus continued. “How are you going to support yourselves? You're going to need a place to stay, and-“

“I'm going to get a job,” Harry said. “And I've still got plenty of money left to support us for years. I've thought about it all before, Remus.” Remus sighed, looking at Harry. His face seemed to be heavy with weariness and concern.

“You've really grown up,” he remarked. “I wasn't even thinking about marrying when I was your age. And yet, here you are, talking about love and marriage. And you seem so sure about it, is what's so odd.” He smiled softly, his eyes sparkling, as if remembering. “You have so much of James in you. Your spirit.. nothing could ever make me doubt that you're his son.” Harry smiled.

“Thanks Remus. And as for me growing up.. life tends to do these things to you. It teaches you things. Pain, hardships.. love,” he smiled wider. “It makes you wiser, in a sense. It really changes you. People say time changes things and people, but time is only such a small part of it all.” Remus smiled wider.

“Well, that's the truest thing I've heard in years.”

There was silence, as Remus stared at the doorway, and Harry stared at his hands. It was a while before Remus spoke again. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know? I mean.. that'd she'd be the one you'd love and be happy with for the rest of your life?” Harry grinned, his emerald eyes twinkling.

“I just do.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Harry lay awake in his room, the darkness around him thick but fresh. The air was cold but refreshing, the night breeze sweeping by ever now and then from his open window. He was weary and exhausted, but somehow, he could not manage to drift off. Which was odd, since he hadn't had any sleep in four to five days. The moonlight spilled across the carpet, glowing and visible in the dark. The house seemed quiet, just the few footfalls and creaks every now and then. He stared up at the black ceiling, his mind still persisting to think about Hermione.

He wished for her to be by his side. The bed felt empty, cold. He missed hearing her rhythmic breaths, holding her to him and enjoying the feeling of just being so close to her.

Even now he missed her.

Slowly, Harry got out of his bed and crept out of his room. He made his way across the hallway and down the corridor, trying to be as quiet as possible. Finally, he reached her room and went inside.

From her window was the full sight of the moon. The glowing light illuminated her room, the darkness not so deep and dark as it was in the other rooms. He walked over to her, feeling his heartbeats cease as he stopped by her beside.

He did not need light to see just how beautiful she was.

The moonlight was enough. It dominated and softened the dark and gloomy atmosphere, as he could see the shades and features of her face. He smiled, feeling his heart skip a beat, as he leaned down next to her bed. He watched her, hearing her shallow breaths and seeing the serene expression on her face. She looked deathly pale in the moonlight, her skin almost glowing against the darkness. Her lips mouth was parted slightly, as he leaned over and clasped his hand gently over hers. He raised his hand, stroking her hair and brushing away the curls that fell across her face. His fingertips tingled and hummed pleasantly, feeling the smoothness and softness of her hair. His fingers trailed down her face, caressing her cheek. He smiled, taking in the sight of her so peaceful and calm. His hand tightened around hers.

“I'm back, Hermione,” he whispered to her, his emerald eyes glittering visibly even in the dark. He stroked her hair, brushing his fingers across her forehead. “I'm back, just like I promised. I told you that I wasn't going to leave you. I told you that you weren't going to have to do anything alone. I'm right here. I'm right here beside you.” He leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead, and then her hand. He slowly let go of her hand, missing the warmth that he had just held, as he stood up, looking down at her. He gave her one last look full of longing and love, before turning to walk back to his room. He walked quietly across her room, and closed the door gently behind him.

++++++++++++++++++++++

He awoke late around about an hour before noon. He had come to check on Hermione, but saw that Molly Weasley was just coming out of her room. He rushed to her, eager. She smiled at him.

“Is she awake yet?” he asked.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she said. “Not yet. Not for another two hours, at most,” she saw the disappointed look on his face, as she spoke again. “Harry, you should get some breakfast, chat with the others, or maybe even fly outside for a little while. I know that battle was hard on you, and you ate almost nothing last night, so I'm sure you're pretty hungry.” Harry nodded, smiling only faintly. He ran a hand through his hair.

“You're right. I should also clean myself up, too. Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” he said. She nodded.

“No problem, Harry. I will be sure to come to you immediately when she wakes.” Harry headed down to the kitchen, Molly walking behind him. As they entered, he sat down at the table, as he said good morning to Remus and another boy whom he had never seen before. Molly quickly placed a plate full of food in front of him, as Harry suddenly just realized just how hungry he was. He took a bite of his pancakes, as Remus took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

“How's Ron, Molly?” Remus asked. He heard a sigh from behind him.

“He owled me yesterday, stubborn as he is. I told him not to, but boys never do listen to their mothers, do they?” she let out another deep sigh. “He said he's doing just fine, although he was eager to know what happened at the battle. He wanted to know how Harry and Hermione were, and if we knew if Harry had defeated him.”

“Is he still angry?” Harry asked abruptly, as Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean.. I know that he was upset that I didn't let him come along, especially when Hermione came. He wasn't speaking to me at all when we left.”

“Oh, don't worry about him, Harry,” she said. “Ron's so temper mental; goes ballistic even at the littlest things. He'll get over it soon enough. And besides, even if you were willing to let him come, I sure wouldn't have let him.”

“I caught him muttering about it, some time ago,” Remus said. “Said that it wasn't fair that Hermione got to go, and that the only reason Harry took her and didn't take him was because he fancies her too bloody much,” Remus stopped chewing on his toast. “Those were his exact words.” Harry choked on the piece of his pancake he was eating. He remembered that hadn't told the Weasleys yet, and he was hoping that he would once Hermione woke up, so that they could tell everyone together all at once. Harry raised his glass to his lips, coughing, as he gulped down the sweet, cold fluid. He gave Remus a death glare, just as he put the glass down.

Remus shrugged at him. Molly gasped.

“Oh my! Ronald said that?” she said, quite irritated. “I swear, that boy's got to learn some manners..” she halted, mid-sentence. She came up from behind Harry, and sat next to him. Harry could feel his cheeks warming up. She smiled at him.

“Harry.. You and Hermione.. Was what he said true?” Harry cast a glance at Remus, who was stifling a smile and laughter as best as he could. Harry looked down.

“I.. I love her,” Harry said quietly. “If that's what you mean.” Molly beamed at him.

“Well, that's just wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I always thought you two would make such a darling couple! Oh, and when you two are together..” Molly's eyes twinkled with happiness. “She's positively glowing when you're around her,” she continued. “And you seem as if you're the happiest person in the world.” Harry managed a smile, relieved at the Weasley's reaction.

He wondered how Ron would take it.

“Well, that seems just about right,” he heard someone say. He looked over to the boy sitting in front of Remus. He had long, dark hair with the eyes to match it. He was about his age, skinny and fairly tall. He was pale, and Harry got the odd feeling of familiarity. He recognized him, somehow. Remus put down his glass.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said. “I forgot to introduce you two. He looked at the boy, smiling. “Matthew, this is Harry,” Harry nodded at him. “Harry, this is Matthew.” The boy met him with a serious but unreadable expression. “Snape's son.”

Harry's eyes widened. Something flashed inside him, and suddenly he knew as to why he had looked so familiar. Professor Snape. They had the same dark hair, dark eyes.. But the boy's features were softer, and he looked like what the younger Snape would've looked like.

“Snape's? I didn't know he had a son,” Harry remarked.

“I've been living with my mother these past years,” he said, revealing a dark voice that too, was oddly familiar. “I saw him, but rarely. He came by to visit on my birthdays and Holidays, but only that.” His eyes seemed so dark, even darker than Snape's, from what he could remember. “I knew he was in the Order, but he denied it whenever I asked him. However, he brought me here one day, introducing me and making me meet everyone. He told me that he wanted me to be in the Order, and had already asked Dumbledore specifically. Dumbledore agreed. They took me in soon after my father died.” Harry felt something unsettling wriggle inside him restlessly. He looked down, guilt and regret mounding. Matthew spoke again.

“I don't blame you for his death. No one does. He died because he was trying to save our only hope for the future. It wasn't your fault.” Harry closed his eyes, sighing. He remembered that night. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had ambushed them, and just as Voldemort was about to kill him..

Snape had dove in front of him, and was hit with the curse instead.

He could still remember the look of lifelessness and that empty, glossy look in his dark eyes. His face was deathly white. He remembered the feeling of panic and a mixture of emotions spread through him, seeing his teacher lay before him, dead.

He had died trying to save him. Severus Snape, the Professor he had despised for almost all his years at Hogwarts, had died for him. Harry Potter.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said to Matthew. Matthew shook his head.

“Don't be. It wasn't your fault.” Harry sighed, opening his eyes.

“I know, but I should've.. done something. I just wasn't expecting..”

“Him to save you with his own life?” Matthew finished. Harry nodded solemnly. “I can see why. He was never really a good person. But he tried to make up for it by saving you.”

“He despised me,” Harry said. “I just didn't know why he would do such a thing.”

“He did what he knew was right. What everyone knew was right. And, I know what you mean about him not exactly being the most decent Professor to you… But he's just a very odd person,” Matthew said, shaking his head and chuckling. Harry managed to crack a smile. He looked at Remus, then at Matthew.

“I'm going to go clean myself up before she wakes,” Harry said, as they nodded at him. Harry excused himself and headed up to the bathroom.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

When he got out of the shower, trying to tame his hair as best as he could and had dressed up, Hermione was still not awake.

“Still another half-hour,” Harry sighed. So he took Molly's advice, as he headed into his room and grabbed his broom, before he made his way outside.

The day was absolutely beautiful. The sun was shining, its rays bright but soft. The skies were the bluest he had ever seen them, wisps of white clouds hovering above. The wind was blowing gently, kissing and caressing his skin. He felt the fresh, cold breeze ruffle through his hair, wrapping around him for a mere second before unraveling and wafting away. He held his broom tightly in his hand, before climbing on and pushing his feet against the firm ground. And before he knew it, he was high up in the air.

He could feel the wind in his ears, sweeping and whispering. He felt the coldness and fresh air press against his skin, his elevation increasing more and more each minute. Finally he halted, as he opened his eyes. He grinned.

The rich sapphire sky was never-ending, stretching towards into forever. Everywhere he looked, it was there, welcoming him somehow. He could feel that peace and calmness invade him, making his fingers almost numb on the handle. He could hear the wind swaying, and the leaves of the trees dancing along. This was where he found it. That certain peace that he never really knew he could achieve until he experienced it. Here, being high up in the sky, the abundant blue sky embracing him with its infinite arms and the wind singing softly..

This was where he could figure it all out. Everything. His worries and fears would just fade away.. as if just vanishing into thin air. And maybe, somehow, he felt empty. As if there was a vast void, from where his worries and doubts used to have been. But he did not miss it. He liked feeling relaxed and serene.

And he knew all too well that feeling that way was too hard to find in this world.

Yet, he had found it. It was right here.

Just then, he heard a distant yelling. He looked down, and saw a red-haired lady on the ground. He tilted his broom as he neared the land. He saw that it was Mrs. Weasley, out of breath and flushed. She was panting, gasping for air.

“She's awake!” she yelled. “She's awake, Harry!” Harry felt something swell up inside him, as he quickly stepped down into the ground and thanked her. She nodded at him, as he sprinted through the yard and into the house.

He could not suppress a wide grin as he ran through the corridors and hallways, making his way up the stairs. His heart was beating hard, his mind swarming with thoughts of her. Hermione. He ran down the hall, and halted in front of her room. He tried to shallow his breath, panting hard, excitement and eagerness bursting inside of him.

His breaths returned to their normal pace, as he grasped the doorknob, the metal feeling cold to his hands. He twisted it slowly, as he opened the door.

3. Window

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters except Matthew and the plot.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

well, I think it's safe to say that a lot of reviewers got a tad bit upset with me for that cliff hanger in the last chapter.. And, it is quite annoying, isn't it? I'm sorry that I ended it at such a crucial point, but I don't think this chapter is going to be any happier than the other one.

Well, like I said, this fic is tragic and rather gut wrenching. And.. Well, Hermione is still quite upset with Harry. She's glad that he's back, yes, overjoyed, but she had a lot of time to think about why he left her, and about their future together, if they could possibly have one.

So.. another sad one, this chapter. But, if you stay until the end.. I'm sure you'll be happy. It will be a happy ending. I promise you. All the sad and tragic happenings in the beginning and middle of the story just make the happy ending much more enjoyable.

Thanks to the reviewers!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Window

Harry was surprised to see that the room was dark, as he blinked and tried to get his eyes adjusted to the gloomy atmosphere. The soft rays from outside were peeking only slightly, but apparently she had put some kind of barrier on the window. He silently closed the door behind him, as he saw a dark, lone figure sitting at the edge of the bed, her back turned to him. She was facing the window.

He felt happiness and excitement swell inside him, as he halted and took in the sight of her. She was really here. At last. His heart was beating fast and hard, just letting his eyes roam at her figure. Her long, brown waves.. even from behind he could instantly recognize her.

“Mrs. Weasley said you were up already,” he said quietly. He watched as her body suddenly stiffened. He smiled, his emerald eyes twinkling. She slowly turned around, and as soon as she saw him, her brown eyes widened.

“Harry?” she whispered, shocked and in awe. He nodded, smiling widely, as he strode over to her and collected her in his arms. He held her tight and firmly, closing his eyes. He took in that familiar scent on her skin and hair, her breaths hard against his neck. She felt warm in his arms, and it felt dreamlike; as if a fantasy he had dreamed of for years had finally come true. He felt her arms wrap around him just as tightly, as she was whispering into his ear. After a few moments, they slowly pulled back, still keeping his arms bound around her. Her deep brown eyes were glossy, as tears spilled down her cheeks. She was trembling in his arms, staring into his deep green eyes. He smiled down on her, feeling his heart melt and his nerves burst with longing and love.

“It's you.. it's really you,” she whispered through her tears. “I can't believe it.. you're back..” He raised his hand and swept his fingers across her cheeks slowly, wiping away her tears. He rested his palm against her cheek, the warmth of her skin underneath his fingertips seeming so surreal. His mind swarmed with memories of that night.. their night. The night he had left.

“I promised you, Hermione. I promised you that I would come back for you. I promised you that you wouldn't have to face anything alone.” She smiled at him, as she took in a ragged breath before he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Almost immediately, he felt the rush and emotions flood back to him, sweeping him away. He held her closer to him, deepening the kiss, eager to taste more of her, to show her how much he missed her. He felt her hands tangle in his hair, her touch sending tremors to buzz through him. He raised his hands and entangled them into her wavy locks, bringing her closer and closer until there was not a single inch between them. He could taste her salty tears, exploring the sweetness and warmth of her mouth, taking in more and more of her. His hands seemed to be burning, smoldering, eager to touch her smooth, bare skin again. His fingertips seemed vehement, as they slid down again to her waist. She pulled away from him, out of breath, but he continued his kisses down her neck.

“Harry,” she whimpered, remembering the night they had shared before. “Harry,” she repeated, more urgently. She lowered her hands from his hair and pressed them against his chest, as if trying to push him away. “Harry, I don't think-“ she pushed away from him. He remained close to her, but staggering back a bit. His hair was wilder than before, untamed and muddled.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to,” he paused, looking into her eyes. “What is it?” Hermione frowned at him, stepping back. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, concerned at the look in her eyes. She sighed, as she sat back down on the bed, turning away from him. He stared at her, silent, waiting for her to explain. She sighed softly, looking up at the window. Little streams of light had managed to escape, bleeding through the edges that she had not covered.

“I kept the window like this when you were gone,” she said softly. He saw her look down sadly. Tears were still sliding down her cheeks, as she continued. “I didn't want anything to remind me of the outside. Reality. I couldn't bear to see the sunlight, even the sky. Because every time I laid eyes on it, saw a sunbeam pouring into the room, I thought of you.” She finally looked at him, and his heart almost broke at what he saw.

Deep in her eyes, he saw finality, and pain. He saw that he had broken something deep inside her, hurt her in a way that he had never intended or wanted to. They were sad and dark, and they were filled with something that he had never seen before. And though he didn't know what it was, nor recognized it, he knew that it was something that controlled and convinced her heart, no matter what she insisted or felt.

He could feel his heart fall, his throat close up almost fully. She looked away, a tear running down her cheek.

“I thought of you. And that you were gone.” Harry felt his heart stop, and swallowed hard. He suddenly felt cold, but as if somehow he was burning up. “Why did you leave me, Harry?” she asked, tears falling from her eyes. “How could you leave me? You said that you weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, and the next day, I wake up to see that you've gone without telling me, and that..” She didn't continue on. She didn't need to. He knew exactly what she had been going to say.

Her brown eyes were dark and pained, glossy from her tears. He felt his heart break, watching her like this, hearing her words.

Because they were true. Because he had hurt her. Because she just didn't understand.

“I didn't think that it was real, at first,” she said quietly. Her voice was wavering greatly through her tears. “I thought that it was all some horrible nightmare that I just couldn't wake up from. I didn't want to believe it. I refused to. Until I.. I knew that you were really gone. I wondered at first, asking myself why you left without telling me, why you could have possibly abandoned me. I knew that you would say it was for my own good. But was it, Harry?” she asked him. “Was it? Even when it hurt? I thought that you didn't care enough to say goodbye. That the other night was a mistake, that you-“

“No,” he interrupted, taking her by the shoulders. His dark, emerald eyes pleaded at her. “I do care, Hermione, so much. And that night, it wasn't a mistake. It was anything but that. I was-“ she shook her head.

“I heard you saying these things, over and over in my head,” she said. “I replayed it, putting words in your mouth inside my mind that I thought you would say. But each time, Harry,” tears glittered in her eyes, “each time, the more I heard it, the more I wanted to.. the more it hurt.” Harry looked at her, his grip tightening.

“No, Hermione,” he said hoarsely. “No, you just don't understand-“

“I do,” she said, pulling away from him. He shook his head.

“It hurt too much to say goodbye, you know that! It felt like I was just reassuring the fact that I wasn't going to see you again!”

“Even when it was possible that you were never going to see me again after that? It hurt, Harry, I know that too well. But you can't just leave without saying a word about your changed plans and hope that I'll-“

“I was only trying to protect you!”

“Protect me? From what?” she said, her voice severing. “From wanting to be with you? From facing the awful truth that that night was a mistake? From waking up next to you and saying goodbye?” She sobbed silently, and Harry could feel the same painful and strangling feeling of helplessness return.

What had he done?

“I didn't want to lose you!” he said to her. “I didn't want to lose you like I lost my parents and Sirius! I wanted to have someone to come back to, someone to-“

“You made me promise, Harry!” she sobbed, wiping away her tears with her hands. “You made me promise not to follow you! And I did, I promised. How do you think I was supposed to feel to know that you didn't trust me enough, even with that promise?”

“It's not that I didn't trust you, Hermione! I just knew that you were stubborn and that you didn't think clearly enough when it came to cases concerning me!”

“How do you know that?” she yelled. “How do you know that I haven't thought things out in those situations? How?”

“Because you perfectly well know that it's going to get you killed,” he said, stepping closer to her. “You know what Voldemort could do. He did it to you, once before. And I don't ever want that to happen ever again, not to you, not to anyone.”

“I'm not afraid,” she said. “I'm wasn't afraid of him.”

“Yeah, well, I was!” Harry yelled, frustrated. “I was afraid of what he's going to do when he gets a hold of you again! I was terrified out of my mind at the thought of him hurting you again, torturing you and making sure that I could hear you crying out! I was so scared that we wouldn't be able to save you again! You were so close to dying, Hermione! How do you think I'm supposed to feel?”

“And because of that, you thought I'd lie to you?”

“No, Hermione. Just listen to me-“

“I had time to think about this, Harry,” she said. “I thought about the possibilities, everything. I thought about you and me. It just.. can't work.” Harry gaped at her.

“What?” he yelled, angry and shocked.

“You're always going to be afraid for me!” she said. “Even when you know well enough that it won't happen again!”

“Why else would I be so afraid for you?” Harry yelled, shaking with anger. “Tell me, Hermione, why else would I be scared as hell when it comes to you? Why would I be so damn terrified?”

“I.. I don't know,” she said, her body shaking slightly.

“Because I love you!” he bellowed, and she stared at him, her eyes still sad. But now, they seemed darker than before.

She was not the Hermione he knew before. This was not her. It just couldn't be.

“I can't bear to lose you because I love you too much to ever live on without you! I love you too much to let you risk your bloody life for me! I couldn't let you go around risking your life for me when it was already in as much danger as it could be!” Hermione stared at him, silent. “You wonder why Voldemort took you, instead of Ron, even though you never asked. But I know you wonder about it, I see you thinking about it. And do you want to know why, Hermione?” His emerald eyes were dark, glittering dimly. “Because Voldemort knew how much you meant to me. He knew that by taking you, he would have the biggest advantage over me. He knew that I was too weak to see the woman I loved being tortured and made to suffer.”

“Harry,” she said softly, trembling. “Don't-“

“Why can't we be together?” he asked, still angry. “Why not? If we love each other? Why don't you want us to be together?” he demanded, his green eyes flashing.

“It's not that simple, Harry,” she whispered. Her palms and fingers were damp from her tears.

“Then explain it to me. Make me understand,” he whispered to her. Hermione took in a deep, ragged breath, looking into his eyes. Deep inside, he knew that she was hurting him more than she could ever know. She did not know exactly what he felt for her, she did not know her effect on him.

And he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and try to make her understand, somehow.

But he already knew that he could not get her mind to wrap around and bind. He could not shake her from her position.

“What if someone else comes along?” she asked, a teardrop sliding down her cheek. “What's going to happen? Are you just going to push me into hiding again, without telling me? Are you going to lock me up? What are you going to do, Harry?” Harry looked into her eyes, begging for her to come to her senses, but she did not alter. He sighed.

“What is it, Hermione?” he asked quietly, sadness and hurt clouding his eyes. “What is it that you want me to do? I'll do it, anything. Anything to make you love me again.” She shook her heard, her tears raining down.

“It isn't about love, Harry,” she said softly. “I already love you too much as it is.”

“Then what is it? What else could it be?”

“I don't want to be left behind,” she said. “I don't want unspoken goodbyes. I don't want windows to be darkened and blocked because the mere thought of the outside reminds me of you and the fact that you're gone and could possibly never return again,” she swallowed hard, the tears falling faster. “I don't want to know that someone I loved couldn't even bear to say a mere goodbye.” Harry stared at her speechless, feeling tears well up in his own eyes.

This was it. The end. Their end.

He felt as if his world had suddenly come to such an abrupt stop, leaving him staggering and the atmosphere in a swirling blur around him. The air was cold and he could still hear her voice, his sad and determined but hurt emerald eyes burning into hers. And although he wanted to keep fighting, to keep climbing until he could reach her once again, he felt defeat mount in him. His anger had vanished, and all that was left was despair, guilt and a deep, penetrating sadness that he had never felt so strongly before.

And a broken heart.

Two broken hearts.

Suddenly, he heard the door behind them open, as he heard a familiar voice.

“Harry? Hermione? Is everything alright?” He knew it was Remus. Hermione raised her hand to quickly wipe away her tears, before rushing past him. He grabbed her arm, as he forced her to turn around. He would not let go. Her brown eyes pleaded at him.

“I'm sorry that I hurt you, Hermione,” he said to her, quietly. “But I'm not sorry that I left you here. I'm not sorry for loving you so much that I did what I did.” He softened his grasp on her, as she gave him one last solemn look with her dark brown eyes, pulled her arm away and walked out of the room. Remus let her pass through, looking at Harry, his eyes filled with concern. As soon as she had walked past him, he could feel the air become colder, prickling his skin, and the darkness surrounding him thicken. She was gone. He couldn't believe it.

Harry let out a deep, ragged sigh, as he sat down on her bed and dug his head in his hands. His heart was heavy, buckling and crumbling down from the immense weight. The darkness swirled inside his eyelids, as he heard the door close gently and footsteps walk towards him. He felt Remus sit down beside him

“What happened, Harry?” Remus asked quietly. Harry could slowly feel the ripping of his heart; he could hear the splintering echo chiming through his ears. He could still her tear-streaked face, her deep and dark, sad eyes. He could still hear her voice as she spoke through her tears.

He could feel his heart splitting faster as he thought of what had just happened.

“I don't know what to do, Remus,” Harry said, his voice breaking and hoarse. “Hermione just doesn't understand.. she just.. she doesn't know, and I can't make her understand.” Harry suddenly felt like crying, remembering her words as she had told him that they could not be together. It had sounded so final. So final that it hurt him just thinking about it.

“Harry,” he heard Remus say in a calm voice. “Maybe.. maybe you just ought to give her some time. She's had a hard past few days.”

“You don't know her,” Harry said, “You don't know her. She said that we couldn't be together, that things just can't work out. How could she say that? How?”

“Harry.. just try talking to her again after things cool down a bit.” Harry let out a sight that shook his body. Remus looked down at him sympathetically. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. Harry didn't raise his head from his hands, as silence followed after.

“I love her, Remus,” Harry said, lifting his head up to look at him. His bright green eyes now looked dark, sad and cloudy. They looked weary, like an old man's eyes after a hard day at work. They were filled with hurt and pain, a broken heart residing inside. “I don't know what I'll do without her,” he whispered. “I need her.”

“Harry.. at your age,” Remus paused, unsure how to take things. “In the world, girls are not everything,” he said lamely, failing to put it in a more articulate way. “I'll bet, there are many girls out there, who would just die to be with you.”

“None of them are Hermione,” he said quietly. “And she's different. She is everything.” Remus sighed, defeated.

“I'm sure she'll come to her senses soon enough,” he said. “And.. there's always Hogwarts, so maybe you two will make up there. You only have about three more days until you return with Professor Dumbledore.” Harry stayed silent.

“Harry, I'm sure things will get better. And soon, things will be back to the way they were, with you and Hermione.”

Harry didn't respond. He could still feel his heart reeling and lurching, aching from the fact that things would never be the same again, despite what Remus had said. He was not going to be able to hold her, to laugh and smile with her, to talk to her like before. Remus didn't understand. No body did. Not even Hermione.

He was missing her already, his hands buzzing and burning from remembering of when he had touched her. His mouth was dry, tasting sour and bitter, his throat hot and blocked up. His eyes were shut tight, as if trying to wake himself from a nightmare.

Oh how he wished that this was just a mere nightmare. And that when he woke up, Hermione would be by his side, his arms wrapped around her.

But this wasn't a dream. This was reality. In dreams he did not feel this kind of pain, this kind of heartbreak or sadness, this kind of piercing emptiness. He did not feel as if she had just plunged her hand deep into his chest and ripped out his heart.

Then torn it, bit by bit, to pieces right in front of him.

His mind was swirling, his world spinning and leaving him in a blotched and hazy state. He refused to believe that this was reality. That what had happened between him and Hermione was over within minutes.

He still loved her.

He still longed for her as madly as before.

But now a deep, slicing pain accompanied that longing and desire. Every time he thought of her, of how his love still stood firm and did not fade, he felt his heart getting broken once again. He was just reminded of the fact that now..

She did not want to be with him.

Because he had hurt her. Because he hadn't stopped to think of how she would feel when he had left her. Because he had been selfish.

Remembering her confession, he was on the edge of breaking down. She had told him, tears flooding down her cheeks. She had told him what he himself could not say back to her, although he felt it too strongly to ignore. She had told him that she had loved him, the night before he had to go to the Final Battle. And she did not even wait for a response; it was clear that she had not been expecting one, besides rejection.

He remembered how her body had stiffened from surprise when he had kissed her.

And how she had melted into his arms, kissing him just as passionately, making his lips burn and his mouth fervent for more. He could not explain the feeling of when he had been with her, placing kisses on her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. Feeling her warm, smooth skin underneath his blistering hot fingertips. He still remembered how she had held him to her, her hands tangled in his unruly, raven hair.

And the way her brown eyes had twinkled with passionate longing and love.

It hurt so much to think that he had lost that.

It hurt so much to think that he had lost her, though their love had been strong enough to break through the restricting barriers of friendship.

What was going to happen to them? Was their friendship going to thin and soon fade away? Was their love going to keep on striving, burning brightly and continuing to become stronger?

What was going to happen if they found that they could not move on?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lunch was a quiet one. Hermione avoided looking at and sitting next to Harry. Harry had settled next to Remus, while Hermione took a seat beside Matthew. Harry noticed that Remus kept glancing at him worriedly, then at Hermione, who was just eating silently, avoiding any conversation or eye contact with anyone. Harry wanted to reach out to her, talk to her, but he knew that she was just out of his reach. And though she was right there, in front of him, sleeping inside the same house.. he could not find a way to get to her. Not anymore.

It hurt to know that he had lost his way to her. Just like he had lost her heart.

There had been some feeble laughter and conversations that carried on with the members, but Harry just ate his lunch weakly, the noise distinct to his ears. He kept his eyes down, glancing only once in a while at the brown haired girl who had managed to break his heart as easily as she had captured it, across the table and some seats ahead. Thinking of her somehow angered him slightly, because of his feelings towards her.

She had broken his heart. But yet she still held it in her hands, not exactly certain that she had still seized and dominated it though he had tried to forgo his feelings for her.

He had seen her solemn and pale face, her brown eyes dark. Her eyes were brimmed red, though only slightly, but he still knew that she had been crying. She kept her head down, so that Harry could not exactly take a good look at her.

But seeing her like this, seeming as broken that he was, made his heart fall from the weak anger that had mounted. She did not deserve his anger. He had hurt her.

She was heartbroken too.

Sadness, guilt and despair soon overcame him, as he closed his eyes, the voices becoming louder one second, and then fading the next. His head was aching, his heart was still staggering. Even when he was aware that there was just silence invading the room, he still heard a distinct cry and whispering. His heart felt dead, almost.

His fingertips seemed icy and his limbs felt heavy. He kept glancing at Hermione, and fought to tear his eyes away and destroy the hope that she would ever look his way. Matthew had noticed the oddness of Harry's behavior, as he put down his glass.

“Harry, are you feeling alright? You don't well,” he said quietly. The members looked at Harry, curiosity and concern flickering in their eyes. Harry smiled weakly.

“I'm just a bit tired, that's all,” he had said, then turned his eyes back down to his plate. But not before he had caught Hermione's eyes for a split moment. They were dark and dim, and it felt as if he was staring into a deep pit that he could not see the bottom of. She turned away before he could read any more.

Molly and the others, including Remus, tried to engage Harry or Hermione in a conversation but failed with only a two-worded response. Everyone seemed to know that something had happened between the two students, because of their solemn faces and odd silence. Finally, Molly spoke up.

“Hermione, Professor Dumbledore has given permission to let you and Harry roam around Hogsmeade for a bit before you return to Hogwarts, for you two to spend some time alone together. That is, if you want to go. I know you've been cooped up in this house for far too long, and Harry must be eager to get out, also.” Harry tried to catch Hermione's eye again, but she was looking anywhere but him. She smiled faintly at Mrs. Weasley.

“Actually, Mrs. Weasley, that won't be necessary,” she said quietly. The whole table quieted down, staring at her. A few people looked over at Harry, as he looked down. “Thank you for asking, I appreciate it.” Molly raised an eyebrow at her, before Hermione looked down at her plate and stood up. Harry watched her intently.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I'm quite full, and I'm still a bit tired.” Harry opened his mouth to call after her as she turned, but it seemed as if he had lost his voice. He wanted to run after her, but knew that it would be no good. She would still turn and walk away, leaving him to stare and call after her. He turned back to his meal, playing with his food. He wasn't hungry.

Soon after, as their chatter and laughter returned to the table, Harry excused himself also. He walked up the stairs, feeling weary, until he stopped at Hermione's door. It was slightly open, as he was about to pass. He halted as he listened.

He heard sobbing. And it was muffled, as if she had somehow put a pillow and was crying into it. Harry closed his eyes, as he felt himself reach for the doorknob. His hand tightened around it, grasping firmly, listening to her stifled sobs through the door. He felt a certain darkness and sadness cover him, trying to decide whether he should come in, or just walk away and leave her alone. His throat felt as if it was swelling up, as he tried to swallow.

He knew that she had been hurt too. Hurt enough to cry when everyone was downstairs so she was sure they would not hear. She had also had her heart ripped apart to pieces.

Harry had to fight the urge to just stride in and wrap his arms around her tightly. Holding her and never letting go, feeling her tears soak into his shirt like the night long before. He wanted to feel her warmth pressed against him again, feeling it spread and course through his veins. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay, whisper in her ear that he loved her too much to ever hurt her again. He just wanted to find his way back to her again, without being pushed away or ignored.

He just wanted to feel her in his arms again. He would do anything, anything to have her back again.

Harry slowly let his grip loosen on the knob, as he leaned his forehead softly against the door. His eyes were still closed, imagining her with her face dug, a pillow in her hands, the room dark and the window still covered.

He could almost remember the taste of her tears as he had kissed them away once before.

Slowly he stepped back, opening his eyes to meet with the bare door that stood in front of him. Her subdued sobs were ringing in his ears, as he turned around and started towards his room.

Even when he had reached his room, his door shut tightly, he still heard her. He lay down on his back, his eyes closed as the darkness played inside his eyelids. He fell into the feeling of his world spinning and swirling, turning and turning until it went so fast he could no longer feel it. She was still on his mind, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss the thought of her.

She was still there, forever engraved in his memory.

The first girl that Harry Potter had ever loved.

The only girl he knew that he would ever truly love.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Harry did not come down for dinner, as Remus had come up to fetch him. Harry simply told him that he was tired and wasn't hungry. And with a sigh, Remus closed the door and made his way down to the dinning hall.

He had not lied to Remus. What he said was true. He didn't have an appetite, and he was weary and tired.

But he didn't exactly tell him the whole truth.

He knew that he couldn't bear to face her, that uncomfortable silence that was forced upon them. He did not want to see her avoid him. He didn't want to see her get up and leave before everyone else had not even to get finished with their meal.

Seeing her that way hurt him.

Harry lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The sky had darkened; the light that had been pouring out of his window was now dim and restricted. The room was gloomy and cold, his body feeling non-existent on the soft cushion. He heard footsteps on the stairs at times, and across the hall, but nothing but silence besides that.

He felt as if he had fallen out of the world he had lived in for all his life. As if all of a sudden, he had woken up to find himself hurt and cold, everything he had known to be changed and altered. The world no longer seemed to have that glowing sunlight, and was now dominated by darkness and shadows that tormented and taunted. His soul felt numb, his throat still strangled and closed. He did not recognize this.

This feeling, this overcast dimness, this dull beating of his heart. He felt nothing besides the cold and the pain, but soon he had anesthetized of the feeling. Soon he could not feel a single thing.

The ceiling, he knew, was bare. But images and pictures flickered to his eyes, soft distinct sounds echoing. Pictures of her, smiling, laughing.

Sounds of her laughter, her voice, her whispers.

His body felt heavy, sinking into the soft cushion of the bed. He felt like he was drowning, calling out and screaming, the bitter tide eating him whole. His lungs felt restricted and chained, his body stiff and frozen.

He had never known this feeling before. As if he was sinking and drowning, falling to the bottom of the lake of his lost memories. He wanted to reach out to something, to someone, to hold on.

But as he tried to picture that someone, reaching out and gripping his hand tightly, he only saw one person.

Hermione.

4. Moonbeam

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters except Matthew and the plot.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I'm sorry for the long wait. But if you look at this chapter, it's extra long, so I hope that makes up for the wait.

A few more twists and then this fic will be over. There will be the feast and ball in Hogwarts, a kiss between two (it'll be a surprise who) and a secret revealed. And the secret will be revealed in the next chapter; that's when you'll understand why Hermione's being so cold and unreasonable, I promise you. And then the sweet, sweet end…

My guess for this story… about two to three more chapters to go until it ends. Or maybe even four. I don't know. I have something planned that I'm pretty sure that will make you hate me, but it'll all be good in the end just the same.

So no, this fic is not done yet. Thanks for all your fantastic reviews!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Moonbeam

The house was still and quiet, dinners awkward and forced. The laughs were hearty for a second but then faded away into a weak smile. Things had changed.

Harry didn't talk much. He didn't come to lunch or dinner, or both, at times. He always seemed weary or in a misty daze when he came down every once in a while. He came out to fly only barely. People tried to talk to him, Molly trying to find out what exactly was wrong, but he just smiled weakly and walked away without another word. That was how it was.

Sad, quiet and dark. The Hero was always cooped up in his room, and no one ever asked exactly what he did, but every time they passed by, it was quiet. There was no noise. Little peeks of light had never bled from the edge below of his door. Somehow, slowly, they had become unfamiliar to the once happy and smiling boy. Some way they suddenly lost contact, and they hadn't a clue as to how or why.

Remus was worried. He had asked Molly and the others if they heard anything, or had he spoken to any of them. But no one had the answer he was looking for. Molly asked him if he knew what had happened, but he just shook his head and smiled tiredly. He knew that it wasn't in his place to say just what had happened between the two. But somehow, they all already knew that something had occurred between Harry and Hermione. It all added up; even though there was still a big piece missing.

One day, Remus walked quietly over to Harry's room. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again. He listened hard for a sound; trudging footsteps, rustling of sheet covers… Nothing. Finally, he twisted the knob and the door slowly opened, much to his surprise. He walked in, silently closing the door behind him.

The room was dark and cold, still, undisturbed and gloomy. The atmosphere seemed dark, bitter and tinted with shadows that were looming out of their corners. He saw a lone figure lying on the bed. He walked over to Harry, standing in front of his bed.

His hair was unruly and untamed even more than before, his face so pale as if cruelly inhuman. There were bags under his eyes; it was clear to him that all this time he spent in here he hadn't spent sleeping. It seemed as if he had never gotten any sleep at all.

“Harry?” he said quietly. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and saw Remus. His once bright emerald eyes were dark and tired, as if worn out. He looked at Remus with an expression that was unreadable but cold and dim. The shadow hid half of his face, making him seem unfamiliar and unrecognizable.

“Remus,” he said quietly. Remus nodded at him, smiling faintly, before sitting down at the edge of his bed.

“Are you alright, Harry?” he asked.

“I'm great, Remus,” he said in a hoarse voice. He shook his head.

“You're not well. What's going on? You don't come down for meals, you don't come out of this room… What's happened, Harry? The members are worried sick about you.” Harry stared up at the ceiling.

“I just don't feel like getting out of this room, Remus,” he replied. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Why? Just because some girl broke your heart?” Harry closed his eyes.

“Remus,” he said, weary. “Don't start about this.”

“No, Harry, listen to me,” he said. “Don't do this to yourself. Don't. I'm begging you not to. Not over some girl. There are so many other--“

“Remus,” Harry snapped. “I don't want to hear it.” Remus became silent. “Do you know how many times a day I hear that? Every single moment I'm having some kind of argument or debate with my bloody conscience, saying that she's not worth this and I should just move on. And I should, I know that. I shouldn't care that she doesn't want to be with me.” He sighed, raising his hand and running it through his hair. “But I can't move on, Remus. Not yet. You just don't see it,” he whispered. “You just don't feel it.”

“Harry, heartbreak isn't anything alien or new. It's been here since the world was created. Mankind cannot escape it, and neither can Wizards and Witches. They have tried making Potions, spells... We can't escape it. No one can.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It's not just that.” There was silence, as Harry closed his eyes again. Remus watched him, intently.

“Do you know why I can't come out of this room?” he whispered. “Because I can't bear to face her. I can't bear to see her face, to just…be in the same room she is. I can't. It's not because I hate her, or I'm angry…it's just that it hurts. It hurts so bloody much that I just have to walk out and leave. And I just don't want to feel that all over again. I just don't.”

“You're not the only one hurting, Harry,” Remus said quietly. “I see her. She isn't any better as you. Mostly she doesn't come out of her room, only at meals. But she stays quiet, and when I say that you're not coming down… She really does love you, Harry. I think she's starting to realize that it was a mistake.” Harry's eyes remained closed.

“The day it happened, when we were at lunch,” he said, “and she excused herself from the table early,” he paused, as if trying to collect his words. “When I walked by her room… I heard her. She was crying. And I can't help but wonder that, when everyone's down there, eating and talking…if she still cries. I can't hear it from all the way over here, but sometimes I want to just walk over there and listen, just like last time. I know she's hurt about it, and it hurts for me to know that I was the one to cause her that pain… But it feels as if she doesn't really believe that I love her. And I can't help but wonder why.”

“Why do you say that, Harry?”

“I just… Sometimes I wonder about her. And I don't think that she knows how much she means to me at all. I don't think she believes that I really do love her as much as I do. It makes sense,” he whispered. “More sense than everything else does right at this moment.” Remus let out a silent sigh, slouching his shoulders.

“You know she's locked herself out of contact with everyone,” he said calmly. “Just like you.” Inside Harry's eyelids the darkness played, swirling with neon colors, fading into slivers of trinket silver that slithered than disappeared. He could feel the darkness's accompanying cold press against his skin, surrounding him and embracing. He had felt this, a few times before. It was what silence did to him.

“I miss her,” Harry whispered. “When I went, I was so scared of missing her. And I did, madly. And when I came back… I still miss her. It's like I'm still so far away, scared of missing her but missing her so much it's starting to hurt like hell. I feel as if I'm still gone, and she's still so far out of my reach.”

“Maybe…you could try talking to her, Harry. She can't avoid you forever. When you arrive back at Hogwarts… Just try talking to her. She's a smart girl.”

“Hogwarts,” Harry opened his eyes. “When do we go back?”

“Three days from today,” Remus said. “Noon is when you'll be leaving. Dumbledore has some kind of ball and feast planned,” Remus smiled slightly, his eyes twinkling faintly. “He's as happy as can be, you know, Harry. It's the first time I've ever seen him like this. I don't think he can be any prouder of you.” Harry sighed, turning away to lie on his side.

“Funny,” he said quietly. “I don't feel much like a hero. I fought to gain more, to let everyone and myself live happily for the rest of our lives… Yet, now that I won and came back, it doesn't feel like it matters anymore. I feel empty, vacant. I can't even pretend to be happy, just to show people--“

“Harry, don't do this to yourself,” Remus interrupted, his voice sharp. Harry continued, ignoring him.

“You don't understand, Remus,” Harry said. “ I went to gain everything I could ever need. But it turns out I only lost all I could ever need or want. I lost that person I kept seeing as I fought, and only fought as hard as I did because I knew that I had to get back to her. I fought to come back, to live with her without barriers or restrictions that held our relationship so distant because of the threat of Voldemort coming after her. I fought for her,” his voice severed, as he paused, closing his eyes tightly to keep the tears from slipping out. He tightly held the handful of the sheet he held in his grip, his knuckles turning white. His throat was closing up, just as before, his lungs heavy and filling with a painful suffocation from holding it back. It was painful to say it, what he held in his heart, but at the same time, it was release.

A sort of dreamy, misty release that stabbed deep within him.

“I fought for her. I fought for us. But now I only ended up losing; I'm no hero. Maybe I did kill Voldemort, that bastard. I erased the danger in my life, and in others, and now I can live happily without worrying about getting killed, or the people I love getting murdered. Now I can live, Remus. But I have to live without her. I have to live with that gap that I established between us, keeping us distant and apart. And I don't think I can. I don't think I can bear to.”

“Harry, it's not your fault. Please understand that. I know you're smarter than this, I really do. You can't just keep lying there, wondering and piling all the bloody blame on yourself,” Remus said, frustrated. “Stop being so weak, Harry. You're a hero. You saved millions of lives, doing what you did. No one could face him as bravely as you did, no one could have the nerve and spirit to defeat him. Have you seen the papers? Although they're damn annoying at times, when they caught word that you defeated him… Harry, everyone's absolutely delighted. They're praising you, so grateful to the Boy-Who-Lived. Be happy. For them, for yourself. Please.” Harry stayed silent, the coldness of the room invading him. He could hear rain begin outside, tapping on his window, reminding of the night he had defeated Voldemort. The cold, icy rain. The bitter, biting cold. The thick darkness that enveloped the world, the moon that hung expectedly in the midnight sky. He heard Remus let out a deep sigh.

“Harry, you have to know this. There are some people we have to learn to live without. Sometimes…they are the people who we think we need the most. But over time, we learn to move on, and what was once hard to do before becomes easy. You think that you can't bear to live without her now, but just keep in mind that things change. People change. Even Heroes.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked. “How can you know that it becomes easy?”

“No one can tell you this without experience, Harry. If they do, then it means nothing; they don't understand it themselves. But I know because I've gone through it. I've lost people I thought I could never live without. But I'm still here. I'm still living.” He paused, before he continued again, “ your parents, Sirius. They meant a lot to me. Too much. And…it was hard, at first. I know that feeling, when you just want to throw up your hands and say that you give up. I know how it hurts, seeing things that remind you of them, and the fact that they're gone. It's hard. And it does hurts like hell.” Harry remained silent, taking in the things Remus said. It was true, but he still had a feeling that Remus still did not quite understand. He knew that pain and loss could ease…over time.

But how was this going to turn out? He had something that never failed to remind him of his pain; her. She was still here. He would see her, her avoided and nervous gaze always averting from him. He would always managed to see her turning and walking away, even in his dreams. In a way, he felt abandoned.

Just like she did.

“It does,” Harry said quietly. “No one ever knows pain until they know heartbreak and loss,” he whispered, shutting his eyes.

“True as can be,” Remus agreed, almost inaudible. He turned to look at Harry, observing the young boy. He was still deathly pale, drained of color. A moonbeam had managed to slip into the room, slicing out into the edge of the bed. The sliver glowed brightly, the darkness not managing to dim it in any way. The white beam looked pure, unsoiled and untouched. The darkness around it only made it to glow more brightly, the contrast of light and dark never clashing when it came to such things as this. Nature had its ways; one always won. There was a middle, but only rarely. But even when there was a middle, there was still a winner. As in a battle between good and evil. One can give a truce, saying that no one had won, both withdrawing from the battle. But once the other side had turned its back and was no longer in the shade of alarm, they came and attacked.

And there was victory. Whether it be a win for evil, or the good. There was still victory.

Giving one last glance at the heartbroken, young Hero, he stood up silently. Harry noticed, as he had heard the rustle of the sheets responding from the shifting and absence of the added weight. However, he did not open his eyes.

“Don't be so hard on yourself, Harry,” Remus reminded him. With a sigh, he turned and walked towards the door. He turned the knob; the handle feeling cold pressed against his skin, and walked out as he shut the door quietly behind him.

Harry sighed, as soon as he heard the soft `click' of the door shutting. He let his hands relax, slowly letting go of the handfuls of sheets he had been holding tightly. He opened his eyes, staring at the moonbeam that lay across the edge of his bed.

Feeling his tiredness get to him, he turned, so that his back was flat against the cold sheets, and closed his eyes.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry hadn't awoken in time for breakfast, but he did make it to lunch. He had taken a shower and put on fresh clothes before going down to the dining room. They had looked at him surprise, but it soon faded into a smile, he noticed. He tried his best to smile back at them, but he knew that it looked just about as lame as it felt. Remus had put his hand on his shoulder, squeezed, then sat down beside him. Harry listened along to the quiet chatter, talking about their children and some occurrences that had happened quite a while ago. He ate weakly, eating about only half of the food on his plate.

Just then, he heard footsteps and he raised his eyes to see Hermione come in. With Matthew beside her. He met Harry's eyes before heading over to the table to sit down and eat. Hermione's gaze finally landed on Harry's, as their eyes locked each other for a mere second. Her dark brown eyes were darker now, more unreadable than before. Her face was pale, her brown waves messy. She looked surprised to see him, but turned away before he could search any more. Hermione sat down next to Molly, who happily greeted her with a wide smile. Hermione smiled back at her faintly, before casting her gaze down and picking up her fork.

Harry looked away, feeling that same swelling sensation inside him. Almost instantly he wanted to excuse himself and walk back to his room. He glanced at Remus, and he knew that Remus knew too. He gave him a warning but pleading look, asking him not to do exactly what he wanted to. So Harry just closed his eyes momentarily, trying to compose himself, before sighing softly and raising his pumpkin juice to his lips.

“Harry, Hermione,” Molly said, in between laughter of two other members. Harry looked over at her, as he noticed Hermione doing the same. Molly was smiling, her red hair pulled into a loose bun.

“Dumbledore has informed me that in two days, when you return to Hogwarts, there will be a dance, rather, held in the honor of Harry's victory.” She was practically beaming. Harry saw Hermione look down. “He has told me to insist that you go get new dress robes, in order for the event. Remus has already agreed to assist you on your trip to Diagon Alley.” Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione had gotten there first.

“Mrs. Weasley, I don't think I need new dress robes. I still have my robes from last year, and they're still in pretty good condition.” Molly waved her hand.

“Oh, nonsense. Harry and you both need new dress robes, and you will get them.” Hermione tried to speak again, but Molly shot her a warning look that made her close her mouth and remain quiet. “Very well then. Remus will accompany you in a few hours to go to Madame Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. I have been informed that you have already have gotten some money out of Gringotts, and so I think the trip will be a fine one.” She let out a little giggle. “Oh, this will be a spectacular one, I'm sure of it. Dumbledore left early to make the preparations himself. You two will have such a lovely time.” Molly reached over for more pumpkin juice, as Harry looked over at Remus, who smiled back at him.

“Oh, and before I forget,” she said, pouring in the sweet fluid. “Dumbledore is expecting you two to have the honor dance together, considering how close you are with each other.” Hermione's eyes widened, as Harry's did the same. “He's already made the arrangements. Oh my,” her eyes glittered with happiness. “You two will be just about the loveliest and most beautiful couple of the dance.”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Remus walked in front, brushing past smiling people and keeping an eye on which stores they were passing. Harry and Hermione followed close behind, quiet. Many people stopped by, thanking Harry with a smile and shaking his hand eagerly as he just smiled faintly and told them that it was no problem. He felt odd, shaking their hands and seeing that twinkle of happiness in their eyes. The silence in which he and Hermione walked in, not a word uttered from either, made him think. Mostly his mind was coursing with thoughts of her, if he should say something to start a conversation. But at the same time, he did not want to speak to her. He knew that she would only answer with a short reply, still avoiding his gaze. And he didn't need that. He just wanted to look into her deep brown eyes again, get caught and suddenly swept away with the warmth she held deep inside. He still remembered how it was to get lost, sinking into the sensations she brought him, and the thoughts that ran through him of how much he loved her and how much he ever could. Never in his life had he ever thought that it would be he and her, walking silently and trying to keep their minds off their feelings and the happenings. He never thought it would be them trying to avoid each other, but at the same time wanting to be so close that it stung. He snuck a glance at her, her brown eyes dark and looking ahead. There was a cold, gentle breeze that whisked their way, making her brown waves blow softly. He looked at her longingly, feeling his throat tighten and his hands become icy.

When was this going to stop? When was it going to thin away and finally disappear? When was it going to be when he could laugh and talk to her, just as before? When was it going to be until she could look at him, and he could look at her without feeling this way?

She clung to her cloak tightly, the sky dark and the atmosphere slightly chilly. He tore his eyes away from her and looked ahead, watching Remus adjust his scarf. He saw people pointing and whispering at him, then cheering out or applauding as he passed. He would only smile weakly, trying to seem as if he appreciated it. He thought of how people called him a hero, saving other people's lives and killing the Dark Lord. Anyone could've done that, only he was chosen. He had to be the one to get most of the people he loved killed then risk his life to kill the murderer who begun it all. He had been accustomed to complaining, his years back, but as he grew older and became weaker but stronger at the same time, he knew that complaining would make no difference.

Although there were times when he wished he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived.

But he knew that he could not escape it. His destiny. His identity. As badly as he wished or prayed that he was not the Harry Potter that always managed to make the headlines, he knew that he would always wake up to it, every single day. He was Harry Potter. All he had to do was learn to live with it.

He let out a sigh, feeling the cold chill send shivers once again. He tried to imagine how it would be, him and Hermione holding hands and smiling.

But even as he could imagine it, he did not want to.

Thinking of how it could've been and how it wasn't now, hurt too much to try to comprehend.

Finally, they entered Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The place was lively, people, adults, children, were walking here and there, clutching brightly colored robes. People looked over at him and smiled, whispering and pointing. Harry pretended not to notice. Remus turned to both of them and grinned.

“Well then. I honestly have to tell you that I haven't a clue how to choose dress robes, but I trust that you two do?” Harry and Hermione nodded, as he glanced at her. Her eyes were fixed on Remus. Remus grinned, “alright then. Hermione, best of luck to you, as I shall accompany Harry. I have someplace to visit for some business a bit later, so if I'm not around, just wait outside and sit on the bench right out front. Will that be okay?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. She looked over at Harry, and Harry felt that same rising, flapping sensation in his stomach that often happened when she looked or smiled at him. “I'll see you later, Harry,” she said quietly, and Harry nodded at her, in a sense, quiet and slightly shocked. She looked at Remus, then turned and started walking towards the Witches section. Harry watched her, and turned away as that twisting in his gut started getting painful. Watching her walk away, Harry knew, would always leave him feeling this way because the memory was still all too clear. He had left her. She had turned and walked away from him. Remus turned to him, as they walked towards the Wizards' dress robes.

“You two were dead silent behind me, even with all that raucous of your fans.” Harry looked up at him.

“What could I say, Remus? I mean… I told you. I told you how much it hurt to be around her this way.” Remus sighed.

“I know it's hard, but someone's got to do something. And by someone, I mean you or Hermione.”

“She hates me,” he said gravely. “I know it.” Remus looked at Harry incredulously.

“Are you absolutely out of your mind, Harry? She does not hate you, please believe me when I say that.” They both entered into a large room filled with different colored robes, satin to silk, cotton to wool. Remus gave Harry a weak, reassuring smile.

“So, which will it be?”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Harry held the bag in his hands, letting his gaze roam around the room for a brown-haired girl. But he was not met with a familiar sight, so with a sigh, he headed towards the door. Remus had already left, leaving him alone once he had chosen his robes, saying he had to go to that place he had been talking about visiting. Harry walked outside, the door swinging shut behind him. The cold rushed back to him, making him shiver and hold his cloak tightly to him. He looked around for the bench, and saw Hermione, staring straight ahead, a similar bag in her hands. Harry closed his eyes, gathering up his senses that hadn't gone and scattered around. He could feel that same feeling, the urge to turn and walk back into the store, but he ignored it and opened his eyes. He walked towards her, his heart beating loud but dully in his chest.

Her brown eyes met his as he sat down beside her. He looked into her eyes, for this time she did not turn away as abruptly. But as he tried to search her eyes, he found himself looking hard and confused. He could not read a thing. It was just as dark as before, but this time it seemed like a sea of emotions so mixed together it was hard to interpret. He smiled at her weakly.

“Hey,” he whispered. Her face were pale, her cheeks red and her lips a shade of deep pink that he remembered back when they had gone out into the snow at Hogwarts. He couldn't help but feel his breath still catch in his throat; the stinging thought of how beautiful she still seemed to be in his eyes.

“Hey,” she whispered back, before turning her gaze away. He let his gaze linger on her, noticing how tightly she clutched her bag between her fingers. He knew very well that this was uncomfortable, but even as painful as it was; he still liked being with her.

That feeling would never go away, he knew that. She was still the one he liked being with, no matter what. She was still the one who would haunt him at night, taunted him at day. Now she was only inches from him, but still so far away.

If only he could tell her that now, and make her believe without her turning away. He lowered his gaze to his own hands, pale and white from the cold. He looked up at the gray streets, the people walking by who, this time, did not seem to notice him. He could feel the cold kiss his cheeks and skin, feeling the bitter light wind pass through. He tried to swallow the stone in his throat, closing his eyes and then opening them back up again slowly. He took another look at her, her gaze staring ahead as if he wasn't even there. He felt a constricting bind in his stomach, strangling his lungs, the feeling of just standing up and walking away returning. Only, where was he to go? The dark room where he had locked himself in wasn't here. He could apparate, but Remus would go hysterical. He knew he couldn't, but just looking at her avoiding him... Being away from her was better than this. He couldn't stand the silence, the stillness. The cold bit at his skin and fingers, but that didn't seem to matter anymore. All he could see was her, like the years not too long ago. He felt a prickling in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry, as he felt as if he might just explode from his feelings and his urges to tell her what he had been thinking of. He wanted to tell her that he hadn't meant to hurt her, that he would never mean to. That she was still the one who kept his heart in her hands, though she might think she would've let it slip away. It was broken, but she was the only one who could mend it again.

He wanted to tell her that he still loved her just as much as before, and that he had heard her crying in her room. He wanted to tell her everything, to hold her, to release the bind that was placed around his heart. He was starting to suffocate, his nerves bursting and then dissolving into toxic in his veins. He looked down, then up at her again. He had to tell her, even if she wouldn't listen. He had to tell her.

So he did.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, looking at her with his pleading dark emerald eyes. “I…I never meant to hurt you. I would never want to. I just…I just didn't even want to risk, or consider the fact of losing you.” He watched her as her brown eyes trailed down to her hands, before she closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh that even he could not manage to hear. She opened them back up again, before turning her gaze slowly to him.

Her deep brown eyes were still as dark, hurt and pained. But this time, there was something else that he recognized but could not exactly place. He searched her eyes, waiting for a reply. She clutched her bag tightly with her hands.

“Harry,” she said, her voice almost as soft as a whisper. “You don't have to apologize, I do. I'm sorry I hurt you because of what I said,” she said, her eyes becoming glossy again. His heart lurched, calling out to her. “I'm sorry because I couldn't understand. I really am. I stay up at night…thinking, your words repeating in my head. I'm just so sorry, Harry,” she said. Harry looked at her, his emerald eyes burning with hope.

“Hermione, I love you…you know that. We could just try again, and I--“ Hermione shook her head, as Harry's words faded away into silence.

“No, Harry,” she whispered. “We can't.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, confused and hurt.

“Because… Can't you see? You've been cooped up in your room, barely coming down to meals because of me. That's what I did to you. I made you feel like--“

“No, no you didn't,” Harry said, insisting. “Hermione, I did that because--“

“Because of me,” she said, cutting him off. She wiped her eyes hastily, before speaking again. “Harry, please don't try to explain. I hurt you. I didn't treat you how you deserved to be treated; I didn't listen to your explanations… I didn't consider you.”

“Hermione, don't do this,” Harry said. “Please. Don't do this. Just don't.” She smiled, faintly, reoccurring tears forming in her eyes.

“You deserve so much better, Harry,” she said softly.

“No. No! No!” Harry said, raising his voice. He could feel people across the street and bystanders who were beginning to watch, but he didn't care. He didn't care. How could she be doing this again? How? How could she still not understand? Hermione's eyes pleaded at him sadly, glossy. He could feel his throat getting dry and suddenly parched, as his emerald eyes searched hers earnestly and desperately. His heart was beating now only dully, his mind racing. “How could you say that, Hermione?” he said to her, his voice hoarse. “How?”

She looked away, shutting her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Harry, please,” she said, almost in a whisper. Her voice was breaking and wavering greatly, not being able to withstand her tears and emotions.

“No, Hermione! No!” he said to her, feeling his lungs close up. He felt it all over again. Just as before. It was happening again. This was what he was afraid of. This was what he had tried to say to Remus, that he couldn't bear it again… But he could feel it. It was there, the loud, splintering crack thundering in his ears.

His heart was breaking all over again.

“Harry…please. Not here. Not now,” she whispered. The biting cold swept through him, as if carrying his soul away. But he knew that taking his soul away from him would have been less painful. Nothing could be more painful than this. He swallowed hard, his eyes stinging but he was not willing to blink. He stared at her, her form, her face. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were wet with bittersweet teardrops. Her pink lips were trembling, trying to keep it all back.

Harry knew that this hurt her too. But he wasn't sure if she was hurting as much as him. Surely if she was, she would want to be with him too? What was happening? What the hell was happening? Why was this happening all over again?

“How could there be anyone better, Hermione? How?” he asked her, standing up, his voice still slightly raised. “How could there possibly be anyone better? There isn't anyone else who could make me love her as much as I love you!” Now Harry was sure that everyone out on the street was watching. He could hear the silence, the ears that were attentive to their quarrel. He would've been irritated, but he was too caught up in it to care.

“Harry,” Hermione said, finally opening her eyes. Another tear slid down her cheek as she made no move to wipe them away. “Please, just try to under—“

“No!” Harry yelled, his voice booming. “No! I won't try to understand! I can't understand, Hermione, can't you see that? Every night, I lay awake, thinking, trying to at least comprehend why you did what you did, but I can't understand, Hermione! I know I hurt you, but I was so damn worried and afraid that you were going to follow me or get yourself hurt, that I was selfish! I became so bloody selfish! But isn't anyone allowed that at least once in their life? To be selfish?”

She had closed her eyes again, tears falling from her eyes much faster now.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered, shaking. “But I…I don't know…I just—“

Just then, Harry and her both heard shouts, and while Hermione quickly closed her eyes again, wiping away her tears hastily, Harry glanced at the direction the sudden noise was coming from. It was just then that he was aware of the mass of people watching them, huddled around in anticipation. Suddenly, he saw a blinding flashbulb blink. And then there were more shouts, of which he knew where from the Daily Prophet or some other newspaper or gossip magazine. He suddenly felt angry. He glared at all the onlookers, their audience, as he felt his hands clench into fists. He saw more lights go off, and strangers came rushing towards him, shouting his name and questions.

“Mr. Potter! What's going on with you and your girlfriend, Hermione Granger?”

“Harry! Are you two broken up?”

“Harry! Did she cheat on you with old flame Viktor Krum?”

“Is it true that she had an affair with him when you were away fighting Voldemort?” At that question, he felt something flare up inside him, as he heard people barricade Hermione with questions while snapping pictures also. He rushed towards the man who had asked that questions and grabbed the front of his robes. Harry's eyes were flashing, and in the background of all the raucous, he could hear Hermione call his name. But it was too far. Too distinct. He was too angry.

He swung his fist back as the man looked at him with wide eyes, but as soon as his hand was going to crash right into the man's flawless face, someone had pulled him away and he had missed. Someone was holding him by the shoulders, as he struggled to get at the reporters and nosy journalists. The crowd had roughened up even more, and the lights were blinking and flickering, blinding him.

“Harry! Harry!” he suddenly heard a familiar voice say. “Calm down. It's me, Remus! Stop struggling!” Harry relaxed only so that Remus managed to drag him out of the crowd. They tried to quickly walk through the mob, but they were grabbing him, as Remus held Harry firmly by his robes, leading him out.

“Where's Hermione?” Remus suddenly shouted. Harry felt his heart fall. His eyes quickly searched through the faces and cameras, but he could not find her. “Where is she?” Remus repeated, annoyed and frustrated.

“I…I don't know!” Harry replied, as Remus continued to drag him.

“I told you to stay with her!” he shouted over the other voices. Harry felt his throat suddenly become blocked, as his eyes frantically searched through the pack once again. Where was she? He pushed through the crowd and the grabbing hands, looking for her, and trying to listen if she was calling for him above all the yelling and shouting.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted, and he could hear Remus start to call for her also. “Hermione!” Just then, Harry felt someone grab his arm and pull him back as he tried to walk on. He tried to pull his arm away from the small, stout man, but he was holding on tightly and firmly.

“Let go!” he shouted at the man, “let go of me!” But the man wasn't listening, and was tugging on his arms forcefully.

“Harry! Is it true that you and Miss Granger were planning to elope—“ Harry, realizing that he wasn't going to let him go, swung back his foot and kicked him hard on the shins. The man let go instantly, cursing and clutching his knee. Harry rushed forward, trying to follow Remus, though it was difficult to keep track of him now that Remus had let go of him.

Suddenly, he heard her. Above all the noise, he heard her. He heard her call his name. He halted in his steps, and the mad mob caught up to him again.

“Hermione!” he shouted, “Hermione! Where are you?” He searched through the sea of faces for one that he recognized, but they were all foreign to him. “Hermione!” he called again, “where are you?” Just then, someone stumbled out of the crowd and fell onto him, holding on tightly. He didn't need any more reassurance that it was her; he recognized her russet wavy hair, and the feeling of her clinging onto him seemed too familiar and made flares shoot up his body. He wrapped his arms around her firmly, pressing her to him, and tried to make his way out.

Once they had finally outrun the crowd by only a few yards, Remus and him took no time in apparating. Harry went first, with Hermione still in his arms, and then Remus.

Harry felt the solid and firm ground underneath him once again, as he slowly took in his surroundings. He sighed, closing his eyes and tightening his arms around her. His heart was beating hard and rapidly, booming in his ears and pounding through his veins. He could feel his throat almost close up once again, holding her, never wanting to let go. He could smell her fragrant and sweet scent fill his senses, bringing back memories. She felt so warm in his arms, so soft…so right. He felt his heart wretch and twist painfully inside, as he slowly pulled back and loosened his arms around her.

“Hermione?” he whispered. “We're here.” She pulled back from him, and stepped back, her brown hair falling forwards and covering her face. He watched her silently as she raised her hands and wiped her cheeks, feeling the anger that had once erupted inside him quickly fade away. His once flashing green eyes softened at the sight of her. He took a step towards her, wanting to envelop her in his arms again and vow never to let go, but he swallowed hard as he felt the cold, hard reality hit him.

He was never going to get to hold her again.

Suddenly, Remus appeared by her side. His eyes quickly darted to Harry and then Hermione. Harry could see that Remus's eyes were dark, frustrated and angry.

“What happened back there?” Remus demanded. “Newspapers, reporters… How the hell did that happen?” Harry's eyes flashed to him.

“We got into an argument,” Harry said, his voice hard as if on the edge of anger. He felt his rage rapidly catch up to him once again. He clenched his fists, “You left us alone, and we talked. We did just what you wanted. But it turns out that The Daily Prophet and twenty other newspapers just happened to also be walking that same street with their cameras and looking for another juicy story to parade on their front pages.” Remus gave him a dark look, before he turned to Hermione. He leaned down and set his hands on her shoulder.

“Let me see,” he said to her. Harry looked at them with puzzlement and confusion in his eyes. “Let me see it.” But slowly, Hermione raised her hand and tucked her hair behind her ears. That was when he saw it.

Her eyes were still red and puffy from crying, her face pale. But on her smooth, milky cheek, was a wound that marred her skin. Along her cheek was a long, slender, deep and still bleeding cut. He stared at it in horror.

“How…how did that happen?” he asked quietly, not remembering someone getting to Hermione when they were pushing through the crowd. Her face had been to him, digging into his chest… That couldn't have possibly happened when she was with him.

“Rings,” Remus said, before nodding and standing up again. He looked at Hermione sadly.

“Rings?” Harry asked, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that a Wizard with rings probably did that to her,” he said. “Most likely a wealthy one. Only wealthy Wizards could and would buy rings so dangerous and detrimental.” Remus sat down heavily on a vibrant red armchair in the room, as Harry watched him.

“How did you see it?” Harry asked quietly, remembering that Hermione had been holding onto him and didn't let him look at her face.

“Before you were about to apparate. I saw it.” Harry looked at Hermione, and saw that she was looking down at her feet, silent.

Suddenly, Molly Weasley came into the room with a smile on her face. But her grin faded as she saw the scene before her.

“I take it the trip went—“

“Molly,” Remus said, cutting her off. His eyes were weary and he looked exhausted. “Could you please aid to Hermione? She received quite a cut when we were there.” Molly looked at him in curiosity and worry, but she nodded and walked over to Hermione.

“Surely,” she said, draping an arm over Hermione gently, and leading her out of the room. Harry stared after them, before looking at Remus.

He was looking at him sternly, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“I'm going to ask you again, Harry,” he asked in a hard voice that hinted his anger, “what happened when I was gone.”

“We did just what you wanted us to do,” he said, seething. “We talked.”

“Harry, I come back and there's newspapers, reporters, gossip columnists barricading the place. And then I catch you about to beat the bloody pulp out of a man—“

“What does it matter?” Harry shouted, livid. “You left us alone! You could've prevented all of this!”

“What would they say,” Remus asked him, his voice rising, “if they found out that you beat up a man just because you were angry? How would that make you look?”

“I don't care!” he yelled, “I don't care what the bloody newspapers say!”

“I know they say and ask antagonistic questions sometimes, but you can't just go and punch every person the media sends out to—“

“You don't know what they were asking or saying to me, Remus!” Harry shouted. “You don't know how it feels when you lay everything on the line again and the girl you love refuses it all and breaks you again! You don't know how it feels to be interrogated because people have a sick and disgusting joy of knowing that Harry Potter has a broken heart! You don't know how it feels to find out that you just gave the bloody newspapers and gossip columns a story without even knowing it! You don't know, Remus! You don't have a bloody clue, so don't lecture me if you don't know how it is to be in my shoes!” Remus looked at him with angry and frustrated eyes.

“You're right,” he said to him. “I don't. I don't have a single clue as to how horrible it is to be Harry Potter. But that still doesn't excuse you from your actions. Even in the Wizarding world we have rules and restrictions! You can't just punch them whenever they come up to you. What would've happened if you did punch him, Harry? What would've happened if I let you punch him or if I hadn't gotten there in time? He could've pressed charges! You've been living here for years, Harry, you know better, I can't believe you could be so reckless—“

“Oh, come off it, Remus!” Harry yelled at him.

“No, Harry, you listen to me!” Remus bellowed loudly, standing up. “Even the Hero can't go around doing what he wants! He can't do things and expect to get let off easy just because he killed the biggest threat in our world! I know that you're angry with Hermione, but never, under any circumstances whatsoever does that excuse you from harming another person just because you were on the edge! Do you understand me?” Harry eyes flashed, gritting his teeth and his nails digging into his flesh.

“You're not my father!” Harry shouted, “and you will never even come close, so stop trying to act like it! I know what I'm doing; I know what I was about to do! I understand, Remus, okay? I understand and I don't need you to tell and lecture me about it! Got that, Remus? I don't need you telling me any of this! I don't need anyone!”

“Stop acting like a blasted spoiled brat, Harry!” he roared. “You do need us! Just because some girl broke your heart doesn't mean you've got to turn your back on the world! Just because she doesn't need you doesn't mean that you don't need her, or anyone else, for that matter! Just get over it, Harry! Stop acting like a damn prick, and listen for just once!”

“I'm done listening!” Harry yelled. “I'm so sick of people telling me what to do, expecting that I'm going to do it! And you're right, just because of some girl doesn't mean I should turn my back on the world, but have you ever considered, Remus, that the world turned its back on me first? Have you ever realized that it's just that I've finally seen it? And you're also right; I do need her! I was so prepared to spend the rest of my life with her, but you know what, I'm not the only one who left! She's the one that left me!” Remus shook his head.

“I thought you knew so much better, Harry. You've been famous for all your life! I would've thought that you would've grown to understand it, to try and comprehend just what the price was…but it seems that you've not been living in the real world, after all.”

“Real world?” Harry shouted. “So I've been living in some fantasy world? Where my parents and my Godfather were murdered, and lives have been taken away just because of me? Where the girl I love denies me? Yeah, that's my fantasy world, Remus. I never want to go back to reality, ever!”

“Harry, you know—“

“You know what, Remus?” he said, furious. “Don't waste your breath. And your expectations, what you thought… Well, you thought wrong. You've caught me. The Hero, caught in the act. The Hero, playing the bad guy for a change. But I don't care. I don't care anymore. I don't care at all!” But as he turned to walk away, he saw who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen to the living room.

Molly Weasley looked at him with surprise, sadness and disappointment in her widened blue eyes. He could feel that his gaze was cold, but he could not let it fade away. He saw Hermione look at him, white and pale, horrified, shocked, upset and sad. Her brown, doleful eyes were dim and dark, watery and he watched as a tear slid down her cheek. Inside, he felt his heart twist inside painfully, calling out to him, but it was too far. He was already gone. There was nothing he could do anymore. Nothing.

“Harry,” she whispered shakily, her brown eyes pleading at him, but he gave her an icy look and turned away. He briskly walked to the stairs and rushed up, disappearing as he walked up to his room.

Remus looked up at the stairs, his eyes unwavering. His glittering, angry eyes had faded into hurt, and pain, as he looked at Molly and Hermione. Molly frowned sadly, as Hermione turned and had walked back into the kitchen, crying. He sighed, sitting back down on the chair and covering his face with his hands.

Molly threw a sad look up towards the stairs, before looking one final time at Remus and walking back inside the kitchen.

5. Secret

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters except Matthew and the plot.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

To my pal, Ann, and her sister. Thanks for agreeing to take me to go see PoA on the first day. And thanks to all the reviewers!! You keep me going.

Yes, I've got some twists planned in this story—for the remainder of it, anyway. Here are some things to look forward to in the next chapter(s): Their return to Hogwarts, a kiss (between who, I won't tell), the ball, Harry and Hermione's dance, a trip outside in the cold snow and…

Well, I don't want you all to know what's going to happen in the end, now, do I? So I'll just keep you guessing about what else happens. A couple of more chapters, until the end!! Happy reading!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Secret

Harry slammed the door as he walked inside. The room was dark and undisturbed, even with the echoing and shattering impact of the door. He strode over to his bed, and grabbed his trunk from underneath. He set it on the bed hastily, his emerald eyes flashing in the dark, opening it with shaking hands.

He didn't waste any time with a packing spell, though he knew to take everything. He was too angry to try to manage the spell. He grabbed his clothes from the drawers, throwing it into the case, then rushing off to snatch everything else of his belongings.

His heart was pounding fast, his pulse throbbing. The air was chilly in his room, making goose bumps rise on his skin, but he didn't notice. Outside, the moon was like a thin, silver smile sliced into the night sky. The clouds hung heavy and hovered. He could hear his heavy footsteps on the carpeted floor, striding over to one place then the next. He went over to his desk, seizing his quills and parchments, and then throwing them inside the trunk. He swiped off the rest in an angry accident, hearing the crash as they fell to the ground. With a frustrated cry, he leaned down on his knees and hurriedly tried to gather his things. His eyes were stinging and hurting from trying to keep the tears back, his lungs burning and feeling as if they were about to detonate any second now. His mind was screaming at him, its voices bellowing and shrieking, begging him not to go but at the same time rejoicing. His heart was tugging at him, roaring to be heard and to be obeyed, but he did not listen. Everything seemed to be racing, moving so fast and leaving him all alone and broken, with no one to help him or notice. He felt like everything was going wrong, everything was crashing down on him but not managing to kill him like he begged.

While everything fell and collapsed in ruins around him, he stood there, in shock and with a broken heart and spirit.

He tried to breathe steadily, but it came out as heavy and tight breaths. His chest felt as if tightly bound with the rope of guilt, mistakes and anger cutting into him. The darkness and cold silence was deafening; there was a thundering roaring in his ears that made him feel as if he was just on the edge of finally breaking. He felt as if he had been torn and ripped apart, his heart and flesh, his spirit and mind. His limbs were numb but too heavy and slow, his mind was too shrill and clawing at him. His heart was beating too loudly and strangling him. His lungs were burning from not breathing enough, but smoldering from the toxic of breathing. His bones felt jagged and sharp, breaking and puncturing through his skin. His thoughts were icy and toothed, eating him from inside out.

All at once, it seemed as if every thought in the world he had ever thought came rushing back to him. It was like being in a crowded and tight room with people who screamed and talked over one another. The air was hot and stuffy, but here it was freezing and painful. He was squeezed in between strangers and tried to find a way out, but here he was surrounded with people he knew and loved, and tried to find a way to make them see him.

He was angry, sad, torn, hurt and miserable.

He didn't know before it was possible to feel so many intense things at once, but now he knew. And it was strangling him, choking him with its cold hands.

He gathered up the fallen things, his fingers numb but burning. It was hard to see and his mind was swirling and spinning in a dizzy circle, but he kept on. He scooped up the things he could fit in his hands and laid them on the desk, before crouching down again. He felt some tiny pieces on the ground, but he did not recognize them.

Just then, as he tried to pick them up, one pierced into his finger as he cried out suddenly, and dropped it. He shook his hand, but soon felt the blood seeping out. Sighing angrily, he stood up and crossly whispered the spell for the lights. He blinked furiously trying to get adjusted to the abrupt effect.

He looked down at his finger, and saw as blood seeped through his minor wound. He wiped the blood away with his shirt, squeezing for a moment, and then letting go. He raised his hand again and saw that it was a fairly deep cut embedded on his finger. He glared at the wound, feeling it throb and watch as it filled with blood once again, before walking back over to his desk.

He saw papers on the floor, and jagged, small pieces of glass. Curious, he kneeled back down and picked up the papers to put them on the desk. That was when he saw and realized what had been the cause for the broken glass.

There, standing before him, was their picture. The frame was broken, the glass cracked, and there was a vast hole where the glass had been shattered from the fall. Feeling his heartbeats and thoughts suddenly fade into silence, he swept away the broken pieces of glass and picked up the picture.

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten and become awfully dry.

It was the picture of the two of them. Hermione and him, at Hogwarts, in the beginning of the year. He remembered this. Ron had gone over to fetch Lavender, and Ginny had wanted to take a picture of the two of them. He remembered that it had been a frosty morning, fresh white snow blanketing the grounds, the air chilly and biting at their fingers and noses. His eyes trailed over the picture, feeling his heart suddenly melt, as if the spring thaw after winter. His fingers buzzed, his green eyes softening and his lungs aching from forgetting to breathe. He traced her outline slowly with his fingers.

Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, her smile breath-taking in the picture. A nippy, strong breeze had swept by at the time she was about to take the picture, and Hermione's hat had flown away. Harry remembered, immediately launching after her hat, as Hermione also tried to catch it. He had gotten to it first. After dusting the snow off of her hat, he had stood in front of her and fitted it on her head.

That's when Ginny had taken the picture. She had captured the moment. Their moment.

Her smile was wide, as she was laughing, looking up at him. Her brown eyes were twinkling, like the stars in the midnight sky. Her face was turned up to him, as he was looking down at her, grinning and laughing.

They had been happy. He had been happy. No one had left anyone behind. He loved her, and it still had been a mystery before if she loved him, or could ever love him, but he remembered, at that moment, that look in her eyes…

He remembered that flare that sparked inside him, filling his heart and stomach with warmth. That was when hope had constructed. That was when he was not afraid to hope that there had to be something in there for him.

The picture in his hands moved, like a movie before his eyes. He saw them laughing all over again, fitting her hat on her hand and looking down at her with such love and longing. Happiness. She looked up at him and smiled her smile that had always managed to melt everything inside him, their faces just inches from each other's.

But seeing, watching, the picture before him, everything inside him began to stir. He felt his memories come rushing back to him, old and new, from the years before and from just moments ago. He felt it carry him away, sweep him off of his feet and drop him back into that sea of recollections. He felt it, everything, all over again. Every single emotion, every single drop of his spirit that had flooded, every blow that had broken his heart. He felt it all.

He remembered smiling and laughing with Ron and Hermione, and the way he felt his emotions spark suddenly, one day with Hermione. He remembered wanting to always be with her, and one day realizing that he loved her. He remembered swearing to himself that she and Ron would not get hurt because of him when Voldemort had risen. He remembered hearing the news that she had been taken, and feeling that anxiety and anger, guilt and frustration mound inside him as he thought about her, day and night, trying to find a way to contact or get through to her.

He remembered seeing her in his dreams, bloodied and bruised. And the way she had screamed in anguish and pain, and called out his name.

He remembered feeling his heart break whenever he heard it.

He remembered finding her, and almost dying in the hands of Voldemort. She had been unconscious, for Voldemort had tortured her one last time before him, making sure he was watching the woman he loved, hurting. He could feel the relief and happiness again, of hearing that she was going to be just fine. He remembered the joy and the way his heart had stopped when he saw her again.

He remembered the night he had watched her cry as she begged him to stay. And that he wanted to cry also, but had just barely held back the tears.

He remembered holding her, feeling her tears soak through his shirt and onto his skin. He remembered hearing her say the words that made him hold onto her tighter and more determined to return. He remembered kissing her, tasting her salty tears, placing kisses on her cheeks, eyelids, nose, forehead, and chin. He remembered feeling that glowing light fill him.

He remembered feeling her smooth skin underneath his hot and burning fingertips, roaming her body and holding her close. The way she had held onto him, the way her hands had flamed his skin, marking him with her touch.

He remembered coming back. His broken heart. Her goodbye. It was real. All of it. It had been.

He didn't remember standing and walking to his bed, or sitting down, or how, but he was there. He still held the picture in his hands, not gently, nor as if he was grasping onto it for life. He was not aware of how the lights had flickered off, leaving him in the darkness once again. The picture in his hands replayed the same happy scene all over again, but in his eyes, he saw everything. It was flashing before him, flickering and blinking in his eyes. His memories.

And he sat in the darkness, that night, staring at the picture in his hands. He did not think of anything else, but instead relived every moment that passed through his mind, and captured his heart.

He did not leave that night. He was angry and hurt, so hurt that he had been so prepared of running away and leaving, without looking back, but…he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't bring himself to pack everything else up, or even just taking what he had packed up and going through that door. Instead he just sat there, closing his eyes and holding himself. He dropped the picture from his hands, hearing the distinct crash and the remaining glass shattering on the ground, as he buried his face in his arms.

He didn't cry. Although he felt broken and torn apart, every limb and every vein warped, twisted and broken, he didn't cry.

He was engulfed in that silence, the darkness embracing him with its cold and abundant arms. It roared in his ears and deafened his senses, making him feel frozen, but at the same time he was trembling. The moon shone through his window and the darkness, but even that did not catch his attention. Everything seemed to be dimmed in his eyes, no color, no warmth.

There was happiness and warmth in his memories, in the past that flashed before his eyes, but even that seemed faded and worn. Slowly, they were being drained of color too. Slowly, they did not even seem to be real, anymore. He saw himself in them, but he could no longer remember, as the pictures and images started to vanish.

The smiling was foreign and alien to him. The sparkle in his eyes non-existent, and he was too numb to miss it. He was hurt, but he was so hurt and broken he could no longer feel it. He was bleeding inside, but he could not feel the warmth escaping from him. He barely remembered having any warmth inside at all.

These days… The battle. He had imagined a happy ending. He had imagined laughter and joy, celebration and smiles. High spirits, reunions and reuniting of strangers.

It was so far away now. He had been so wrong. He had been so ready to expect the best. Hope, whispered prayers that he had said in his mind. He hadn't expected hurt and pain; he thought that that was all part of the past…

He was wrong again.

He was so alone. In the dark room, as the heavy clouds moved and blocked the moon, the shadows looming and watching. He had never felt this before, no, not as strongly as now. He had no one.

Not Hermione, not Ron, not Remus, not anyone.

For once in his life, he had no one to turn to, to at least make it all a little better. For once, Harry Potter had no one.

He was alone, but he did not leave. He did not run away. And he thought, because of all the strings that held him back as he struggled to get out, that there was hope. That there could still be a happy ending, for him.

Because that was the best notion he could think of to keep him from letting the tears escape.

He could not bear to think that he was wrong.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry woke up from a distinct clicking, and the sunbeams blinding him. He squinted his eyes, and growled. The window was filled with light; so much bright light flooding in that he knew it could not be from nature's intentions. He reached for his glasses, cursing under his breath, and also grabbing his wand. He heard footsteps and other soft noises that seemed so loud in his undisturbed and quiet room. His room had been so utterly devoid of any sound at all, that it rang through his ears more loudly than it would have.

He put on his glasses hastily, swinging his legs over the side of his bed, facing the window. He knew sunlight that had been enacted by a spell when he saw one. It was much too bright, and it was in the middle of icy rain and snow, the last time he had checked.

“Debilito Solaris,” he said irritably. In one swift motion, the sunlight vanished, as if being boxed up, leaving the room in dim darkness again. He heard a loud `thump', as he turned around.

There, standing at his desk, digging through his drawers, was a tall, dark haired boy in dark robes that clung to his ankles. Harry glared at him, his eyes flashing. But just as he opened his mouth to swear at the boy, Matthew had frozen, as if suddenly realizing that the sunlight had disappeared suddenly, and turned around quickly. Matthew grinned at him slightly, as Harry clutched his wand tightly.

“I see you've woken,” Matthew said, sighing as he closed the drawer. He turned to Harry. “But, I hope you didn't mind, you could use some light in this room.” He frowned, as he looked over at the window. “I see now that you did.” Harry growled.

“I locked that door,” Harry snarled. “Locked doors mean no visitors, or in your case, trespassers. Get out.” Matthew smiled at him, and Harry got a bad, twisting feeling inside.

“Simple lock spell, simple opening spell… My father was a Professor at Hogwarts. I know more than you think,” he said darkly. Harry swore at him.

“What do you want?” he almost shouted, angrily. “You come in here, rummaging through my stuff without my permission, and now you want small talk? Just tell me what it is you came in here for.” Matthew shook his head, as the odd smile plastered on his face continued to raise suspicions and strange feelings inside him. The dark haired boy bent down, in front of Harry's bed, and Harry saw a glint from what he was holding. Matthew raised his eyebrows.

“What a darling picture,” he said dryly. Harry's mouth was pressed into a thin line, his emerald eyes dark with anger. “Such a shame it's ruined…did you decide to throw this frame against a wall, or something, last night?” he asked, slightly amused, showing Harry the picture. Harry stood up, furious, walked over to him, and snatched the picture away. Matthew looked at him darkly.

“Get out,” Harry hissed, pointing to the door. Matthew stared at him, his eyes unreadable.

“I heard, what happened, last night,” he said quietly and firmly. “I'm sorry.” Harry continued to fiercely look at him.

“Is that all you have to say? To apologize? Okay then, you did, now get out.” Matthew just looked at him, his dark eyes not revealing a single fleck of emotion. He sighed, as he looked around the room, and then looked up at Harry again.

“Everyone's worried sick about you, you know. They all heard. They feel terrible. They had no idea what had happened and what toll it took on you. And last night… Hermione's in ruins. Remus won't speak to anyone. And you… you're always locked up in this bloody room.” Harry's eyes narrowed at him.

“I want you to get out,” he jeered. “Now.” Matthew raised an eyebrow at him, but his expression did not change.

“You really are a selfish bastard,” he said, and as soon as Harry heard his words, Matthew was pinned up against the wall, Harry's wand pointing at his throat. His green eyes were flashing, furious.

“I don't know what you're trying to play at,” Harry hissed, “but you'd better tell me now, because I'm in no mood to play whatever childish game it is that you're engaging.” Matthew's eyes darkened, as he wrapped his hands around Harry's wrists and pushed them away with so much force that Harry staggered back. Matthew looked at him, quietly, before speaking.

“I know how much she means to you, so I thought you might want to know,” he said. Harry got the hint that he was talking about Hermione, and he felt something cut inside his stomach, burning in deeper.

“What?” Harry snarled.

“He contacted her, Harry.” Harry felt his insides twist up inside, knotting tightly. His mind filled with questions, as he looked at Matthew in confusion.

“What?” Harry asked again, this time his anger fading from his voice, but just worry and puzzlement. “Who contacted her?” Matthew looked at him, his eyes as dark as he imagined bottomless pits and complete darkness would be. His eyes were solemn, and his features were dead serious.

“While you were gone. Voldemort got through to her. Hermione,” he paused, as if trying to give Harry some time to get it through his mind. “He contacted her,” he said gravely. Harry stared at him, frozen. He wasn't sure whether to believe him… Voldemort was dead. He had killed him. He couldn't have… No, he couldn't have…

“It was on the second day,” he said. “When you were still out waiting for him and his Death eaters.” Harry couldn't move. His heartbeats had silenced, the quietness cutting through him like an extremely sharp sword that could have sliced him in half without any struggle. His blood ran cold, as his breathing halted.

It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

“What?” Harry asked again, as quiet as a whisper, in disbelief. He stared at Matthew, who wasn't saying any more. Harry felt his anger rise through him again, buzzing and humming. He clenched his fists, setting his jaw.

“That's not possible,” he said forcefully and firmly. “This house is protected by the strongest spells and enchantments that it could only be contacted through if Dumbledore himself or the members of the order permitted the message or messenger. I saw it with my own eyes. There's not a chance in hell that Voldemort had gotten through. It's not possible. He couldn't have broken through, even if he had used the most powerful spell that could break, or even rival the ones that they had protected this house with. It's just not possible,” he said, getting angrier with every word that had escaped his mouth. Matthew looked at him.

“You don't believe me, do you?” he said, without emotion or amusement as if it was all just a stupid prank or joke they had decided to pull on Harry Potter. Harry could've sworn his voice was dripping with pessimism and hate. “I suspected as much.” Harry rushed towards him, grabbing the fronts of his robes.

“What are you playing at, Matthew?” he said to him, dangerously. “What's your plan? Why did you come here?” Matthew's eyes flickered with anger and hostility, as he pushed Harry away.

“Get your hands off me, Potter,” he spat. “I'm not playing at anything. It's the truth. I heard her, through her door. He did contact her. Don't think, not even for a damn minute, that I would lie to you about such a thing.” Harry could feel himself start to shake, his fingers digging into his palms.

“If it were true, you would've told the other members of the Order—“ Harry started, his voice forceful and on the edge of rage, but Matthew interrupted him.

“You idiot!” he said harshly. “Why do you think I didn't tell anyone? Because she caught me, and made me swear not to tell!”

“I don't care!” Harry shouted, livid. “I don't care if she pleaded or begged at your feet! You're a part of the Order; you knew the danger she was in! You were supposed to tell them! She could've been hurt, or worse, killed, or even lured away from here—“

“But she wasn't!” Matthew snapped. “And, just because you, Harry Potter, can't keep a promise, doesn't mean I can't.” Harry rushed at him again, uncontrollable rage coursing through him. But Matthew seemed to know exactly his move, and blocked him first, pinning him again the wall. Harry struggled to get out of his grasp, but Matthew was too strong. His eyes were glittering dimly.

“She wasn't hurt,” he said to him, lowly. “And if she was even a yard within being harmed, I would've protected her with my life. I'm not stupid, Potter, I know what's at stake.” Harry glared at him.

“How,” Harry said darkly, “did Voldemort manage to contact her through all the spells, enchantments they had put on this place? I want to know.” Matthew let go off him, stepping back, his dark eyes dimmed with danger.

“If I knew, I would've stopped it at once and alerted Dumbledore,” he said. “But I don't, so the matter is out of my hands.” Harry felt annoyance build up inside him, mixing in intoxicatingly with his anger.

“What did he do to her?” Harry demanded. “What did he say to her?”

“She's stubborn,” Matthew hissed. “Too bloody stubborn for her own good. She wouldn't tell me, and then threatened that if I told a soul, she would deny it all.” Harry's eyes turned into slits.

“This seems suspicious to me,” he said threateningly. Matthew's face contorted with anger and impatience.

“Bloody hell, Potter,” he spat. “You really think I would make all this up? Do you really think I would lie about this? What, if you don't mind to tell me, could I possibly gain from lying about such a situation? Is there wealth tucked away in some corner that I would receive if I lied to the Famous Harry Potter and he fell for it? Because, Merlin's knickers, if there was, then I would be trying much, much harder to try to get you to believe me. But I think my patience is wearing thin, now. And frankly, I don't even care anymore if you believe me or not. It's your bloody life, your bloody ex-girlfriend whom you still supposedly love, and now that everything's all right in the world with the Dark Lord gone, I don't have to stick around for you anymore. I don't even have to be here, telling you this. But oh, fool that I was, I thought you might have wanted to know.” Matthew's eyes darted from Harry, giving him one last hate-filled look, before turning and heading towards the door. Harry's eyes followed him, shaking from rage.

But before Matthew had walked through the door after throwing it open, he halted, and looked over his shoulder. He had a sinister smile on his face.

“Though, I'd be an idiot not to at least put it into consideration. There are still threats on the rise, even if you've defeated Voldemort. Oh, and I wouldn't mention it to Hermione,” he smiled wider. “She's a rather good actress, you know. Could fool anyone, if they didn't know any better.” And with that, he walked out and closed the door behind him with a slam. Harry let out a livid cry, as he grabbed the vase of dead flowers beside his bedside and thrust it against the door.

The vase shattered and the water burst, spewing into the air. The wilted flowers were scattered and broken, thrown against the firm door. The dark and discolored petals rained down, falling to the carpeted floor. Harry turned and let out another anguished and angry yell, as he turned and drove his fist into the wall, shaking and trembling.

His breaths were hard, tight and ragged, as his body sagged against the wall, his forehead sliding against the solid barrier. He was so angry, so shocked, so confused.

He didn't understand. He couldn't understand.

Questions swarmed his mind, poking and jabbing at him with their pointed fingers. He didn't know what to do, what to believe, although in his heart he knew Matthew was right. That what he had been saying was true. He refused for that to be his decision, for he had no proof at all, but what did Matthew have to gain from lying to him about such a thing as that? What plan could he possibly have?

He couldn't think of anything, anything at all.

His world was spinning, rocking and tilting. He felt as if he could not grasp onto anything to keep from falling. He was swimming in confusion and worry… anger and fear snatching at his ankles.

What could Voldemort have possibly done to Hermione? How could he have contacted her? What did he say to her? All these questions… no answers… no way to find them…

He was lost.

He did not know what to do.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry knew when they were to be leaving for Hogwarts. The next day, he had already started to pack everything else up that he had left out. Molly Weasley had kindly knocked on his door and reminded him to prepare and that they were to leave the day after. He nodded and said his thanks, as she gave him the best smile she could and closed the door.

He resumed in packing his things.

He had tried looking for Hermione, hoping to catch her in the halls or down in the kitchen. But not once had he seen her. He hadn't seen Remus either, except when he had gone down to the kitchen and he was talking to Mrs. Weasley. Harry had seen that look in his eyes, how they had somehow darkened when Remus saw him. Harry had just looked at him with no emotion evident in his expression, before turning away and heading back up to his room.

He intended to apologize to Remus, he did. It hurt to know that he had uttered such hurtful words to him; but for once, in his life, he had finally felt as if he was being truthful. Because what he had said was the truth. The complete, God-honest, truth.

And though guilt had mounted inside him once he had the energy to calm down and think, he couldn't help but feel a sort of release. He never had the courage to actually tell people the whole truth: always leaving tidbits and sometimes the most important details out. He wanted to, to show them how being blasted Harry Potter hurt him sometimes, when he was at his most vulnerable. He wanted to tell them what he had felt build up inside him over the past years of having Voldemort running around, harming the ones he loved. And now…after what had happened…

It was sort of like he had just enough. Like he had just burst from all the intense emotions, bitterness and reckless anger that had been growing within him through all his years. He couldn't take it anymore.

And that's when he had spilled out the truth.

He had felt that the world had turned its back on him, when, he did not know, but he knew it. It was wrong of him to let it all out on Remus…but he felt as if Remus misunderstood everything that had been happening. Everyone had.

Harry sighed, slowly folding his clothes and placing them inside his trunk. He felt his stomach sink in deeper, as he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

His mind kept flashing back to his conversation with Matthew. He curled his fingers, feeling his fingernails dig into his forehead. He felt his rage rise inside him, as he shut his eyes much more tightly. He still didn't understand. He couldn't find a way to piece it all together… It was like a big, complex puzzle that he had to finish, but didn't have all the pieces to. He knew there was something he was leaving out, something that either Matthew didn't know or didn't want to tell him.

How could Voldemort have broken past through all the spells and enchantments without setting off the alarm? There wasn't a way inside without a permitted portal from a member inside the house, but there was only one person who could create the portal. Only one person knew the spell… And it was Molly Weasley.

He sighed, frustrated. It didn't make any sense at all. He had to get more information. He had a very bad, creeping feeling that this situation was more than it seemed.

He had a bad feeling that what he had stepped into was more dangerous than anyone would suspect.

Immediately, Harry raised his head from his hands and bolted up on his feet. He had to talk to Hermione…even if she was going to be as stubborn as he thought she was going to be, he had to try. He couldn't let anything slip by at all.

The last time he had let that happen, she was taken and barely managed to survive.

He couldn't take any chances.

He threw the door open, as he ran out into the hallway. He had to talk to her. He had to try.

He ran down the empty hallway, his footsteps knocking against the hardwood floor. He stopped at her door, breathing hard. He raised his hand and knocked on her door. He waited.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, this time louder.

There was no sound inside the room. He listened hard for rustling sheets, muffled and coming footsteps… anything at all. There was nothing. He felt panic shoot through him. He grasped the doorknob, and to his surprise, it wasn't locked.

“Hermione?” he said, as he opened the door slowly. He walked inside the room, dark, cold and calm. He looked around her room, but she was nowhere to be found. He sighed, sitting down at the edge of her bed and closing his eyes for a moment, trying to gather all of his scattered thoughts.

She was safe. She had probably just gone downstairs or went to the bathroom. After reassuring himself that she was far from the grasps of danger, he opened his eyes again.

He looked around the chilly room. It was dark; tinted with silence and shadows. He had remembered that this was how her room had looked when he had come in. Undisturbed and dim. He felt sadness reappear within him, looking at her window.

It was still blocked. There was no sign of the outside world peeking in from outside the glass, or the frost that had been left over. Her room looked just like a room of someone who did not want to be reminded that there was a whole world outside of the walls and windows.

He tore his eyes away from the window, feeling his heart slowly being ripped apart once again.

He looked over at her desk, where there had been once parchments and about a dozen books piled atop. He smiled sadly. He remembered that Molly had had to borrow some books from Remus, hoping that Hermione's love for reading would get her mind off of him. He recalled what Mrs. Weasley had said to him, smiling sorrowfully.

“Apparently, she loves reading. But not as much as she loves you. I don't think even she noticed that the books were there.”

The desk was now empty. It had been wiped clean, and the books he knew to be there were non-existent.

He looked beside him, on the far edge opposite from him, of the bed.

Her trunk lay there, motionless. He smiled weakly as he saw her initials in faded and chipped pink letters that had been once a vibrant red back in their early years of Hogwarts. He stood up, and slowly walked over to the trunk.

He slid his fingers over the smooth wood, slowly tracing the letters that had been carved in. He lowered his hands and unclasped the lock, raising the top.

He laid the top back, and saw a neatly covered item, enveloped in a soft, white cotton fabric. He looked closer, and saw something flashing, a small part of the object inside peeking out. Curious, he slowly put his hands inside the trunk and brought the wrapped item closer to him. He gently unwrapped the fairly heavy piece, and smiled at what he saw inside, feeling his throat tighten and suddenly go dry, as if parched and desiccated.

Framed in dark silver swirls and twisting vines, shining dimly like metal coal, was a picture of them. Him, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger. He felt his heartbeats suddenly cease into a dull silence, watching the scene of the two of them before him. He recognized it. He had seen it before, watched it dozens of times that he had memorized every single motion, every single twinkle in her eyes, and the way her lips had curled into such a beautiful and genuine smile.

The picture Harry Potter held in his hands was the same he had framed on his desk.

It was the same, and he smiled wider at the thought of Ginny replicating the photo she took of the both of them. Ginny had always had an eye for things such as love, thanks to Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown. But he guessed that Ginny knew when it was the real thing and when it was just some fantasy created from the thirst of new gossip to parade around the school. And as he watched the picture replay before him, he knew that he had to find some way to thank Ginny later on.

He watched as the Harry inside the picture fitted Hermione's hat on her head and laughed and smiled with her, as she looked up at him with her deep, glittering brown eyes. He felt the same restlessness return inside his stomach, his heart doing little cartwheels, remembering. For that one moment, he allowed himself to be entranced and swept away by the feeling and memory. Back when everything had been just fine. No complications, no problems, no broken hearts and hurtful words. And while those days had not exactly been perfect, they seemed closer to perfect than he thought he would ever come across. Those days seemed like the closest to perfect that he would ever come.

“Harry?” he turned his head immediately, and saw Molly Weasley standing in the doorway. He looked down at the picture in his hands, and made to instantly put it away.

“Oh, no, Harry,” she said, as he halted his actions. “I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Go on. It's such a darling picture. Of course, I'm quite sure you have one of the same in your room.” He looked up at her, and saw her smiling at him. She was not smiling very wide, but wide enough to let him know that she was being sincere and truthful. He smiled weakly at her, before turning his gaze back to the picture.

“I do,” he said, almost as quiet as a whisper. He looked back at her, just as she was walking towards him. She stood beside him, gazing down at the picture. Her smile was of admiration. “How did you know?”

“I remember Ginny asking me for a replication spell, through owl,” she said, not looking up at him. “Of course, I made her explain what it was for, and she told me that it was for a sweet picture she took of you and Hermione; so that the both of you would have a copy.” Harry nodded, looking down at the picture, before watching her as she lifted her gaze to the window behind him. Her eyes dimmed with worry and sadness. He silently enveloped the frame back in the cloth, and put it back gently in her trunk. Harry sighed.

“Mrs. Weasley…I'm terribly sorry about…the other day. I didn't mean…I shouldn't have said it that way.” She looked at him and smiled weakly.

“There's no need to apologize to me, Harry,” she said. “I understand, and I'm sorry that we've misunderstood the pressure and pain you've gone through. I'm the one who should be sorry. I assume it's just because we've all been so caught up in the plan of meeting…” she paused, still unsure to say Voldemort's name. She started again, “I'm so sorry, child. And I never really did know what happened between you and Hermione…but I'm sorry. I really am. Remus is too…” she sighed. “You ought to talk to him, Harry.” Harry nodded, looking away. “I know he can be difficult at times, but just know that he's just so protective of both you and Hermione. He knows the toll the loss of both your parents and Sirius took on you… and, it seems to me, that all he wants to do is at least make it better for you. He wants to be there for you, because Sirius entered your life at such a late moment and passed away at such an early instant. He wants to be there for you, because Sirius never really had a chance to.” Harry closed his eyes, feeling a slight dizziness swirl around him, hearing her words. He felt that same stone being lodged in his throat.

Remembering had never been so painful.

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry finally said, quietly. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Would you happen to know where Hermione might be? I need to talk to her.” She nodded, looking at him sadly and smiling slightly. She walked past Harry and closer to the window, as he watched her.

“Point your wand to the window, and say `Obsidium Evanesco',” she instructed. Harry nodded, as he took out his wand and did just as she said. Instantly, the midnight cover slid down and disappeared into thin air. Harry saw the snow fall down softly outside, like cold angel kisses. Molly neared the window, looking out, and Harry followed.

Outside, in the backyard, were two figures. He recognized them; a girl with wavy and slightly frizzy russet hair peeking out from a hat he remembered all too well, and a figure in a dark cloak, and from a peek at his face, he was sure it was Remus. He watched as an owl plopped a small, black sack in her hands, and flew away into the sky. He looked on curiously, as Hermione put the bag inside the pocket of her cloak, without checking to look inside the sack. He watched as Remus gave Hermione back her wand and she nodded, pointing it at him.

Suddenly, Remus pointed his wand at her and a bright, blue beam shot out. He watched in horror, as Hermione tried to engage a shield, but failed to create it strong enough and the beam shot through it easily and shot her square on the chest. His eyes widened as she fell back into the snow, a pained expression on her face. He took a step back, making to turn around and to run to her, but he felt a hand grab his arm firmly.

“Watch, Harry,” Molly said to him, not taking her eyes off of the scene.

He looked out, his heartbeats booming in his chest. Hermione had gotten up, panting hard with a look of anguish on her face. But she stood up, pointing her wand and nodded. He watched as another beam blasted out of Remus's wand, and she attempted to make another shield. Again, it wasn't strong enough, and it broke through and hit her. Harry's mouth dropped open in shock, at Remus who wasn't even helping her up, though she scrambled back on her feet. He watched continuously, as she tried and tried again to make a strong enough shield. Finally, she made one that the beam could not penetrate through, and his heart ached at the look on her face.

She was smiling. The first time he had seen her smile through these days.

“He's training her,” Molly explained. “Hermione had requested him to teach her some stronger spells to help protect herself—“

“For what?” Harry blurted out. “She's no longer in harm's way, is she? Voldemort was defeated, and she's not… She's not a target anymore, is she?” She sighed.

“Harry… We're hoping she's not, but it doesn't hurt to be careful, does it?” Harry stared out at snow-blanketed ground below him.

“No, I guess not.”

“You could wait until they're done…but I assume that they'll not be done for quite a while. I could call her for you, if you want. I'm sure she'd—“

“No, no, that's alright, Mrs. Weasley,” he shook his head. “I'm sure I can talk to her later.” She nodded.

“I best be going, Harry. I wish you luck with everything,” she said, as she made her way out of the room. As soon as he heard her footsteps fade away as they got farther, he sighed, before turning away from the window. He walked towards her trunk, gazing at it for a moment, before raising his hands. He laid the top down, closing her trunk, and closed the clasps. He let his hands stay on the chest, his fingers frozen on the wood. He slowly slid them along the carved details and the rough spots from over the years of being bumped along the walls. Just then, his fingers found some foreign markings. He slowly turned the trunk to its side, and smiled at his discovery.

He remembered. Malfoy and his little pest cronies had put a spell on her trunk, about the beginning of last year, carving letters on every inch of the surface. Every remark, just as Malfoy had planned, indicated her so-called and gossiped about `feelings' for him, back when everyone had teased and gossiped about their mutual and simple friendship, which was not so simple or plain in their eyes. He remembered Hermione, flushed crimson in the face, once she had discovered the markings on her trunk. He remembered the way she swore under her breath, cursing Malfoy, and tried to make the carvings vanish, only to find out that Malfoy had also put some anti-removing spell on it too. The rather ridiculous prank had driven her to the library, researching for some spells to remove an anti-removing spell, and took her about a week to remove them. He was sure she had removed all of them, the way she had been up in the common room as the other girls giggled at her.

He remembered that she would not look him in the eye that whole week.

He grinned, tracing over the carvings with his finger. Apparently, she had removed all of them except one.

There, in rather small letters, was a little marking, carved precisely and just.

HG+HP

6. Home

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters except Matthew… oh, and of course, the plot. The plot was all created in my tiny, but rather useful cranium.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

THIS PART IS TWO CHAPTERS. SO AS SOON AS YOU FINISH THIS CHAPTER, GO ON TO THE NEXT ONE.

IT WAS ORIGINALLY 34 PAGES, BUT PORTKEY HAD TROUBLE UPLOADING SUCH A BIG FILE, SO I SPLIT IT IN HALF. I MUST TELL YOU THAT THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL ALSO PROBABLY BE TWO CHAPTERS—I HAVE STARTED ON IT ALREADY, AND IT'S ALREADY 31 PAGES. NOT NEARLY QUIET DONE, EITHER. Sorry for the wait!!

I appreciate all the reviews! Thank you very much!

I'm going to tell you that once this story is over, the end, you'll understand why Hermione was a dimwit. I don't know whether what situations I will uncover it, or the cause, but one of you, I'm quite positive, has gotten it. Well, most of it, anyway. But don't get too ahead in this fic. There are still a lot of untold events that I will soon reveal, and while I have the whole thing inside my head, I might decide to take the things in a vast twist. So…well, we'll just see, eh?

But don't worry. Happy ending—I'm not going to go back on my word about that. Because, I don't know about you, but horrible endings ruin my day.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Home

Outside, the sun's rays were a soft yellow, peeking out from the snow-covered hills. The grounds were still deep from the constant snowfall, but they were clean and pure—they were not dirty or soiled. The air was crisp and fresh, cold and chilly, but one could only admire the simple but beautiful day.

Inside the house were scattered and hurried footsteps, hugs and wishes for luck, smiles that were genuine, despite the recent happenings.

Harry smiled sadly, as he felt Molly Weasley's arms embrace him. He pulled back, and saw that her blue eyes were twinkling, her lips curved into a smile.

“I wish you the best, Harry,” she simply said, and Harry nodded, still smiling, knowing what she meant and that she needn't say anymore.

He watched, looking around, as people offered handshakes and hugs. He could see Hermione across the room, smiling and embracing the other members.

He felt his eyes dim, his heart slowly falling, watching her.

He hadn't had the chance to speak with her. Her training session with Remus hadn't ended until after dinner, and even then she always found some way to slip from his grasp. He had gone down to dinner, though he had no appetite, in hopes of asking her for a word afterwards.

He was met with disappointment when, though it was expected, she would not even glance at him at the table. And afterwards, though he was sure he had been keeping a close eye on her, she had managed to escape. Once he had turned around, she was no longer there.

It was just like in his dreams that haunted him at night. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone, as if she had just vanished into thin air.

He couldn't help but feel as if he had just let her go, once again.

He felt someone grab his hand, as he smiled and shook hands with another member. But as he let go, he sighed, looking around in the room, once again, before lowering his eyes and turning away. He walked to the kitchen, the noise getting quieter to his ears as he got farther and farther away. He entered the cozy kitchen; the long, wooden table, the scuffed hardwood floor, the comfortable chairs, the windows that let you peek into the outside world, but didn't allow them to see in. He took a seat, facing the windows, letting out a quiet sigh that was even indistinct to his own ears.

He closed his eyes for a moment, slouching his shoulders, his heart feeling heavy and overshadowed by such doubt and hopelessness that he had acquired the past few days. He bowed his head, feeling his fingers entwine in his untamed hair. The skin on his fingers and palms were cold, as they collided with the warmth of his scalp.

Hogwarts. He was going home.

He did not know what to expect, besides celebration and happiness. He looked forward to returning, to meeting up with Ron once again, and walking through the echoing halls and corridors of his school. He had missed Hogwarts.

But though his return to the school was anticipated, and he was quite excited, he couldn't help but feel a sort of overwhelming sadness wash over him.

He was to leave Hogwarts this year. He was to leave everything, behind. He had planned to leave with Hermione…wed, and live together. He had had everything planned out inside his mind. Everything.

But he hadn't seen the twist in the road that turned it all upside down.

He didn't want to leave, to start his life. His life had already started. It had already begun. He did not want to leave without anything at all but a broken heart and broken promises. He did not want to feel as if he had left his heart behind also. He did not want to feel anything at all.

He didn't want to see her turning away, walking away. He didn't want to know that he had just lost everything that he had ever hoped for. He did not want anymore unspoken goodbyes.

He didn't want to see her leave.

No, not anymore.

“Harry?” He opened his eyes, as he raised his head from his hands. He looked up at the figure standing yards away from him, with weary eyes. He smiled.

“Hi, Remus,” he said quietly. Remus nodded, a dark look in his eyes, as he walked over to him and sat down. Harry's eyes trailed him, before he spoke through the awkward silence that had engulfed the room.

“Listen, Remus…I'm sorry. Those words, what I said…it wasn't…you didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve it at all. I'm sorry. For everything. You're right. I shouldn't have tried to attack that man…I just…I wasn't thinking clearly.” Harry chuckled quietly to himself, staring at his hands, “I guess I haven't been thinking clearly at all for the past few days.”

Remus smiled. It was not a wide smile, but it was a smile that let Harry know that he wasn't mad at him at all.

“I understand, Harry. I shouldn't have…gone off on you either. I didn't really stop to think what everything that's been happening is doing to you…I wasn't--I didn't see it from your shoes. I couldn't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that.” Harry smiled faintly, staring at his fingers and palms.

“It's alright, Remus,” he said quietly. Remus sighed.

“It must feel odd, going back. Dumbledore owled us, last night, with his instructions to get you to Hogwarts. I think that ball…it's going to be utterly fantastic and magnificent, I must say. I think you're going to have a good time, Harry.” When Harry did not say a word, Remus continued. “Just don't think about what's happened,” he said. “Just have a good time. You deserve it, Harry. Give yourself a break.”

Harry smiled crookedly. “Thanks, Remus. I'll try.” Remus smiled, leaning back on his chair.

“That's a good lad, Harry,” he paused, as if trying to read him. “And, you know…about you and Hermione… I have a good feeling things will work out just fine. I really do. You two love each other so much, I can see it… Nothing can break that, Harry. Not even some fight, or a battle with Voldemort, or keeping her away for her own sake. She loves you more than you think. She's a smart girl; too smart for her own good, sometimes, but Harry… Everything will be just fine. Just at least try to believe me when I say that.” Harry stared down at his pale and unbruised hands, trying to keep himself from shaking his head and telling Remus that he couldn't believe that anymore.

Not when everything had gone like this.

Not when he couldn't find even one little glimmer of hope left.

He knew well enough that Remus would never spark false hope inside him, but he pleaded to Remus, inside his mind, to understand what he was asking of him. Harry was just so tired, so weary of trying… He wanted to give up. He wanted just to throw his hands up and just sulk in his misery.

He no longer had any hope left.

He had tried; believing in the happy ending that he tried to convince himself would come for him. He told himself that everything would be just fine, if he just kept trying and didn't give up. He had believed that there was hope for him, still.

Until last night.

He had had a dream about her again. Hermione. Why was it that she could invade his thoughts and his dreams as easily as she had invaded his heart? How was it that he still loved her though he tried to move on?

Why was it that his heart was still in pieces and was not yet beginning to mend?

She had been standing there, with him. Smiling, laughing, and at that image flashing inside once again, it was enough to rip his heart apart. She had been in his arms, smiling up at him, her hands curled on the nape of his neck.

And then he noticed that she was crying.

And she was trying to pull away from him, as he was trying to keep her with him. She was pulling away from his embrace, until he was merely just holding onto her from her hand. He could still remember her pained eyes, her pink lips that quivered. And her words that chimed and broke everything inside of him.

“I can't love you, Harry… Please just let me go… Please… Just let me go.”

And then he remembered. Her hand had just slipped through his grasp, and she was gone. As if she had just vanished, as if she had just been a mirage or a prank of his longing thoughts.

She was gone.

She had left him all alone, once again.

He sighed, confusion swimming inside his mind, as he tried to focus back on Remus. He chose to not remark about Remus's comment, as he just looked up at him and smiled.

“I'm going to miss you, Remus.” Remus broke into a big grin, as he enveloped Harry into a big and tight hug. Harry let him, closing his eyes.

Finally, they let go just as Molly Weasley had walked inside the kitchen. She smiled widely at the two of them, her sapphire eyes dancing at the scene she had just witnessed.

“Remus,” she acknowledged. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's time for Harry to go.” Remus nodded, clapping Harry on the back, before Molly walked out of the kitchen. He smiled down at him, a pure, genuine and happy smile.

“Take care of yourself, kid,” he said to him.

“I will, Remus,” Harry grinned faintly. “Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine.”

And Harry stood and walked out of the kitchen, Remus trailing behind him. With one big, final goodbye, he and Hermione left.

ooooooooooooooo

They had to make a stop in Diagon Alley, such as an antique bookstore that had just opened, judging from their sign. Dumbledore had created quite a unique and strange way for them to Hogwarts, consisting of the backroom of the bookstore, apparating to another odd store in Hogsmeade, and then a final apparation in another stuffy backroom of that store, to Hogwarts.

Molly Weasley had explained that Professor Dumbledore, for they knew that Hogwarts was protected with powerful spells and enchantments that no wizard or witch could apparate through, had set up some places from which they could apparate from.

Each place would get them closer to Hogwarts, every room enchanted with a spell to let them through, and then finally, the last special room in which they had to apparate from to reach Hogwarts. Dumbledore had clarified that he had put up some very complex and fairly difficult spells in that one specific room, like a loophole, connecting it to Hogwarts and then making a barrier so that once they had passed through, it would close and no one else could get through. Harry thought it was quite brilliant, room after room, and realized that Dumbledore had always managed to surprise him with his tactics and matchless plans.

Harry tried to ignore, with all he could muster of his strength and will power, the uptight and tense silence between him and the brunette girl beside him. None of them spoke for their whole transition and apparation, though Harry felt like he was about to burst from it all. He wanted to speak to her, for all these days, he would lay awake and dream up ways to get her to speak to him again. He just wanted everything to go back to the way they were, if the possibility of them being together as more than friends was beyond his reach. But as he looked at Hermione before their final apparation to Hogwarts, bags under her closed eyes, her pale and delicate face, he found his voice non-existent. He could not utter a word, and as he, too, closed his eyes and sighed softly, he found that it would probably better this way.

He knew that if he talked to her, she would reply with a short answer—one that didn't require much thought or energy.

He knew that if he talked to her, she would not look at him.

He knew that if he talked to her and she did look at him, he would feel that same wave of hurt and longing wash over him again.

He knew that if he talked to her, and she replied, hearing her voice would break his heart.

So, instead, he just shut his eyes and they apparated.

And when he opened them back up again, he found himself standing in front of Albus Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff, beaming at him with twinkling eyes that he was sure, could blind anyone if they had walked by.

He watched as Minerva McGonagall clapped her hands together, smiling so happily at the both of them, as Dumbledore chuckled heartedly. He glanced at Hermione beside him, and his heart jumped at the look in her eyes.

Her deep brown eyes were sparkling, looking straight ahead, the corner of her lips stretched into a smile. That was enough to make him smile, too.

“Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “It is, utmost, a true pleasure to have you two back. I cannot say how much my heart is grateful to the both of you, and the joy we have inquired and observed around here, at Hogwarts. Your fellow peers are thrilled, if I may say so, myself.” Madam Pomfrey beamed at the both of them, as Professor Flitwick gave out a joyful laugh.

“Welcome back,” they greeted the two of them, and they both nodded their heads, grateful for the welcoming group and warm greeting.

Harry found himself shaking hands with his Professors, as they congratulated and thanked him, as Hermione herself was dragged away from her place beside him. He heard as they also shook her hand, their comments on her absence in their lessons.

“I've missed you in my class, Ms. Granger,” he heard Professor Flitwick say. “You were one of the most brilliant, though, I'm sure you've known long before.” He heard Hermione's soft and graceful laugh that always managed to fill his ears so intoxicatingly, as he felt his insides suddenly turn into a dizzy mist.

He hadn't heard her laugh in what seemed like, ages.

He smiled faintly as he shook hands with Professor Sprout, and the new Potions teacher they had employed a few months back, but did not come until recently, when they had been away. She was a petite woman, with choppy black hair and a wide smile.

“Guinevere Psyche,” she said, shaking his hand. “Pleasure to meet you. You're brilliant,” she said, and Harry chuckled weakly. He also shook hands with the DADA professor: a stout man with blue eyes and sandy hair, by the name of Kamron DeVelroa. But as he looked around at the familiar staircases and walls, the enchanted and tall ceilings… He had a feeling that he had missed someone.

Suddenly, it hit him. Hagrid.

“I don't mean to be rude by asking,” Harry said, “but where's—“ a loud chuckle and someone suddenly lifting him up into a bone-crushing hug, interrupted him. He heard soft laughter around him, as he recognized who it was.

“ 'Arry!” Hagrid cried happily. “You're back! I can't believe it! I'm so bloody proud of ya!” Harry smiled, wincing slightly as Hagrid hugged him tighter.

“Hagrid,” he said, in pain.

“Hagrid… I think Mr. Potter has had quite a lot of hugs—“

“Oh, right,” Hagrid said, embarrassed, as he put him down gently. Harry grinned at him, happy to see his big friend. “Dreadfully sorry, `arry,” he said, still smiling.

“I'm okay, Hagrid,” Harry said. Hagrid nodded, jolly, before his eyes flickered to behind him.

“ `Ermione!” he exclaimed, picking her up for a hug, also, but gentler this time, from his recent reminder. He set her back down, and she was smiling wide at him.

“I'm so glad to see you, Hagrid,” she said.

“Ya can't be gladder than me, that's for sure,” Hagrid laughed.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dumbldore had explained that the ball would take place on the night of tomorrow, and that the preparations were still in assembly—the bubbling excitement had delayed quite a few things, he had said, with a wink. But he said that it would be a magnificent one, none like Hogwarts had before, with all the years attending and far more stunning decorations and reasons to celebrate.

He had said that their luggage and belongings had already been brought up, and that they could head up to their dormitories. Harry smiled, his eyes dancing, excitement in seeing his dear friends once again. He could see that Hermione felt the same way, too, as they quickly walked to the Gryffindor dormitories.

“It's so great to be back,” she whispered, smiling. Harry nodded, also grinning madly.

“It is. I can't wait to see Ron!” he sighed. Hermione chuckled softly, and he could hear it echo like a haunting and sweet lullaby in his ears. But as they entered a dark corridor, with torches lit against the wall, glancing quickly at her, her expression changed. Her smile had faded rapidly, and her eyes were dark with a speck of fear, as she looked at the walls and ahead. He looked down at her hands and noticed that she was gripping her cloak tightly, her knuckles turning white.

“Hermione,” he whispered, concerned. “Are you alright?” There was silence, as she didn't answer him, and instead gave a look that puzzled him.

He had never seen her this way before.

Her deep brown eyes were fearful, though she tried to suppress it. Her face was pale, her hands wringing on her robe. He didn't understand what suddenly made her so... scared.

And that's when it flashed in his mind. Voldemort. Visions. Hermione. This was his chance. He looked at her, before opening his mouth to ask, but suddenly they were out of the corridor and they were ascending the stairs. The portraits gasped and ahh-ed at him, as they started to speak. Harry closed his mouth, disappointedly.

“There's Harry Potter!” he heard one of them exclaim in joy. “Oh Merlin! He's defeated him, I've heard!”

“Atta boy, lad!” a man swung his hands in the air for him.

“What a brave boy,” a girl said. “It's great to see you again, Mr. Potter!”

“I always knew he had it in him!”

“Impressive, Harry! Very impressive!”

After about hundreds of comments and remarks about him as they passed, they finally reached the Fat Lady's portrait. She smiled at him, widely.

“Password?”

Harry looked at her, confusion written all over his face.

He hadn't asked for the password.

“Bloody hell,” he sighed, running a hand through his midnight hair. “I can't believe—“

“Salum Marinus,” he heard Hermione say beside him. He looked at her, giving her a questioning look, as the portrait door swung open.

“Dumbledore told me,” she said quietly, before she walked in, and Harry followed behind.

Harry smiled widely, as he heard cheers and loud applause, before he was suddenly rushed at. He could barely see exactly who they were, for they ran to him so quickly, but he heard their voices and their cheers, and he told himself that it really was good to be back.

He felt them pat his head, slap his arm, as Ron, Dean, and Seamus tackled him.

“Harry! Harry! Harry!” he heard them chant, as it rang through the room.

Finally, when he had gotten to his feet, he had a clear view of their faces.

They were beaming at him, proud and joyful. He had never seen a sight such as this before. Suddenly, he saw him.

He was smiling at him so widely, with his red hair and his blue eyes twinkling.

“Welcome back, mate!” he said, as Harry rushed at him and enveloped him into a hug.

“Ron!” he exclaimed, embracing his friend. He heard Ron laugh, as he held him tightly. Finally, they pulled back, as the rest of the Gryffindors shook his hand and congratulated him.

They had food and butterbeer set up in the middle of the common room. Stocks and piles of Honeydukes' sweets were assembled in a mountain that was dangerously lop-sided. Harry's grin widened, as Ron dragged him over to the table, insisting for him to eat as much as he can.

“It's still a while before dinner,” Ron told him. Harry took a glass of butterbeer.

“Didn't you just have lunch? It's just—“ Ron waved him off.

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “This,” he pointed to the wide and chockfull varieties of food and sweets, “is the best food, I bet, you've had in weeks. Eat up, Harry,” he patted him on the back. “I will pester you and beat you to bloody pulp if you don't.” Harry grinned.

He went around, talking to the rest of the Gryffindors; Dean, Seamus and Neville. They were all so happy, asking about the battle and what else had happened.

“I heard,” Seamus said, as he gave him a wink, “that there were sparks between you and a certain Gryffindor bookworm.” Dean and Neville rolled their eyes, as they tried to drag him away from Harry. Harry stiffened at his question. “So? Was there?” he yelled, from across the room where they had hauled him off to. Harry flashed him a fake smile, before turning away, not feeling up to facing the rumors and reports about his love life.

He felt someone grab his arm, and found Ron at his side again, armfuls of sweets and a butterbeer in one hand.

“George and Fred say hello,” he said, as they walked towards the couches. “They told me to tell you that they expect you to be stopping by soon—good for publicity and sales, you know, The Hero stopping by and being seen at their shop,” Ron grinned.

“Oh, and you know, congratulations.” Harry took a sip of his butterbeer, smiling.

“Alright then,” Harry laughed. “Tell them thanks.” Ron nodded, stuffing another sweet in his mouth. He looked around the room, people talking and laughing in their Gryffindor robes and uniforms. He smiled, before looking down at his butterbeer.

He watched the cool liquid swirl in the mug, as he slowly rocked his wrist gently.

“Ron…” he said quietly. “You aren't… angry, with me, are you?” He looked up at him, as his ginger-haired friend looked at him and sighed, putting down his sweets, food, and butterbeer.

“Harry…” He raised his gaze to the room, and people. “We best go into the boy's dormitories if we're going to talk about this.” Harry nodded, picking up his butterbeer, and Ron picking up his as well.

They walked out of the common room, up the stairs, and into the dormitories.

Ron shut the door, as Harry sat down silently on his bed. His trunk and things had been brought up, as he spotted Hedwig napping in her cage. He felt Ron sit beside him, and let out a sigh.

“Harry, mate… You're my best friend. Nothing can ever change that. But well, when you left, and you took Hermione, and not me… I felt like, I wasn't wanted. That you needed Hermione more than you needed me, and I was bitter. I was angry.”

“You have to understand, Ron,” Harry said quietly. “She followed me out. She wouldn't let me go. I…”

“I get it, Harry,” Ron said firmly, and that caused Harry to look up at his friend. Ron sighed again, standing up and running a hand through his hair.

“I get it. One night, I was thinking all about it… I felt like shouting, beating something. You left us. You left me. You took Hermione with you. No contact, no nothing. I was too angry to try to understand anything else. I was worried sick about you, mate. I didn't know… I didn't know if you were going to…die.” Harry nodded guiltily, lowering his gaze to his feet.

“I'm sorry, Ron. I really am,” Harry said. There were a few moments of silence, as Harry wondered what his friend could be thinking. Was he really still angry with him? What was going to happen?

But then he felt a heavy weight set down beside him.

“But Harry… Those days you were gone, you and Hermione… It made me think. It made me see. I replayed everything in my head, those times all three of us were together… And then I remembered that picture.” Harry looked up, confused and slightly fearful. He was confused as to where this was going. Ron was smiling at him.

“You left your trunk open one day, and I saw it. You and Hermione. Together,” he chuckled softly. “When I first saw it, I thought nothing of it. I dismissed it. I was… rather daft, really, to what was staring me right in the face. I didn't see it. But then, thinking about you and Hermione… I finally realized it. It all added up. All those times, when I would catch you looking at her, and you were always the one to notice if there was anything wrong with her, you always tried to go with her every time she went to the Library… You were… You were in love with her.”

“Ron, I—“ Harry started, but Ron cut him off, putting a hand to his face.

“Harry, my feelings for our little bookworm are far gone, believe me when I tell you that,” he laughed. Harry looked at him, relaxing a bit, as he felt strangely relieved. Ron continued, “ But then I remembered Hermione. How I also caught her looking at you more than I would've cared to notice. How she would always worry about you and ask me about you. How she would always be the first one… to see, everything. She told me, you know. She told me that she knew that you were going to leave. I didn't believe her at first, and I got angry with her because she insisted… I yelled at her,” Ron said, solemnly. “I didn't want to believe her. I didn't want to know that she was right.

“ But she was. She was right, in the end. And when you walked out that door, Harry… she went after you. She ran after you. She wasn't willing to let you go. And I… I just stood there, like an idiot—I didn't run after you, I didn't try to stop you. And I was furious at myself, because I should have.” And suddenly, Ron looked up at him and smiled. It was not a big smile, or a very joyful one, but it was an honest one.

“And then it hit me. She loves you, Harry. As in more than a friend, as in more than best friends should. I was amazed at how clueless I had been, all this time, all the hints and the times I caught her looking at you… It's perfect,” he said, not a drip of sarcasm or hate in his voice. His blue eyes were twinkling, grinning at Harry.

“My two best friends. In love with each other. Really, Harry. I'm not angry with you. Not anymore. You wanted to say goodbye to her. I understand. You didn't want to leave her behind.” Harry sighed, closing his eyes.

He was right. He had guessed, and he was right. But everything he said wasn't correct. No, it wasn't. He could feel the memories come rushing back, the pain and the hurt. The way her tears had soaked into his shirt and stuck to his skin. How he had tried to kiss them all away.

“I didn't,” Harry whispered, his throat severing. “I didn't say goodbye to her, Ron. I left her behind.” Silence engulfed them, before Ron spoke, just above a whisper.

“What?” he asked, confused. Harry leaned his face into his hands.

“I didn't say goodbye. I didn't tell her that I loved her when I left. She told me that she loved me… and I couldn't bear to, Ron. I couldn't tell her that I loved her too. I knew that I wasn't going to be able to let go, to leave and fight. So I just left. Without a word. I left,” he paused, but Ron just stayed silent, looking at his weary-looking friend.

“And when I returned… You should've seen her, Ron. The window in her room was blacked out and barricaded, and your mum told me that she hadn't been sleeping, or eating… I hurt her. I hurt her so much that she couldn't bear to see the sunlight pouring into her room, or looking outside, knowing that I was out there. I hurt her so much that she…” Harry faltered in mid-sentence, shutting his eyes more tightly, his throat closing up. He swallowed hard and tried to keep going. “She didn't want to be with me. She doesn't want to be with me. I tried; I tried to talk to her, to ask her why, to make her understand… But she can't.”

“Mate,” Ron said quietly. “Hermione… she's… rather difficult, at times—“

“No, Ron,” Harry cut him off. “I… I think—“

Just then, the door burst open. Harry's head bolted up from the sudden noise, as Ron's gaze also darted to the disturbance. Seamus and Neville were standing in the doorway, butterbeers in hand, grinning madly.

“Harry! Ron!” they said. “What in Merlin's name are you both doing up here? There's party, downstairs, --“

“In your honor, Harry,” Neville added.

“—And you both should not be here, talking, or whatever it is you're doing! Ron! Dean just turned Pavarti's hair putrid pink! Oh you need to—” Both of the boys burst into a fit of laughter. Ron smiled, as he sighed.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Ron said, standing up. “And lay off those butterbeers, won't you? We don't want Dumbledore or any of the Professors spotting you two drunks and giving us trouble, alright?”

“Right!” they both shouted, before running off. Ron turned to Harry, and flashed him a sympathetic grin.

“I'm sorry, about those two,” he said. “It seems like Neville and Seamus have turned into my brothers—“ he grimaced, “--which is nothing short of a shock when it comes to Neville… But, well, what can you do? People change. I guess Neville's just loosened up.” Harry nodded, also getting to his feet. Ron sighed, looking at his midnight-haired friend. The Hero. The broken-hearted Hero.

His best friend.

“Harry,” he said seriously, “I'm sorry. About you and Hermione. I really am. But I think it'll all work out. Hermione's a smart witch and I'm sure she still loves you. She doesn't just give her heart away so recklessly, you know.” Harry stayed silent, staring down at his feet, and then running a hand through his hair.

He didn't have the heart to tell Ron that he was so sick and tired of hearing that. That everything was going to be just fine, that he and Hermione were going to work things out. How, he wanted to know. He just wanted to know how.

He wasn't sure if he could believe such a thing anymore.

“We should get downstairs before someone worse comes in to look for us,” Harry sighed, walking towards the door. Ron chuckled.

“I highly doubt there's another Gryffindor worse than those two when they're drunk,” he laughed faintly.

GO ON TO NEXT CHAPTER

7. Home-part Two

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: don't own HP or any of the characters besides Matthew and the plot.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Part Two of Home (continuation of the last chapter).

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dinner had been quite a surprise, as Harry, Hermione, and Ron had entered the Great Hall. The Hall had erupted with applause and cheers, as Harry looked around at the students, standing up and chanting his name. Their faces were bright, a wide smile spread across their faces, their hands clapping rapidly. Even the Professors were standing, supporting the sudden applause and praise.

Harry had just smiled, feeling warmth blanket his cheeks, as he sat down beside Ron and Seamus. He looked at the staff table at the front of the Hall, and saw Dumbledore's deep blue eyes dancing. Dumbledore raised his glass to Harry, and Harry laughed, as he did the same.

“Harry… You know, my mum never answered any of my questions that I sent to her while you were away. She always sent me howlers, screaming at me to never write again, because she told me not to,” Ron said, making a face as he dropped the roll onto his plate. “I'm guessing there had to be at least four, in all,” he said. Harry heard Seamus laugh beside him.

“Oh, Harry, you should have been here,” he said, laughing. “Those howlers… The look on Ron's face? Oh, if I could've brought you back here for that one moment, I would've. It was priceless, Harry, priceless. Poor Ron, thought he was on fire, for a second.” Harry laughed faintly, as Ron glared at Seamus. Neville nodded his head, agreeing, as Ron sent another death-glare his way.

“Merlin, Ron, don't get your knickers in a twist,” Seamus shot back. “I was only joking.”

“No, you were not!” Ron cried. A sly grin spread across Seamus's face.

“You're right,” he grinned, and Ron threw his half-eaten roll at him. Seamus dodged it quickly, as it hit Neville square in the face. Ron was laughing so hard at the look on Neville's face that Harry had to hold on to him to prevent him from falling to the floor.

“Ron!” Neville said. “What was that for?”

“He didn't mean to, Neville,” Harry said for Ron, for he knew that right at the moment Ron couldn't speak for anyone, even for himself. He was too busy laughing. “He meant to hit Seamus.”

Of course, it didn't help that Seamus was laughing so hard that Harry thought he was literally going to die, also.

Neville shook his head, turning back to his food. “Half-wits,” he mumbled under his breath. Harry smiled, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

It was only minutes later that Harry realized that Hermione had been awfully quiet through the whole meal. He looked over at her, across the table, and he could feel himself stiffen at the sight. Uncertainty and worry coursed through him, as he watched her.

Her face was white with horror, her eyes watery. She was trembling.

And in her hands, he was sure, was a newspaper article.

“Hermione?” he called out to her. “Are you alright?” The concern and alarm in his voice caused Ron and the other Gryffindors to look over. Hermione didn't answer. Harry shot a troubled glance at Ron, who gave one back, in return.

“Hermione?” Ron asked. “What's that you're reading?”

Finally, she looked up, her deep brown eyes glossy, sad and hurt. Ginny, who was beside her, looked over at the article, and gave Harry and Ron a fearful and guilty look.

Without a word, Hermione dropped the article from her hands, stood up, and ran out of the hall.

The Hall had quieted, as Harry's calls after her echoed and broke through all the chatter and conversation. The other tables looked over, curious. Harry returned his gaze to over where Hermione had been sitting, and saw that Ginny now had the newspaper in her hands.

“Harry,” she said. “I don't think you should read this. It's—it's such filth. Oh Merlin, Hermione… What are we going to—“

“Ginny,” Harry said firmly, in a serious tone that stated to her clearly that he was not to be messed with right at the moment, “give me the newspaper.”

“But, Harry,” she insisted.

“Harry--” Ron said, but Harry cut them off.

“I have a right to know. Give it to me. Right now.” Ginny gave him a sad look, as she handed it over. Harry read it over, Ron peering beside him. He could feel his blood boil and his grip tighten with every word that he read.

COLD-HEARTED MUGGLEBORN BEST FRIEND BREAKS HERO'S HEART.

Just two days ago, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were seen outside Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, in Diagon Alley. Eyewitnesses speak out about the event, saying that Hermione Granger, a muggleborn who is very close to Harry Potter, broke his heart coldly without any mercy.

Hermione Granger is one of Harry Potter's two best friends, as the other is Ron Weasley. In the past she has been rumored to have an affair with both, each time cheating on them with other boys during their relationships. Hogwarts insiders have said that she was a harlot, a slut who played with boys' hearts and then destroyed them cruelly.

Eyewitnesses have said that at the scene, Harry Potter had been begging for her to reconsider their relationship, pleading for her to take him back. But the cold-blooded, pitiless witch did not pay any kindness at all to him at all.

“Poor boy,” one witness spoke. “He yelled out that he loved her, that he would do anything for her, but she just turned away and ignored him. She's a heartless tramp, that's what she is. She doesn't deserve him.”

“Harry Potter shouldn't waste his time on a sleazy scarlet woman like her,” another witness says. “I don't know what he sees in her. She's not pretty, not even nice to look at.”

“Hermione Granger is a Mudblood,” another Hogwarts insider says. “I can't believe that Potter would go so low. Even if his expectations or tastes are utterly horrible, he must at least have some dignity or pride. He is a Pureblood.”

“He doesn't need her. He deserves so much better. She needs to go back to the library where she belongs,” a close friend says.

Harry Potter is the Hero of the Wizarding World, defeating Voldemort. He has currently returned to Hogwarts, where he is to graduate this year, along with Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

Harry could feel anger and fury rise inside him, as he looked at the picture placed above the article. It was them. At Diagon Alley. He couldn't believe how malicious and spiteful they could be… But he knew it. He had known it.

He had known that they would put something so wicked and cruel. And here it was, in his hands, on the front page. Lies, lies, lies. To break Hermione. To make people hate Hermione.

He was shaking with anger, as his fingers gripped the corners of the newspaper and tore it in half. He could feel every Gryffindor's eyes on him, silent. But he didn't care. He was too angry to care. He couldn't care.

The ripping sounds seemed to echo through their table, as the words chimed in his ears, making his hands work faster and faster, ripping and tearing with so much hate and rage. His breathing was heavy and hard, as he tore the paper into shreds. His jaw was set, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously. No one said a word, afraid and in shock. They had never seen him this way before. He had always been laughing in the past, smiling and being the sweet and charming boy that they knew and had grown so familiar to.

At that one moment, he knew what was coursing through their minds. He could feel it. And he knew it, as well.

He had changed.

He made sure the newspaper was destroyed, shredded into tiny pieces so that there was no way it could be mended or repaired. Inside, voices were shouting at him, ringing vindictively and swinging their fists in the air. His heart seemed to be turning cold, but burning with such intense and sharp fire. His chest seemed to be compressed, trying to hold back from yelling and shouting, from swearing at the world.

“Harry…mate, it's all rubbish. You know it is. Harry—“ Ron started, trying to calm down his friend, but trying to compose himself in any way was far from his thoughts. He did not want to calm down. No, not this time. Too many times had they printed lies and false stories about his life, his friends. Too many times had they hurt the people around him.

They had gone too far, this time.

All those times before, he had stayed calm, reassuring himself that they were all just bloody dimwits with no lives, which he guessed was enough reason for them to try to ruin his, and his friends'. He had stayed collected and cool, when he could.

He was tired of keeping it all inside. Of trying to remain calm. Of being made a fool of on the front pages and articles. Of their words attacking his friends. He was so bloody tired, so tired that he was angry, and he could not keep it bottled up inside any longer.

“Harry,” Ron said quietly, “they don't know what they're talking about, just—” But Harry didn't stay to hear the rest. He had bolted up from his seat, and run out, angrily. He burst through the Great Hall's doors, his breathing hard, tight, and ragged.

He wanted to yell, to shout, to beat them all to bloody pulp. He wanted to do something to satisfy his thirsting rage.

He could not hear the silence of the dark corridor, or see the reflecting and shiny floors. All he could hear was his heart's hammering beats, his breaths that made his body shake. His trembling hands were clenched into tight fists, his nails digging into his skin. He could feel the shooting pains from his palms, but all they seemed to do was fan the fire inside of him.

He hadn't heard the doors open again, but suddenly, he saw Ron in front of him. Ron's once twinkling and joyful blue eyes were dim, dark and worried.

“Harry, I understand you're angry, but please, you know that it's all trash! You know it! All your years here, they've always made up lies to put on the front page! Harry, I know you're still angry about—“

“They have no right!” Harry bellowed, his voice loud and livid. “They have no bloody right at all!”

“I know, I know, Harry,” Ron said. “They're pigs, you know they are. Harry,” Ron said, seeing his friend so enraged, “please, calm down.” Ron put his hands on his shoulders, but Harry jerked away.

“Don't tell me to calm down!” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls and echoing. “Don't you bloody tell me to calm down! I can't calm down! I'm so tired of them attacking and condemning you and Hermione!”

“Harry—“

“They're trying to ruin her, Ron! I can't—I can't just let them harass and assault her with their filthy and false stories! I can't just stand here and let them hurt her! I can't!”

“Harry, just let it go! Just let it go! You have to, Harry! This won't help! It won't help at all!” But Harry continued, ignoring Ron's words.

“They don't know anything! Anything at all! Lies, lies, and more filthy lies!” he spat. “How could they say such things? How? About Hermione? How could they be so—“ Ron watched, wide-eyed frozen with shock, as Harry turned and drove his fist right into the solid, firm, wall. Hard.

Ron didn't know what to do.

“I hate them!” Harry yelled, pulling back his fist again. “I hate them all! Damn them! Damn them all to hell!” He punched the wall again, as Ron heard a sickening and splintering crunch. But as Harry pulled his fist back again, Ron launched after him and caught his hand. Harry struggled against Ron, but Ron wouldn't let go. Ron grabbed both his wrists, and tried to make him listen.

“Don't do this, Harry,” Ron said. “Don't do this to yourself! Don't let them get to you! Don't! You're doing exactly what they want you to do! Just stop it! It isn't worth it!”

“I don't care!” Harry shouted, trying to push Ron away. “I don't bloody care! I don't care if I am! They've won! They've won! They've finally made Harry Potter, The damn Hero lose his temper! They've finally succeeded!” Ron, his temper also rising, pushed Harry and pinned him against the wall.

“Mate, listen to me,” Ron said, his voice dangerously low. “You don't want this. Don't lose it over this. Don't.”

“Let go of me!” Harry yelled. “Let go of me!”

“No! Not until you swear to me that you'll calm down!”

“Ron, let—“ Harry shoved him away with so much force, that Ron practically flew back. Ron made to tackle Harry, but he halted, watching his friend.

Harry stood there, breathing hard, his flashing emerald eyes dark, pained and hurt. He staggered back against the wall, leaning his head back on the solid surface. His chest was heaving, pain shooting up his body, from his hands and knuckles. His head was pounding with a sharp ache, his lungs thirsting and his heart threatening to leap out.

Ron watched silently, as Harry slowly slid down against the wall. His eyes were closed, his raven hair sticking up as much as before, covering his scar and forehead. Harry brought up his knees, and laid his head on them.

Just then, Ron noticed something on Harry's hands and knuckles. Ron looked at his own hands; fear and shock making his hard breaths cease in his throat.

His palms and fingers were coated with blood.

He looked back at Harry, his friend's hands bruised and bloody. He could see a wide, open and bleeding gash, wincing from the sight.

“Harry,” Ron said, his voice quivering. “Harry… Your hands, Harry… Oh Merlin…”

Harry raised his head, and looked at his hands. His eyes didn't flicker with any bit of emotion, his expression unchanging. He looked at his hands like it was nothing unusual, as if it was common for knuckles to bleed. Ron walked over to him, worried for his friend. His blue eyes were dim with questions, shadowed with uncertainty.

“Harry, we best get you to the Hospital Wing… Madam Pomfrey's there… She wasn't at the staff table during supper…” Harry looked up at Ron, his eyes no longer filled with hate and vehemence, but were instead, as dark as he imagined hell must look like if it's flames were extinguished. They looked full, but vacant…

Ron had never, in his life, had seen his friend like this before.

And he was afraid. For Harry. He didn't know what had happened… He didn't know what could've happened…

But this wasn't the Harry he knew once before.

Harry saw that, all of that, in his friend's eyes. They had never failed to hide anything from him.

Ron offered him a hand, but Harry did not accept it, as he got up from the floor and they silently walked to the Hospital Wing.

ooooooooooooo

Madam Pomfrey had indeed been inside the Hospital Wing, as Ron and Harry walked inside. She had stared at them in shock, and was in even more shock as Harry showed her his hands. She had asked them, her voice high from surprise, what had happened, as she fussed over Harry. Harry told her quietly that he had an accident.

Madam Pomfrey sent Harry a look that made it clear that she didn't believe him, and then also glared at Ron.

“Mr. Weasley,” she had said. “You should be looking out for Mr. Potter.” Ron sighed, weary, collapsing.

“Can't help it if the bloke's angry and strong,” he muttered under his breath. Madam Pomfrey examined his hands, then looked up at Harry, the look in her eyes dark and knowing.

“You've split your knuckles,” she said to him, her lips pressed into a straight line. “They're broken… practically crushed.” She shook her head, as she stood and made her way to get her potions and serums. “Wizards,” she said. “One wonders what they could possibly find out of violence.”

Ron sighed. “She probably thinks you and Malfoy had a brawl, and that you left your wand somewhere, therefore getting bloody with your fists instead. I swear,” he said, shaking his head. “That woman's always got to put some blame on me, even though all I tried to do was stop you.” He grinned at Harry, faintly. “Though, you've gotten pretty damn strong, Harry.”

Madam Pomfrey came back, bottles following after her in mid-air. They set themselves down on the table neatly, as she took Harry's hands. She cleaned them up, wiping off the blood, and made him drink some potions that tasted like sewer water. Harry made a face, trying to gulp it down. It burned in his throat.

“Oh, honestly, Mr. Potter,” she snapped. “You get yourself into this mess, and you expect something sweet?” Ron shot her a look, as she bandaged Harry's hands. “You'll stay here tonight,” she said, standing up. “I don't want to see you coming back here again with another injury. Especially when the ball is tomorrow,” she said, and then walked away.

“Oh, mate,” Ron groaned. “I'd love to sneak you out, but… She's been keeping a sharp eye on me ever since…” he flushed, “well… She obviously thinks it's all my fault you're here.”

Harry managed a smile. “That's alright, Ron.”

“Listen, about Hermione…” Harry looked down at his bandaged hands.

“Ron… Forget about it. I have a feeling… She's not going to want to talk to me, just yet.”

“But Harry, you're under estimating our dear Hermione! She's reasonable…” Harry shot him a look. “…Most of the time. But, Harry… Just hear me out, won't you? I'm sure she'll want to talk to you. She loves you, Harry—“

“Ron,” he said warningly. Ron shook his head, standing up.

“Look, Seamus told me that you and Hermione were supposed to have that Honor dance together, and you're not going to have fun if you're not talking to each other, are you? Exactly!” Harry's eyes narrowed at him.

“How did you know—“

“Seamus overheard Dumbledore,” he explained. “So, I'll be back with Hermione, okay?” Ron turned and started towards the doors.

“Ron, No!”

“Don't mess yourself up too bad while I'm away!” he said, as he walked out.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. He had a very, very bad feeling about all of this.

ooooooooooooooooooo

The door opened, ten minutes later, and Harry sat up, expecting it to be Hermione and Ron, but couldn't help but feel slight disappointment when he saw that it was Ginny.

He smiled faintly at her. “Hey, Ginny.”

“Harry,” she smiled. She took a seat beside him, and let out a sigh. “I—I'm sorry. About the article. I didn't mean—“

“It's okay,” he said to her. “It's not your fault.”

“No, but Harry, I had the article. And then, Hermione saw it and she… I'm so sorry, Harry. I can't believe…”

“Ginny,” he said, not feeling up to talking about what had happened. “I don't really… I don't feel like talking about it, right now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.” Harry smiled at her. He watched as she looked down at his hands, and gasped.

“Harry! What happened? I mean, Ron told me, but—“

“I split my knuckles,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I… Well, stupid thing to do, really, but I drove my fist into the wall. It seems… When you're angry, you don't really think clearly.” Ginny let out a small laugh.

“I see.” After, an awkward silence engulfed the both of them, not certain what to say. Finally, Harry spoke.

“Ginny… I wanted to thank you. For that picture that you took of me and Hermione…” Ginny smiled.

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “That was such a sweet picture… You don't need to thank me. I mean, you and Hermione… You two looked so adorable together.” Harry smiled faintly, looking down. The odd silence arrived again. He was looking over at the doors, wishing that Ron would hurry with Hermione, before he turned to Ginny once again. He was aware of how close their faces seemed to be, just now.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his words were stifled, as her mouth came crashing onto his. His body stiffened, frozen from shock.

He didn't know what to do. He was yelling at his body to push her away, right this instant. The voices in his head were screaming at him again, roaring, but his body was unmoving and still.

Just then, he heard the doors open, and voices enter the room. It all happened so quickly in his eyes, as Ginny had pulled back before he could push her away, her eyes wide from her actions and at the sight of the two people who had entered the room.

Harry's heart stopped, the deafening and horrible silence throbbing in the room.

There, standing at the foot of his bed, was Ron and Hermione.

Their faces were pale, eyes wide with surprise. But his heart broke, as he saw hurt glaze over Hermione's eyes.

“Hermione,” he cried hoarsely, “Hermione, this isn't—“

But she had already turned and run out of the infirmary, before any more words could escape his mouth. Without another single thought, he bolted from his bed, swinging his legs over and running after her. He dashed out into the corridor, as he saw Hermione's retreating back. He ran faster, his long legs giving him an advantage.

“Hermione!” he called out. “Hermione! Wait! Stop, Hermione! Hermione!” he shouted. But she would not halt. She kept running, but he was catching up to her.

It was obvious that she did not want to listen to what he had to say.

But he didn't care.

He was going to make her listen.

He was going to whatever it took to make her listen to him.

“Hermione!” he shouted. “Please, Hermione! Stop!” He willed his legs to go faster, and soon he had dashed past her, turning and halting right in front of her so rapidly that she crashed into him. He held her to him, his hands on her shoulders, gripping her tightly. He could feel his palms burn beneath the bandages, as he could feel her warmth course through him, spreading into his skin. He could feel her trembling, her breaths so hard and rapid that her body shook with every breath she let out.

She made to push away from him, her face digging into his chest, but he would not let her go.

“Hermione, please,” he said to her. “Please. Just let me explain.” She struggled harder, her cries stifled as she tried to push him away. He whispered her name again, determined to make her listen.

Just then, she stopped. Her body was completely still, but he could still her breaths through his shirt. He could feel her tears on his skin, soaking through the fabric.

He sighed softly, before stepping back once, so that he could see her face.

Wet tears were spilling down her cheeks, her brown eyes glossy and hurt.

“Hermione,” he said quietly. “Listen to me. Please.” She looked up at him, before raising her hands and hastily swiping away her tears with her fingers.

“What happened, back there, with me and Ginny… It isn't—it isn't what you think.”

“It… I don't—“ she started, but Harry cut her off.

“Hermione, it was no—“

“No, Harry!” she said, jerking away from his grasp. He stared at her, his hands burning from the chill, the cold air prickling his skin. She raised her hands again, as more tears slipped out. He wanted to reach out to her, and hold her against him once more… But he stayed still, frozen, watching, waiting for her reply.

His senses were roaring, but at the same time, raw with the silence that he feared. He waited, as she just looked up at him with her brown eyes, brimming with tears. Seeing her this way hurt and broke him… But he could not get his rushing and shouting thoughts to calm, and make his body and limbs cooperate. He was still, as he watched her intently.

“Harry,” she said, her voice quivering. “You don't…you don't have to explain. You really don't. It… it doesn't matter.” She bit her lip and looked away, at the dark wall beside her, as more tears leaked out. Harry noticed that with every word that she had forced from her mouth, it seemed to be tearing her up inside brutally. She held herself, and Harry felt his heart thrash about, but he let it go.

He didn't understand why he didn't fight, why he didn't fight for her… But right now, it seemed useless. That look in her eyes, the way her voice was so shaky he knew she was on the brink of fresh tears… He was not sure if he could fight, anymore. He was not sure if she wanted him to.

“I—I don't even know,” she raised her sleeve and wiped away her tears harshly, “why I'm like this. Crying. I don't even know why I still feel it. Merlin, I'm so pathetic,” she said, more tears slipping from her eyes.

“No, Hermione, you're not,” he said softly.

“It shouldn't matter,” she said, holding herself tighter. “It shouldn't matter. We're not together anymore. We've never been. It shouldn't matter to me anymore.” Harry felt his throat tighten, hearing those words. Her words rang in his ears, stinging him venomously. He felt like insisting, he felt like trying to make her understand again… But as he watched her again, silence separating them and their thoughts, contact, he felt as if his body was drained of energy. He felt so defeated. He felt so empty, so heavy. So weak.

“I didn't kiss her,” he whispered. “I didn't. You have to know that.” She still didn't meet his gaze, as she closed her eyes and more tears slipped out.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to wipe away her tears, once again… He wanted to hold her, and make everything better.

He wanted to be there for her. Even if she was the one who had pushed him away, he still wanted to comfort her, and tell her that everything was going to be just fine.

He would tell her, over and over again, that he would never leave her. He would promise that. He had left, before, but everything was different now. He wouldn't leave her side. He wouldn't.

He couldn't bear to hurt her anymore than he had already.

“Harry, you—you don't have to… I… It doesn't—” Every word pained her, he knew, as he watched her struggle to say them.

“You have to understand, Hermione. You have to believe me.” But she went on, as if she hadn't heard him at all.

“It shouldn't matter,” she whispered to herself, crying silently. “It shouldn't.” Harry swallowed hard.

“It shouldn't matter,” he repeated quietly, after her. “But does it, Hermione? Does it matter? Does it matter to you?”

He waited for her to answer, as she silently wept.

“I don't know, Harry. I don't know,” she whispered, barely audible, through her tears. Harry stepped towards her, feeling his heart slowly being torn to pieces, seeing her this way. When she didn't back away, he kept walking towards her, until he was close enough to wrap his arms around her.

This time, she did not struggle, or try to push him away.

She let him hold her.

She cried onto his chest, as he held her tightly, closing his eyes.

“Harry…” he heard her whisper, “I just want you to be happy… to be safe… I can't… I don't know what to do…”

Harry merely held her, not knowing what to say. Nor did he want to say anything. He just tried to tell her, through his embrace, that all he needed to be happy…

Was her.

Suddenly, he heard a loud bang, from behind them. Immediately, he recognized the sound. It was the Hospital Wing's doors.

“Harry Potter!” he heard someone shriek. “Mr. Potter, get back in the infirmary this instant!” His eyes bolted open, as Hermione's sobs halted and she stiffened in his arms. She twisted away from his grasp.

“Hermione, wait,” he said hoarsely, as he tried to catch her hand, but she was already gone.

She was already so far from his reach.

He stared after her, his heart splitting rapidly and his pulse throbbing, the icy air biting at his skin. Her remaining tears stung on his skin, and the warmth that he had just held against him that was her, clawed at his conscience and heart.

He watched her disappear, until he could no longer hear her echoing footsteps.

He turned and walked back towards the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey gave him a withering glare, as she scolded him and he walked inside.

He walked blindly, not hearing any of the words that came out of her mouth, as he sat down on his bed.

His world was spinning, and in his ears there was a white noise that bellowed and drowned everything out.

ooooooooooooo

The bed sheets felt numbingly cold, later on that night, lying awake and staring at the nude ceiling. He was deathly tired, the Hospital Wing silent and still, but he could not find peace or sleep. The moon was shone brightly outside, the stars twinkled and provided a beam that sliced through the darkness, scattering his thoughts as he tried to collect them.

Her words echoed in his ears, and the way it seemed as if he could see her heart through her eyes. The way he had a feeling, inside the depths of his soul, that she still loved him, just as much as before.

Somewhere, deep in his restless and broken heart, he knew.

He had let her go, once again.

But, looking at the moonbeam that dominated over the deep midnight darkness, he didn't feel so hopeless, or defeated, or weak.

Because looking at that glowing moonbeam, he saw a glimmer of hope.

And that was enough for now.

8. Downfall

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters except Matthew. And the plot. I also own the plot.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Well… So, this fic is finally coming to an end.

Of course, this is not the end. Yet.

Two to three more chapters (keep in mind that some chapters have two parts to them, like for example, this one and chapter 6) on the way, folks, and then it shall be goodbye. So, yes, a reviewer said that we only had the Ball, the dance, and the walk in the snow to look forward to. Also, I have some plans for the story that I have not yet mentioned, but I'll just tell you that there's still a rocky path left to the happy ending. This chapter is going to be rockiest it's ever been. I hope you're all surprised… I am very ashamed of myself that I have given away so much of the not-so-secret plot in these darn author notes. So, I shall stop. Besides, the end's coming, and I don't want to ruin your happy ending.

Happy reading. Thanks to the reviewers who have graced me with their opinions and words. This fic is for all of you.

I shall post up the next part of this chapter tomorrow, so keep a look out, eh? (The ball and the surprise are next!)

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Downfall

Harry awakened in the Hospital Wing, rubbing his eyes as he reached over for his glasses. He looked to the windows, his head feeling a bit light and dizzy. The sky outside the windows was still dim as light snow fell. The gray clouds were heavy, as they hovered lowly and the wind blew, causing the snowfall to slant as it descended. He sighed, leaning back on the bed. He felt his head drop against the soft pillow, as he let out a loud sigh.

The events of last night had replayed over and over again inside his mind, flashing before his eyes, and even in his dreams he seemed to watch it, feeling every harsh blow to his heart. He still remembered her pained words, her tear-filled eyes, and her voice that shook with every breath that escaped from her. He closed his eyes, trying to focus his mind.

He couldn't blame Ginny. He couldn't. He didn't know her reason for kissing him, but the thought that maybe she still liked him was out of the question for he knew that she had been over her feelings for him years ago. The person he could only really blame was himself. He cursed himself for not pushing Ginny away, for just sitting there although he knew well enough that Ron and Hermione were going to drop by.

He couldn't explain why he hadn't just pushed her away. He did not have feelings for her in that way at all. But yet he sat there, like a stiff, wooden post.

It was an odd feeling. It was like feeling something else, something completely foreign and alien, take over his body. Like ice that wasn't even the least bit cold, freeze him entirely. He hadn't been able to move although he had no such intentions for Ginny. He had been paralyzed for those few seconds her lips had been pressed against his.

But now he knew. All it took was a few seconds for everything to go wrong.

Harry let out another frustrated but weary sigh. He had not a clue as to what he could do now. Hermione had seen, Ron too… And he hadn't even had a chance to think about Ron's reaction. All he could hope for was that Ron wasn't angry with him. Now that he had lost Hermione, the last thing he needed was for Ron to be upset with him too.

Harry gathered the frosty sheets in handfuls, as he felt the chill of the Hospital Wing seep into his body. It was even colder since he was near the windows, and though Madam Pomfrey usually used heating charms for the infirmary, his best guess was that she had forgotten. It was quiet, not the least bit of noise or echoes. He could only hear his shallow breaths, as he breathed in and out, his mind feeling as if it were sinking deeper and deeper, drowning with each second the world let pass.

He thought about Hermione again, and the way her hurt, brown eyes had pleaded at him. They seemed to be asking him of something, but he did not understand what. He remembered that she kept repeating to herself that it didn't matter, that it didn't matter that Harry had shared a kiss with Ginny. And Harry had to ask. He had to ask if it did matter, if it did still mattered to her.

To his ears, it sounded as if she was still trying to convince herself that it didn't.

But she looked up at him, looking into his emerald eyes, and whispered that she didn't know. And Harry knew, from that look in her eyes, that she was trying her best not to know. That all this time, she had also tried to convince herself that she didn't love him. That she did not need him. That she could watch him live on with his life, move on, without feeling any pain. That she could see him again with another girl, and not break down and cry when she was alone.

But she couldn't. She was not strong enough.

Thinking of him still brought her to tears.

He could never forget the feeling of her inside his arms. Or the warmth, or the stream of hope and satisfaction fill him whenever he held her. He could not ignore the fact that he never wanted to let go, never wanting to watch her turn away and disappear ever again. He wanted nothing but to hold her and tell her that he loved her and that he would never leave her again. He wouldn't leave her. He would not leave her side.

That night, her heart had been in her words. Her heart had been in her eyes. Though she tried to deny it, her tears and voice denied her. That night, he had felt the hope that he had thought he had lost; spark up inside of him again. He saw it in her eyes, the way her tears had fallen so easily, despite her effort to keep them back. By running away, he knew that she knew she would seem weak, but not weak enough to let him see her spill her tears before him. By running away, she thought that she could escape him. That her thoughts would not haunt her, and that somehow, she would also leave behind her hurt and her tears.

And her broken heart.

But he knew. He had seen it. Maybe she would escape him by running away, but slowly, it would eat her from the inside out. And maybe she thought that the hurting would end and that she would live on happily, after. And maybe that was all true. That she did not need him. That she was already mended inside, that her heart was functioning as healthy as before.

But her tears had defied her.

And now he knew. He knew.

She still loved him.

Of course, now, that sparked new and fresh determination inside of him that he thought had long faded away. Now, he could feel it all start to construct inside of him again, the hope, the willpower and strength to make her listen. He wanted to try again. He wanted to resist fate, if his fate was to be without her. He wanted to run after her, even though she was long and soon to be out of his sight.

But he knew that she was still here. She was still here. And he would still try.

It was not too late. No, not yet.

He knew she had a deeper reason as to why they couldn't be together, as to why she refused to be with him again. As Ron had said, Hermione would never give away her heart so recklessly. Nor would she take it back. Not when he had also given her his heart. He knew that there was something she was not telling him. Something bigger, something much more important. Something that she would turn away from him for.

He didn't know if he could understand. Her reasons, of not wanting to be left behind, of not wanting to be hurt or telling him that he deserved so much better… That was not Hermione. Hermione was logical and smart. She was brave and she took chances. She was honest and pure.

But she was hiding something. She had to be. It did not add up.

He knew that the vision she had received from Voldemort was one thing that she had not confessed to him. And he couldn't help but get slightly angry as he wondered why.

He did not know what Voldemort had told her, or made her see, and it was killing him. He did not know how it had affected her. He didn't know if she was hurt in any way. He didn't know if Voldemort had tried to lure her away. He did not know anything, anything at all.

At this time, it seemed like she was hiding everything from him.

It felt like she was hiding the world from him. Her world.

Harry could be reasonable. He had tried to understand both sides before he could ever start to make remarks or choose sides. Harry was a reasonable person. He understood easily.

But not when he did not know her side. Not when she refused to tell him anything.

Harry opened his eyes, sighing loudly once again, as he stared up at the bare, white ceiling. It seemed so high up above him, as he looked at it expectedly.

He imagined it coming down on him. Breaking and falling, collapsing and raining down in pieces.

That was how he felt. As if any minute now, he was about to see everything around him, everything he had ever known, everything he had ever loved… crash down and be left in ruins. And he would stand there, with nowhere to go, nowhere to stay.

He was all alone.

And he would walk through the mess, looking around, feeling defeated and weak. He would fall down to his knees, and cry.

But no, he would not do that, not this time.

He was not going to let everything crumble around him.

He was not going to break down and cry once it happened.

And Harry let a rare smile caress his lips, as a thought ran through his head and he kept on watching the ceiling.

Boys don't cry.

Not when there was still something to be done, something that could be made right and fixed. Not when there was still hope.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry walked into the Great Hall, keeping his face expressionless as he could hear the loud chatter slowly die down as he entered. He could feel their eyes on him, as he looked straight ahead, glaring and trying to ignore the whispers that had started to erupt again as he walked passed them.

He should've known that somehow they would all find out. Hogwarts was never really a place for secrets, especially when it came to his secrets. It reminded him of the newspaper tabloids, and it made his anger rise even more. He walked briskly to the Gryffindor table, trying to seem unaware of the murmurs and their eyes trailing him as he passed.

He was glad to see that Ron had already gone down, and was eating with Seamus and Neville. He sat down beside him quietly, as Ron looked up at his friend with dim eyes.

“Hey,” Harry said to him, and Ron nodded. He gave Harry a look that he knew all too well, as Ron silently turned away and continued to talk with Seamus.

Harry ate his breakfast slowly and silently, not uttering a word, as he kept his eyes down. He didn't finish what was on his plate, as he quietly pushed it away, his appetite almost non-existent this morning.

Ron stood as soon as he was done with his meal, and Harry followed after him. They walked down the deserted and empty corridors to the Gryffindor dormitories.

Ron glanced at him, and then looked away, as the stairs came into view.

“Are your hands better?” he asked, and Harry nodded.

“Better. It's not aching or burning anymore. Madam Pomfrey told me to keep the bandages on until after the ball. She said it's not quiet healed yet.” Ron nodded, as they ascended the stairs. They walked up quietly, as the portraits talked to one another, throwing only a few comments and greetings their way, this time. They reached the Fat Lady's portrait and Ron was the first to speak the password.

“Salum Marinus,” he said, and the Fat Lady nodded, as the portrait door opened. They walked inside, quietly.

Harry looked around the common room, hoping to see Hermione. But once again, his hopes disappeared quickly, as his eyes met nothing but the furniture and some abandoned books on the table. He sighed, as he followed after Ron to the Boy's Dormitories.

Harry closed the door behind them, surprised to see the room empty.

“They're all down at breakfast,” Ron said, as if reading his mind. “They don't want to be late, with the ball and all. They're planning to go outside and chase each other a bit, later on, in the snow. It seems they've all got a date.” Ron sat down on his bed, looking up at Harry, his blue eyes serious, but only dimmed faintly. “Except you, of course.” Harry stood there, his arms across his chest, watching his ginger-haired friend. Harry could not quite figure out what his friend was feeling towards him. His blue eyes did not express the rage he expected it to, but yet they were dark and sharp.

“I haven't asked anyone,” Harry said, truthfully.

“Oh, of course,” Ron said dryly, his sapphire eyes absent of the sparkle and twinkle of amusement he had gotten used to in his friend's eyes. “Why would Harry Potter ask anyone else when the girl he loves, broke his heart?” Harry stiffened at his words, as his green eyes and expression darkened. Ron's surprising remark triggered something to suddenly sting inside of him.

The look in Ron's eyes indicated that he knew very well that he had struck a nerve.

“I mean… Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor smarts and bookworm, right in front of you, right beside you… How could anyone miss the opportunity? How could anyone miss the chance to ask?” Harry's eyes flashed faintly, an insinuation of his approaching anger.

“I don't think you understand, Ron,” Harry said darkly.

“No, I don't think you understand, Harry,” Ron said, his anger now appearing. His blue eyes were now sinister with anger, and his voice was rising. “I tell you that I was going to come back with your beloved Hermione, and then you go off and let my sister snog you?” Ron said, shouting. Harry's fists clenched, as he glared at Ron. He could feel his rage bubble inside of him.

“Do you think I asked her to, Ron?” Harry snapped. “Do you really think that I begged your sister to kiss me?”

“You knew, Harry!” Ron exploded, his voice shockingly loud. “You bloody knew! I told you! I told you I was going to come back with her!”

“Do you think I can tell the damn future, Ron?” Harry shot back, his fury burning inside of him. “Do you think so? Well, I'm sorry, but I can't! I can't! Don't you think that I wanted to push your sister away? Don't you think that I wanted to talk to Hermione? To try and make everything work out? Do you think that I really wanted to hurt her again? To see her cry?” he shouted. “I didn't, Ron! You know for a bloody fact that I didn't!”

“Why didn't you?” Ron accused, “why didn't you push her away? Why did you let her kiss you?” Harry let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands down and looking away. He could feel his gaze sharp and hard, as if trying to burn the wall in his view. His jaw was set, and inside his veins, his rushing blood seemed to be prickling him. His rage was building up immensely inside, but he tried to calm it down, as he took tight and tense breaths.

“I don't know,” Harry said, firmly. His voice was hard and he seemed to be trying to hold back his anger. “I don't know, Ron.” He heard Ron let out a deep sigh, as silence engulfed the room. The silence was neither a comfortable one, or one filled with tense awkwardness. Harry could tell that Ron was thinking, as the silence seemed to stretch into eternity.

“Harry…” Ron said, hesitating, his anger was still evident, but he was now much more composed. “I know that I have no right to be angry with you. I know that. I'm sorry. But I guess… I'm still in a state of shock. I mean, you and my sister… And Hermione…” Ron dropped his head into his hands, as he groaned. “Oh Merlin.” Harry sighed, closing his eyes. Even Ron seemed to know that things looked to be a broken mess now. “Mate… I'm sorry I got so angry… But have you seen Hermione? She won't talk to anyone, Harry. She said that she wasn't angry at Ginny, but that's it. I tried getting Parvati and Lavender to get her to come down, or at least talk to me… But it's a lost case, Harry.”

“No,” Harry whispered, barely audible to his friend's ears. Ron looked up and realized that Harry seemed to be trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince him. “No, it can't be a lost case, Ron.”

“Harry, you haven't told me all of it. I'm sure of it. Something happened. Something that's making this all worse, something that's eating a vast hole in the solution. And I'm not going to make you tell me. I mean, I just think of how you two, even all three of us, have been so distant with each other lately… It's not the same, Harry. I know that things could never be the same, after what's happened… But this is different. Like there's a huge gap there that I'm positive that the battle didn't even create. It seems to me… that it's you two who did it.” Ron paused, as his voice dropped lower, into a quiet whisper. “I don't need to know what happened, Harry. But it seems like neither of you are trying to make it work.” Hearing those words, Harry's temper immediately rose, once again.

His eyes opened, as he stared at Ron with a dangerous look in his eyes. Who was Ron to tell him that he wasn't trying? How could he say such a thing?

“I'm not trying?” Harry asked, his voice harsh and angry. “What are you bloody playing at, Ron? Who are you to say that I'm not making an effort to mend things? How can you bloody say that?” Harry's voice became louder and louder. “You know how I feel about her! How can you say that I'm not trying? How?”

“Harry--“ Ron started, but Harry's burning rage prevented him from staying calm and listening to his friend's words.

“You don't even know half of it, Ron!” Harry bellowed. “You're right! There's something I didn't tell you! Loads! But just because I didn't specify every single bloody fact doesn't mean you can say that I'm not trying to right things between me and Hermione!”

“Harry, wait!” Ron shouted. “Would you shut up and listen to me for a moment?” Harry gritted his teeth, his fists clenching tighter and tighter.

“What,” Harry said, his voice strained and trying to prevent from yelling and letting his anger leak out again, “could you possibly have to say that I haven't heard yet? What else are you going to accuse me of? What else, Ron? In how many ways can you say to me that I'm not trying?” Ron stood up, his anger challenging his.

“I meant, hard enough!” he yelled. “I meant that it seemed that neither of you are trying hard enough in this situation!”

“And what is hard enough, Ron? What do I have to do to prove to both you and Hermione that I am trying my best? What do I have to do to prove that I really do love her and want to make everything work out?”

“Have you tried at all to talk to her, Harry?” Ron's voice dared Harry's.

“I have! I have tried to talk to her! I ran after her, Ron, you saw!”

“And what did she say?” Ron's eyes narrowed into tiny slits at Harry. “What did she say to you?”

“She said that it didn't matter!” Harry said, feeling his heart crumble from the immense weight layered atop of it. His lungs were restricted and felt so tightly bound that he couldn't breathe. His voice got quieter, more desperate and frustrated as he went on, becoming hoarse from all his shouting. He could hear her voice again, feel her tears on his skin, feel her inside his arms. The memories and events played in his mind, echoing and taunting him as he felt everything crush and fall apart inside of him. His knees felt weak; his throat was hot, feeling closed up and blocking the words that were trying to escape him. “She said that it didn't matter,” he said, his green eyes filled with a mix of emotions that Ron had never seen before.

It was anger, sadness, desperation, hopelessness and frustration all at the same time.

“It shouldn't matter,” he cried out. “She said that it shouldn't matter. But it does. It does, I know it. It still does, to her. But she didn't tell me. She told me that she didn't know. And… I know she's lying. She doesn't want me to know, Ron, and I don't know why! I don't have a bloody clue! She's keeping so much from me, from us! She's the one preventing the right, not me! I ask her, but she doesn't answer. She doesn't want to.” Harry let out an aggravated sigh, as he ran both hands through his hair. “She doesn't want me to know why.”

“Hermione's a logical person,” Ron said. “She wouldn't keep something like that from you.”

“But she is, Ron,” he said darkly. “She is. She tells me that she's doing this because she doesn't want to be hurt anymore, that I deserve so much better… And maybe she's right. But I don't want someone else better. There's no one else. And when I try to talk to her, she turns away, Ron. Hermione's not one to shut herself from the world, from her friends. And I know that I hurt her terribly, but… I can't help but feel there's something more. Something that's preventing her, preventing us, from getting any closer.” Harry looked at Ron, his eyes glimmering with a certain desperation that he had never seen him express before.

Harry was a strong boy. Ron knew that, all his years beside him, all his years he spent with him. There was nothing he could not fight through. And not once, had he shown hopelessness or desperation. He had never shown a sign of giving up. Never. Harry Potter never gave up. He fought for what was right, for what he knew was right. Even if the world was against him. He never backed down.

He had never lost hope.

Until now. Ron had never seen this before, and it shocked him. And then, that's when he realized why. He knew, now. He understood why he was like this.

Harry's only weakness was the ones he loved.

And the only one who held Harry's heart wholly; whom he gave it to… was Hermione.

“Harry…” Ron faltered, staring at his broken friend. “I wish I could tell you what to do. I really do. I wish I could make everything better. But—“

“You can't,” Harry said, harshly, his eyes glittering menacingly. “You can't make it any better. No one can.” Ron looked down, feeling the silence fill the room once again, embracing the two boys.

Ron knew that he had angered Harry with his past words, about Hermione. He had accused him of being lazy, of not trying hard enough to win her back. Ron would've thought twice before letting those words slip from his mouth, but he didn't. He didn't know why. He would never intend any hurt or harm against Harry.

But just seeing his other best friend's face, remembering the shock and the look of pain and brokenness… It made him angry. It made him furious at Harry. It made him want to shout at him, make him try to understand…

But the truth was, none of them understood. Not Harry, Not Hermione, not even himself.

Ron still loved Hermione, deep down in his heart. Maybe his feelings for her in the past years had vanished, but that did not mean he did not care for her so protectively. He wanted badly for his two friends to finally find each other, to see that they really were the perfect match, and they were not to belong to any other.

He wanted them to be happy. And he knew. He knew that all Harry needed to be happy was Hermione. And all Hermione needed to be happy was Harry.

And, he knew they both knew that, no matter how hard and long they tried to deny or refuse it. It was the truth. No one could never really escape the truth. He knew that though things seemed broken and fallen now, in ruins and twisted in such a way it seemed to never be repaired…

Harry never gave up. Neither did Hermione. In his life, he had never seen two people any more stubborn than those two when they put their mind to it. All he had to do was wait. And hope, and pray. He hoped that Harry saw that too.

“There's still the ball,” Ron said, quietly. “You can straighten things out there.” Harry didn't answer, as his eyes were directed forcefully and severely at the wall in front of him. “Harry, I'm sorry,” Ron whispered.

“Don't be,” Harry said, his voice firm and hard. “It's not your fault.”

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry ate his meal beside Ron, quietly, as Seamus and Neville conversed with his ginger-haired friend. Harry could see them point their puzzled and concerned glances his way, but he was felt awfully tired and weary. He didn't think he could care any less.

Hermione was nowhere to be seen, once again. She hadn't gone down to breakfast, and she hadn't made an appearance at all during the twenty minutes he had been in lunch. He sighed inwardly, picking at his food. He hadn't had quite an appetite these past few days.

He had heard their talks about her, their remarks and comments. He didn't mean to, for hearing those things hurt and stung him, but everywhere he went, it seemed they were all talking about her like some new popular merchandise. At times he barely held in his anger and irritation, and when he could not hold it in anymore, he just got up abruptly and walked out. But today, hearing a group of Gryffindor girls talk about her, he wanted nothing to do but plug his ears and hold himself. Inside, his thoughts were stirring once again, painfully, as they revived memories of her. He kept his head bowed, his gaze down at his plate or at the swirling liquid of his pumpkin juice inside his glass. But it seemed as if his vision had also tuned out. He did not know what he was looking at, but his sight was set and it seemed there was nothing to get them to waver or move.

“She's not been in the Library all this time,” he heard a female voice say. Even with all the laughter and loud chatter, he managed to hear about her. “I've seen her, you know, in the dormitories. Poor girl.”

“You can't hide such a thing,” another girl agreed. “Heartbreak. Never thought the girl could look any worse.”

“She's not been out of the dormitories since yesterday. I've heard that she's been locked herself up there because she knows that Harry will go looking for her in the Library.”

“Well, that's pretty predictable, isn't it? Hermione Granger in the Library? I swear, every time someone mentions the Library, her face pops up in my head. It's pretty scary, when it happens. I mean… She practically lives in that stuffy room.”

“Not anymore. She can no longer hide in there.”

“Hermione Granger without the Library? Miraculous, that's what that is! How long do you think she'll last?”

“I'd say she's probably read all the books in there. What with all her free time and all, finishing all those assignments ages before they're ever due.”

“What about Harry? Have you seen the papers?”

“After what happened yesterday? Are you kidding me? More people than the whole Gryffindor house went over and owled home for a copy.”

“It's pretty brutal, what they did to her.”

“It is. But do you really think she broke his heart?”

“Definitely. There's no question about it.”

“Pretty cold, don't you think? To her own best friend!” and with that, they laughed, like some new, juicy and hilarious humor or joke. Harry felt his gaze sharpen, as he glared down at his plate. He stabbed at his food, as it made a clinking sound as it hit the surface of the plate. Gritting his teeth, he pressed down hard and dragged his fork, making a screeching and ear-splitting shriek from the tines scratching forcefully on the plate. He heard more clinks of silverware dropping as people covered their ears with their hands.

“Harry!” Ron said, gritting his teeth from the unbearable sound, “what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?” He heard other shouts of remarks directed at him, as he heard a particularly loud one from the table beside them.

“Knock it off!”

But as Harry raised his fork again and was about to start another round and the students braced themselves, as Ron tried to make him stop, the Great Hall's doors opened. Harry's hand stopped, as his gaze was fixed upon the person who had stridden in.

Harry's fork dropped with a loud clank on his plate, shock plastered on his face.

Matthew Snape walked through the long aisles of the tables, as the hall had quieted and was now buzzing with whispers and questions. Harry stared at him, surprised, alarmed, disturbed, and dark misunderstanding and confusion etched across his pale face. Almost immediately, Matthew's bottomless black eyes met him, glittering with a sinister shadow. Harry's body tensed with anger as Matthew smirked at him.

“Potter,” he nodded at him, before he walked past to Albus Dumbledore, who was now standing with a serious look on his face. Harry's burning gaze followed him, as Matthew talked to Dumbledore and he nodded. Harry could not tell what they were talking about, but he tried to understand the seriousness of the situation. Harry had a blank expression on his face, as Dumbledore seemed also quite surprised and alarmed as Matthew told him something, but soon, a chair beside him appeared, and Dumbledore motioned for him to sit down beside him. Matthew nodded, his dark eyes glittering, as he walked over.

Harry stayed silent, watching him with suspicion, his lips pursed into a thin line.

He felt someone tug on his sleeve, and he turned slowly, hesitating to look away from the scene before him. Something was nagging him, inside. The thing that baffled and disturbed him was that he didn't know what. He found himself looking at a row of faces, staring at him with confused and curious looks.

“Harry,” Ron said, his gaze peering over at the staff table, “who's that bloke who just walked in? I've never seen him before, but yet…”

“—He seems frighteningly familiar,” Neville said, his voice shaky.

“Black hair, pale skin, dark eyes, an awful looking face,” Seamus said, disgusted. “Reminds me strangely of—“

“A too close resemblance to—“ Ron said, turning his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Professor Snape,” Harry finished tightly. The boys were quiet, as they looked at him with strange looks on their faces. Harry could see a scared look on Neville's face, as his face turned green. Ron's eyes were wide, and Seamus's mouth was agape.

“Blimey!” Ron said. “I can't believe it! It's Professor Snape all over again!”

“He's dead,” Neville said. “That can't be him.”

“It can so,” Seamus insisted, earning a glare from Neville. “The resemblance is too odd and uncanny…” he shuddered. “Scary.”

“Indeed,” Ron nodded. “So, who is he, anyway, Harry?” Ron turned to him. Harry looked darkly at Matthew, who was now laughing.

“His name is Matthew,” Harry said, the tone of his voice clearly showing his distaste for him. “Matthew Snape. Snape's son.” Suddenly, he heard coughing, loud and murderous coughing. He looked over, and saw Seamus's face was red, one hand holding his throat, as the other was holding his glass full of pumpkin juice. Across the table from Seamus, was a crimson-faced and angry Dean, whose face was now wet with the pumpkin juice Seamus had spewed out. All the boys were looking at him with horror.

No one helped Seamus with his murderous choking until moments later, when they recovered from their shock.

“Snape's son?” Ron asked, his face contorted with pure confusion and disgust. “Snape had a son?”

“Snape was capable of having a son?” Seamus asked, his voice high.

“Snape found someone to have a son with?” Neville asked, his face still green. Harry sighed.

“Apparently so,” he said.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Neville asked. “You're positive? I mean, Snape, that mean, old, greasy, stupid, horrid—“

“Had a son?” Seamus finished off. Harry took hold of his cup and took a sip of his pumpkin juice. The chilly and cold, sweet liquid slid down his throat, relaxing him a bit. But only barely, presented the situation.

“There's the proof, right over there,” Harry said, nodding his head towards the staff table.

“How'd you meet him?”

“Remus introduced us,” Harry said, “back at the house. He's part of the Order.”

“You're not joking, are you, Harry?” Ron said, in disbelief.

“Is he just like Snape?” Harry heard, as he became bombarded with questions. “Is he mean and horrid and bloody annoying?”

“I don't know,” Harry said, honestly. He frankly did not know what to think about Snape's little offspring. Harry was angry with him, furious beyond belief, but he couldn't tell them that. He would have to explain why he was angry with him, and then that would lead to Hermione and Voldemort. Which, just thinking about, made him clench his fists. “I really don't.” There was silence, as all the boys just watched the staff table. Harry could tell, from the absentminded silence, that they were all wondering.

Finally, Ron turned back to his food, as Ron picked up his fork and shoveled some mashed potatoes. He was preparing to raise it to his mouth, but halted, suddenly. He was looking at Matthew, with an odd and dark look in his eyes.

“I don't know how I could know, or why I even think so,” he said, “but Harry, that bloke's bad news. It's weird and it's strange, I know. I haven't met him and I've never known about him or knew he existed until now, but… I suggest you stay away from him, Harry.” Harry nodded, also watching Matthew.

“I know, Ron,” he said quietly. “I know.”

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After lunch, everyone had rushed out, hyper excitement and anticipation buzzing amongst them in the halls and dormitories. Even in the Gryffindor's Boy's dormitories, the boys could hardly keep themselves together.

Neville was nervous, panicking about not finding his dress robes. Ron explained to him that Neville had finally had the guts to ask out Ginny again, and with a laugh, added that that was the most scared he had ever seen him. Even including the events that involved Snape and terrifying Potions lessons.

Seamus was rambling about Lavender, while Dean seemed to be on the edge of a breakdown.

Harry was surprised to see that Ron and himself were really the only ones who seemed composed enough to get any task done without yelling or shaking. Harry watched Ron, who was beaming, his blue eyes glittering with happiness and excitement.

“So, who are you taking?” Harry asked, as he tried to fish out his dress robes.

“Luna,” Ron responded, wistfully. Harry smiled, happy for his friend.

“Nervous?” Harry asked, stopping for a minute to look at his friend, who was looking in the mirror. Ron was smiling wide, and Harry smiled as he saw panic and nervousness hidden in his grin.

“Terrified,” he said. Harry chuckled lightly, before he turned back to digging inside his trunk. Ron turned and leaned against the table, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Need any help over there, mate?” he offered. Harry shook his head.

“No thanks, Ron. I think Neville might need some, though,” Harry added, “desperately.” Ron laughed, and walked towards Harry. Ron patted him on the shoulder.

“Alright then. Just yell if you need anything.” Harry nodded, as Ron stalked over to the frantic boy across the room.

“I can't find it! I can't find my dress robes!” he heard Neville yell, shrilly. Harry smiled weakly, as he finally spotted the dark and soft, but strong and thick fabric of his dress robes.

9. Downfall-Part Two

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: once again, I do not own any of the characters except Matthew. And the plot. That's all I own; Matthew and the plot!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Well… are you itching to get on already?

I have received quite an astounding amount of reviews complaining/remarking about the enormous amounts of angst in this piece of fiction. And they say that they are only reading on because I guaranteed a happy ending. And, I did promise you a happy ending for our favorite couple, and I never back out on my word. So, just stay tuned.

I am sorry if you can't take it, but inarticulate and blind that I am, I do not see so much angst. I'm sorry for stomping all over Harry; I really don't mean to. I love Harry, you know that. But well, the suspense and dramatic or whatever stuff is coming next, you know the stuff before the ending. Like, revelation and a death thing.

Darn it! There I go again, stupid wretched author notes!!

Okay, so here it is. I'm sorry again for the horrendous amount of angst, but I must ask you to stay tuned. In this chapter… voila! Hermione explains her reason! And I'll bet you that you won't call her so unreasonable and stupid anymore!!

Please don't forget to review! I might not put up the next part if you don't!!

Sorry for this long author's note. Well, what are you waiting for? Get reading!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Downfall- Part Two

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The ball was to be held in a different location, one sited in the back of Hogwarts that Harry was certain that none of the students had ever ventured into. Dumbledore had announced that it was to be held there, because if all the years were to attend there would simply be no room to fit all of the students—let alone let them have some room to dance. It was confusing, but the Portraits knew the way like their own painting, and finding his way there was no problem at all. The corridors had been scattered with people, students ranging from first to seventh year, all in their most fancy and nicest dress robes. Harry watched, solemnly, the couple in front of him.

Their hands were entwined, and they were laughing and talking, smiling like they were the happiest people in both the Wizarding and Non-Wizarding World. He watched them, their eyes twinkling and the edges of their mouths turned up into a wide and pure grin. He felt a heavy and dark shadow eclipse his heart, as he tore his gaze away and looked past them. Looking at them only reminded him of what he could've had, now.

Of who he could've had, holding hands or linking arms with. Of who he could be laughing and smiling, and being happy with.

And what he had now. Nothing.

Of who he had now. No one.

He made his way through the corridor, silent, and tuning away from the world. He was quite a bit late, despite his efforts to make it in time, or even a little early. Ron had pestered him in looking his best, and then they all threatened him with their wands to try to have a good time and… smile. As if he wasn't weary and tired of pretending any less.

Ron and the others had gone before him, while Harry was left all alone in the Boy's dormitories, after he had insisted for them to go. He told them that he needed to be alone for a bit, and after hesitating and making him swear he wouldn't chicken out and hide in there all evening, they had finally managed to unglue the soles of their feet and walk out the door.

Harry remembered the cold silence, as he muttered the spell for the lights and instantly, the lights flickered off. He sat there, his head buried in his hands, in the darkness.

He had wondered to himself how he was going to live through this. Through seeing her, beautiful as can be, he knew, without feeling his heart breaking again. Through holding her, and getting reminded that she was not his.

Through looking into her eyes and trying to prevent those three words from escaping his lips.

He sighed inwardly, as he felt his heart crumble again, little by little and bit by bit, as he neared the entrance to the room. He watched as the couple disappeared inside as the door opened, as Dumbledore had enchanted the entryway so that there was no accidents or any chance of anyone getting locked out, for some reason.

Harry reached the deep mahogany doors that towered above him, shiny and polished to look so magnificent and inviting. He waited, as he heard the excited and eager chatter of the people behind him. Finally, the doors opened and even he could not suppress a look of awe.

He walked in; his mouth had dropped open, his eyes wide with surprise and delight. His gaze roamed the enormous room, his eyes disbelieving. Dumbledore was right; the Great Hall was no comparison to this. In Harry's eyes, the Great Hall would've been seen as puny and feeble… No place to really hold a ball for all the years and houses.

The walls sparkled with a tint of a heavenly and soft gold, glittering and sparkling ever so faintly. There were tall and big windows that hovered above them, exposing the light snowfall and dark sky. The shiny floors swirled with a deepness that he had never seen before, as he looked down beneath his feet. There were tables scattered around the room, with levitating candles the color of faded sunlight and a skinny vase of a beautiful dark blue flower that swayed along to the melody of the soft music. The ceiling was enchanted to look just like the sky outside, but as Harry turned slowly, his head craned up, he began to see the sky vanish. Instead, faint golden clouds seemed to appear, with glorious sunlight peeping through. It reminded him precisely of…

A slow and faint smile spread across Harry's features.

…Heaven.

And that's when he saw it. Angels. Smiling down on him, peering through the clouds. Their hair was the purest and most magnificent gold, their wings the purest white he had ever seen. He felt an odd feeling in his heart, staring up at the ceiling that towered above them. Something like happiness… though he was not completely sure.

“Harry?” He looked in the direction of the voice, and found their Headmaster in front of him, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles and a smile gracing his face. Harry smiled at him.

“Headmaster,” he said.

“Care to share with me your thoughts about the location of the ball? It would be most appreciated.”

“It's magnificent,” Harry said, honestly. “Truly stunning. I can't… I don't think I can put it into anymore words. I really didn't need… all this.” Dumbledore chuckled quietly.

“Very well, then. I'm glad you find it fitting to your accomplishments.”

“Really, Professor. It's too much,” Harry said, quite embarrassed.

“Harry,” Dumbledore smiled. “You've defeated the most feared and lethal wizard of our time. This,” he motioned to the room, “is not nearly enough to express our gratitude.”

“You helped too. Somehow there's got to be some thank you in here for you.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore's sapphire eyes danced, “ looking around and seeing all the students as happy as can be… That's all I need, Harry. That's all the thank you I could ever possibly need.” He smiled down at him, before looking around the room once again. “Well, I must be off,” he said. “I still have my duties, and I've got to alert and speak with the other Professors.”

Harry opened his mouth, but just then, another thought appeared in his mind. It bolted through him and out his mouth before he could think twice.

“But Professor,” Harry suddenly said. “What about Matthew?” Dumbledore froze as Harry uttered Matthew's name. His eyes suddenly dimmed only so slightly that Harry would've missed it if he were not being so aware at the moment. “I mean,” Harry explained further, “I saw him enter the Great Hall earlier today, and I couldn't help but wonder why he was…” Harry faltered, as he fought over his selection of words, “…here.”

“Well, he is part of the Order, and he is around your age, Harry. I wanted to give him the experience of being a part of Hogwarts and seeing one of the biggest balls of our time. He has helped, and it would only be too rude if our gratitude remained unsaid.”

“Oh,” Harry said, weakly. “But why is it that he only came today? Why didn't he arrive with us?” Harry noticed, this time, that Dumbledore's eyes darkened deeper.

“He was to arrive with both you and Ms. Granger,” he said. “But there were some… difficulties, with his apparation into Hogwarts.”

“What sort of difficulties?” Harry asked quickly, his curiosity building immensely.

“I am sorry, Harry, but I'm afraid I must go,” Dumbledore said.

“But—“

“I hope you have a splendid time. And by the way, have you seen Ms. Granger? The ball is to start in about seven minutes.” And with a final smile, Dumbledore left, leaving Harry to stare after him, with more questions flooding his mind.

Harry had noticed the affect of his questions about Matthew, and the faint hesitation. There was something that he was clearly hiding from him… But what?

“Harry!” he felt someone slap his shoulder. He turned, and was met with a beaming Ron. “Glad you made it, mate.”

“I said I would, Ron…” Harry peered behind him. “Where's Luna?”

“Oh,” he said, still smiling. “She's over at our table, talking with Ginny and the other girls.” Harry nodded. Ron looked around the vast room, apparently searching for someone.

“Hermione's not down yet?” Harry shook his head, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“No. I haven't seen her yet.”

“That's odd. She's late. She's never late for anything. Even, considering the circumstances, but still… That's not very likely of her to be late for anything.”

“It's not very likely of her to stay locked up in her dormitory all day, either,” Harry said, shortly. He had felt a certain flare or spark when Ron had remarked about the way things were. Ron looked at him, sympathetic.

“Yeah. It isn't,” he said quietly. “But listen, Harry, she's coming to the ball, I know it for sure. Lavender and Ginny said that they spoke to her, and they helped her get ready, so… I'm pretty sure they also threatened her… But I don't have a clue how that could work, since Hermione probably knows more spells and hexes than the two of them could muster together in all…”

“That's good,” Harry said, “to know, I mean. That she's coming.” Ron laughed softly.

“Well, there's a table right next to mine and Luna's,” Ron said, turning towards the direction of his date. “I'd beg you to sit there, but since I haven't asked yet, I'll ask first. Harry, would you sit in the table next to ours, in case anything goes wrong and I might need saving?” Ron seemed flustered, and Harry couldn't hide his smile.

“Sure, Ron. I'd be honored to save you, if anything does go wrong.” Ron grinned, as Lavender pointed at him from across the room, and Luna turned and smiled.

“Thanks, Harry. I think I'm going to really need it.” Harry smiled widely, at the way Luna's eyes twinkled and how widely she smiled at his friend.

“No. I don't think you are, Ron,” he said.

ooooooooo

Harry watched as the couples got up and made their way to the dance floor. The center of the room was saved and empty specifically for it, as he watched dozens of people twirl their dance partners round, smiling and laughing.

There were swirls of colors, as the music became faster. There were vibrant reds, sapphire blues, soft golds, bright yellows, royal purples and deep emeralds. In the mixture, there were also soft and light pastels, ranging from blushing pinks to fading sky blues.

He watched as Ron offered a dance to his date, and stood as he held out his hand. Luna gladly accepted, and Ron flashed him a nervous but happy smile as they walked to the dance floor. Harry smiled back at him weakly, though he really was happy for his friend.

He watched as Ron bowed to her and she curtsied back, giggling, and they started their dance.

He watched, making sure to smile every time Ron would look past her and grin at him, though that became rare as they continued to dance. Suddenly, he saw a glimpse of curly russet hair, as his heart started beating faster, but was only let down at his disappointment to see that it was not Hermione. He sighed silently, closing his eyes for a moment.

He was weary, though he had done no manual labor whatsoever. He had gotten a fair amount of sleep, in his opinion, about four hours, which was the most he had had since the battle. But he knew that it was not his body that was weary and tired so that it lagged and walked about so heavily, but his heart.

She had not arrived yet. And it was about an hour and a half into the ball. He had seen the sympathetic and worried glances that his fellow housemates and professors had sent his way, as he merely turned away and ignored the sorry looks. It was obvious to him that they knew that she was not coming, though Dumbledore had smiled at him and told him she was. It seemed that their Headmaster was the only one who held no doubt at her arrival.

Harry was also beginning to doubt that she was coming at all.

Though a part of him nagged and scolded him for being so faithless and so distrusting of Hermione, he couldn't help it. Lately, doubt and hopelessness seemed to overshadow everything positive and light too easily. Like the feeling of weakness and defeat. This time, it brought him down.

He did not like the fact that they all felt sorry for Harry Potter, waiting for the girl he loved and was stood up. He did not like the looks they gave him. He did not like sitting all by himself, watching as his fellow peers had the time of their lives.

He wanted to simply stand up and leave. It was clear that she was not coming. What was he still here for? It was for him, this ball, sure he knew that, but somehow, it did not make a difference. Maybe they could find someone else to do the honor dance, like perhaps Matthew. After all, they wanted to show their gratitude for his help, just like Dumbledore had said.

Without another thought, Harry stood up from his seat. He didn't meet anyone's eye as the chair pushed itself in and he made his way through the crowd and tables. He could hear them whisper about him, feel them send curious glances his way, but he didn't care. He wanted to be alone, away from the happiness that the others seemed to be enduring… The happiness he couldn't have.

He made his way to the doors, mumbling a quiet “Excuse me,” as he passed through them. But just as he was right in front of the door, and was about to reach for its golden and sparkling handle, he heard a familiar voice that made him freeze.

“You know, that door won't open. Dumbledore charmed it so that it won't let you or Hermione out until the ball's done.” Harry looked at the handle and his still bandaged hand that hovered above it, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes hard and puzzled.

“Remus?” he whispered to himself, as he heard a laugh. He turned slowly, and was met with the sight of a happy and much cleaner Remus Lupin. Harry broke into a grin.

“You're here!” he exclaimed. “You didn't tell me you were coming!” Remus chuckled, dressed in dark black dress robes and his hair kept and fixed.

“I didn't know either, until about two hours ago, from an owl that Dumbledore had forgotten to send our invitations!” his laugh was hearty and full, and Harry had never seen his eyes twinkle so brightly. “But, we made it in time. All of us. From the Order,” he pointed as he turned, and Harry saw them. He smiled, as they waved. “Molly's here, too,” he pointed out, as he saw a much older Witch with shockingly red hair. She turned and smiled at him, as Harry waved happily. “I hope—“ Remus looked out into the dance floor as he halted his words. “Oh look. Poor Ron has spotted his mother. It doesn't help to be frozen on the dance floor, especially if you're with a date.” Harry laughed, as he saw what Remus was talking about. Ron was standing there, frozen with horror, mouth hanging open, looking at his mother. Luna was tugging at his arm, giggling, insisting that he introduce them.

“This is fantastic!” Harry said, looking back at Remus. Remus was smiling down at him, happiness drawn all over his face.

“Now, Harry, about those doors… Dumbledore explained to me earlier that he suspected that one of you might try to leave, so he charmed them. Sorry.”

“Remus, maybe he didn't think about the fact that my partner for the Honor dance might not intend on coming, and that the best way to save humiliation and embarrassment is to flee.”

“Now, Harry, you cannot leave. Just choose another lucky lady here tonight. This ball was intended for you, in your honor.”

“But I don't want to choose anyone else. I wasn't even the one to choose Hermione for the dance. I just… I hate it that people are looking at me like that,” he said, as he glared another girl that passed by, giving him a pitiful look. Remus laughed.

“Don't be so sure she won't show up, Harry. And besides, what would this ball be without an Honor dance? And without the Hero?”

“Maybe you could ask Matthew,” Harry said, coldly. Remus looked at him disappointedly, as he sighed.

“I sense a bit of cold feeling for him, then?”

“You could say so,” Harry said. Remus nodded, as he looked up. He was about to say something to Harry when Dumbledore appeared before them.

“Remus!” Dumbledore smiled. “Glad you could make it!”

“Glad you remembered to invite us at the last minute,” he winked. They laughed, as Dumbledore looked behind them, at the doors.

“Planning to leave so soon, Harry?” he asked him, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Don't think I can, Headmaster,” Harry said. “The doors are charmed to keep individuals like myself imprisoned inside, apparently.” Dumbledore chuckled.

“So, Remus told you my secret, did he?”

“I had to,” Remus said. “I don't want him to start a fight with the doors. Even a simple `Alohomora' couldn't open those things.” Dumbledore nodded.

“Harry, would you excuse us? I believe Remus and myself have a bit of catching up to do.” Harry nodded. “ But, I must inform you that the Honor dance is in about a few minutes. I suggest you keep an eye out for Ms. Granger.” And with that, they left. Harry sighed, feeling a bit of frost layer inside him at his Headmaster's words. He looked around, peering past the couples and the dance floor.

He could've looked and looked, but that would've been already too useless.

She was not here.

She wasn't coming.

Harry walked over to his table and sat down, bowing his head slightly. Who could he choose for the dance? He wasn't the even slightly interested in anyone else. He looked up, and watched as Ron and Luna had started dancing again, and across from them, a beaming Mrs. Weasley watching them.

“Harry?” he looked up to see Ginny, in soft jade robes. He smiled at her weakly.

“Hey Ginny.” She nodded at him.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” she asked, and Harry shook his head, as she sat down in front of him.

“Where's Neville?” he asked.

“Talking a bit with Seamus and Dean,” she said.

“Having a good time?” Harry asked, without any curiosity at all.

“The best,” she replied. There was silence, as he stared out at the swirls of colors and smiling faces. “Harry…” she said quietly. “I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know what came over me.”

Harry kept silent, his gaze unwavering at the crowd. He did harbor some little, rather cold, feelings towards Ginny now, but they were enough to keep him so bitter. He just couldn't get the image of Hermione's face in the Hospital Wing that night.

“I… I'm really sorry, about Hermione. And I understand that you're upset with me right at this moment, and you have every reason to be, but I just wanted to let you know that… well, Hermione… She's coming.” Harry couldn't help but snort at this comment. “She is,” Ginny insisted. “I talked to her, in the dormitories… And she swore to me, Harry. She swore that she was coming.” Harry turned to her, his gaze sharp and cold. “ I promise,” she said, “that she's going to come. I'm giving you my word.”

“I think there's already been too many broken promises over these past few weeks, thank you,” he replied harshly. Ginny looked at him, sadly.

“Don't be so faithless, Harry. I know these past few weeks have been hard, and you've gone through a lot… But don't give up on Hermione. Not yet.”

“Funny,” he said, his words dripping with malice and anger, “the last time I checked, she was the one who gave up on me first.” Ginny stayed silent, looking away, obviously hurt by his remarks. Finally, she stood up. She looked down on him.

“I'm sorry. I do hope you accept my deepest apologies. But…” she continued on, in a whisper that only he could hear, “she's coming. She is. You'll see.” Then she turned and walked away without looking back. Harry sighed, looking away towards the door, once again. He wondered if he should believe her. Everyone seemed to tell him that she was, in fact, coming. It seemed as if everyone knew, except him.

A part of him wanted to believe them.

The other part had already lost all hope since then, and was not willing to fight for it all back anymore.

oooooo

It was only minutes later that Dumbledore requested for their complete attention. Harry could feel his heartbeats dull into a pounding noise that sounded as if he was underwater as everyone quieted down, their eyes on their joyful Headmaster.

“Now, you all know why we're holding this ball, do you not?” he asked.

“We do,” the students' voices chimed. Dumbledore nodded, as he continued.

“In honor of the defeat of the most feared, murderous and lethal Wizard in the Wizarding World,” he said, “and in honor of the young man that defeated him. For bravery and all the courage any Wizard can muster, and risking his very own life… Please, give a hand for Hogwarts's own Harry Potter!” The vast room rang with applause and cheers, as they all turned to him, smiling and swinging their fists in the air. Harry smiled, weakly. Even the Professors had stood up, clapping.

“Thank you,” he said, though he knew that no one heard.

“Stand up, Harry!” he heard someone shout. When he didn't, more insistence came, and so he finally did. He bowed slightly, thanking them. Finally, the appreciation and applause died down, as Dumbledore called for their attention once again.

“And now, it is time for Mr. Harry Potter's own dance,” he winked, “the one and only Honor dance.” There were whispers, as Harry could feel his heartbeats become louder again. “Please clear the floor,” Dumbledore requested.

Slowly, people cleared the dance floor, but gathered around it; eager to see just who he would choose.

“Mr. Potter, if you please,” Dumbledore motioned. Nervous and full of hesitation, Harry nodded and made his way to the middle, people clearing out of his way. As he reached the center, he sighed inwardly and turned. He looked through the crowd, searching their faces. His heart seemed to have climbed into his throat, and then into his ears, as the thuds were thunderous. He could see every girl's face etched with anticipation and excitement.

But as he was looking through the big crowd, he heard a gasp and loud chatter start to erupt. It spread through the hall like a wildfire, as people started peering to see what had happened. Even Harry himself, as he turned his attention towards the doors, where all the raucous was coming from. He watched, as people's eyes widened, and they cleared out of the way. And suddenly, he saw Ginny, beaming at him with such pride and happiness.

“Told you so,” she mouthed to him, and Harry felt his heart stop as he looked over to where people were clearing away. It seemed as if time was going too dreadfully slow, as his throat became rough and dry, his hands clammy. His heart was about to leap out of his chest, its attempts to swing and jump out making his body shake.

And that's when he saw her.

She had come.

She had really come.

He felt his mouth caught between a gape and a smile, watching her as she stepped out, in front of the crowd. He heard gasps and whispers around the room become louder, as Harry felt his heart suddenly melt and his happiness, longing and love for her, eat him whole. His head felt light, standing there, taking in the sight of her.

She was smiling, and he had never thought she looked so beautiful. He was not sure if he was breathing any longer, as the sounds of the whispers died in his ears. His body felt frozen and rooted to the ground, but they were pushing him to walk towards her, to hold her in his arms. To tell her that she had never looked so beautiful than tonight. To tell her that he loved her.

To thank and apologize to her, all at the same time.

He felt as if he was swimming in deep water, the sweet and drowning water filling his mouth and invading his senses. His nerves were buzzing with intense feeling, his fingertips humming and his heart pounding so loudly that he wondered if everyone else could hear it too. He could feel his body throb along with his pulse.

“Merlin,” he whispered to himself, wondering how he had ever made his mouth to move and cooperate. “She's beautiful.”

But he didn't even agree with the world beautiful. She exceeded the word; he didn't even think there was a word to describe her. Heavenly. Like the queen of Angels. He had never seen anyone so stunning and breathtaking. He had forgotten to breathe.

When he saw her, all his thoughts seemed to cease at once. Everything, his worries, his doubt, his bitterness… Everything faded except him and her. The fact that she was here, and that she looked so beautiful he was not sure he could ever let go of her after the dance.

Or ever, he remembered.

He had never wanted to let go.

She stood there, her pink lips turned up in an embarrassed and weak smile, her cheeks flushing from all the attention she was getting. Her auburn hair graced her face in soft and shiny, tamed curls that ran past her shoulders. She had a charming small hair clip of black diamonds that pushed her hair back on one side of her face. She was wearing sophisticated and striking scarlet dress robes that turned into a deeper shade of crimson as it reached her feet, making her deep brown eyes stand out. And gracing her delicate neck was a mere silver necklace, with a midnight pendant. She smiled at him uncertainly.

It was simple, but he had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

Without another thought, and a grin that he could not suppress any longer, he walked towards her. He was looking into her eyes, as he watched her gaze follow him as he drew nearer and nearer, until he was just a small two feet away from her. He tried to make his breaths shallow and compose himself, but seeing her this way… The thought of holding her again, if only for one measly dance…

He wanted nothing else in the world, at the moment.

He held out his hand to her, smiling, his jade eyes twinkling. He bowed his head slightly, as he felt each and every person's eyes on the both of them.

“Hermione,” he said, quietly, still grinning. “Would you grace me with this dance this evening?” He felt his heart stop as a wide smile began to spread across her face, as she placed her hand atop of his. His bandaged hand enclosed gently around her small and soft hand, as she curtsied.

“It would be an honor,” she quietly said to him, and his grin became wider. They walked to the middle of the dance floor, the shiny and enchanted ground swirling beneath them. Harry looked into her eyes intently, as their other hands met and he laid his hand on her waist. She smiled at him nervously, as soft and slow music began to play and they started to dance.

As they started moving to the music and moments passed, Harry was no longer aware of his surroundings. Thoughts of anything else at all seemed to slip from his mind, the sensation of her drowning, pure and honest eyes seeping into him. The world seemed to have faded away immediately, staring into her eyes and holding her close. The noise and their eyes trailing them were non-existent.

For once, as the many times before, he had fallen into another world. Where there was only he and Hermione. Nothing else mattered, nothing else could interfere. He saw nothing else but her, and that deep look in her eyes.

He was lost. In the feeling of being close to her again, of holding her, of the fact that she was letting him look into her eyes again.

And that was when he saw. That was when he knew.

He saw that same warmth, that same hope.

He saw Hermione. The same Hermione he had kissed, the same Hermione who had told him that she loved him. The same Hermione he had fitted that same hat on. The same Hermione that he loved.

He had not lost her.

He had never lost her.

“Hermione,” he whispered, his eyes pleading. “I miss you.” Suddenly, as if he had pushed Hermione out of the trance they had both been in, her eyes darkened, and she looked away. She did not respond, and Harry tightened his hold on her. “Hermione?”

She closed her eyes, and Harry felt his heart fall. He tried to swallow hard, but his throat was rough and hoarse.

“Harry,” she whispered. “I came here for you. Because we were to share this dance together. It was a plan. Nothing else, Harry.” Harry felt his heart split with a splintering shatter.

“I… that's not true,” he said to her, his voice severing. Her words chimed in his head, taunting him.

“There can't be anything else, Harry, you have to understand,” she said.

“I can't understand,” he said, his anger making its rise once again, “if you're not telling me the whole story.” Hermione kept her eyes down.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You know exactly what I'm bloody talking about, Hermione!” he said, his voice rising. He could see her wince.

“Harry, please,” she pleaded.

“Hermione, you're keeping me away for a reason. I know that. But you won't tell me why, or what that damn reason is. And I just want to understand! You beg me to understand, but you're not specifying exactly what!”

“Harry, stop it,” she said, looking up at him with an angry look in her eyes. Tears were starting to form in them. “Stop it right now. Don't do this. Don't ruin it.”

“Ruin what?” he suddenly shouted. Suddenly, he was sucked out of their world and that hypnotizing trance. He had crashed back into reality again, as he realized that they were no longer the only ones on the dance floor. They halted their dancing, as Hermione stepped away from his grasp. Everyone had also stopped their dancing also, looking over at them to see what had happened. Hermione had a scared and dark look in her eyes.

“Ruin what, Hermione?” he continued, livid. He was tired of her not explaining. He was tired of her excuses. He wanted the truth. The truth, and the whole truth. He wasn't going to settle for anything less this time.

He was not going to let her go until she explained to him the real reason they could not be together.

“What could I possibly ruin now? Everything's already been wrecked and destroyed!” he bellowed. “I just want you to explain to me, Hermione, your reason. The real reason. Why you're pushing me away and keeping me away. I'm tired of running after you and being left with mere excuses! Just answer me, and maybe I can move on! Maybe, if you just tell me the truth, I could have the chance, Hermione!” This time, even the music had stopped abruptly, as everyone gathered around them. There was silence, as Hermione looked up at him, terrified.

He could feel his rage and determination surge through him.

Suddenly, he saw the tears well up in her eyes.

“Harry, I can't do this,” she whispered, before she turned and started to run. She made her way through the gathering crowd, heading towards the doors leading outside into the freezing snow. He stood there, watching her walk away, feeling the memories rush back.

He ran after her.

He called after her and made his way through the crowd, weaving his way through the students. He burst through the glass doors, as the cold and snow hit him brutally. He could feel it prickle and sting his skin, as he walked out. He heard the soft swish as the doors closed behind him.

The ground was covered with several inches of snow, the midnight sky high above him. Snow rained down on him, became caught in his hair, and dusted his robes. He shivered, feeling the impact of the frosty chill and snow trace up his spine. He walked through the thick snow, feeling his robes become wet and his feet throb, the ice painfully numbing his flesh inside. He followed the fresh footsteps, trying to walk through quickly to get to her.

He passed the frosted trees and shivering bushes. His fingers seemed to have frozen completely, the cold biting his nose and piercing his skin. His whole body began to ache from the intense cold. He reached inside the pocket of his robe, and felt the wooden handle of his wand. But just as he had grasped it, he came into an opening. A courtyard he had never seen before. He heard muffled sobbing, and he immediately halted at his steps. He let go of his wand.

He walked forward silently, and that's when he saw her. There were statues of Goddesses and Angels surrounding the place, all covered in white, pure snow. He felt his heart slowly thaw, though the weather had not warmed in any way, watching her.

Her arms were rested on a pale, stone bench, as she laid her face in them. Her knees sank in the snow, and he could see her shaking gently. Inside her russet locks were tiny snowflakes that had gotten themselves caught. He swallowed hard, as he listened to the sound of her sobs and walked towards her.

A memory flashed in his mind. Standing outside her door, hearing her muffled cries.

He stopped when he was barely a foot away from her.

“Hermione,” he whispered. A ghostly mist appeared before his lips before vanishing. “I'm sorry. I didn't… I didn't mean to shout at you. I'm sorry,” his voice pleaded for her to look up at him. Just then, she raised her head and looked at him with hurt, wide eyes. She stood up, her face tear-streaked and her body quivering. More tears slid down her cheeks.

“You want to know my reason, Harry?” she cried, more light snow falling from the sky. “Do you want to know why I've always been pushing you away? Why I can't be with you? Why things can no longer happen between us? Why you can't love me?” Harry swallowed hard. He was shaking, as he clenched his fists.

Was this fear that seemed to be tearing him apart?

“Yes,” he said, “yes, I do.” She looked away, her lips trembling, trying to keep back her sobs. He stepped towards her, closing the space so that they were only centimeters from each other. His heart seemed to pounding twice as hard, as he waited for her explanation.

Finally, she looked at him. He saw fear, hurt and pain, and secrets that were bursting to escape. She took a deep, tight breath that shook her body.

She looked inside his eyes, more tears slipping down her face.

“You can't love me, Harry. You can't. I can't love you. I'm to be your downfall.”

Harry stared at her, not sure whether to believe her or not. He didn't understand, and he was hurting so much from it. He wanted to understand. But deep inside, there was a voice, ringing out, adding it all up.

He understood, and it was ten times much more painful than not understanding.

But he refused to believe it. That could not be it. He had to ask her. He had to make her explain further.

“What?” he demanded. “What do you mean?” Hermione closed her eyes tightly, as she sucked in another breath. She was in pain.

It was tearing her up so much inside.

“I'm to be your downfall, Harry,” she repeated, her voice shaky. “You're going to get killed… because of me.” Harry stared at her, his heartbeats suddenly ceasing. A roaring white noise bellowed in his ears, as he felt his anger slice through him.

But above that, he felt hurt. Pain.

It made sense.

He knew that it didn't all made sense, but he saw it. He finally understood. He saw it.

She was pushing him away because she loved him.

“How could you know that?” he shouted, livid. “How could you bloody know that?”

“Don't you understand?” she shouted. “You're going to get killed because of me! Because of me!”

“That's rubbish!” he yelled. “That's not true! That can't be bloody true! That's not possible!”

“It is! It's true, Harry! It's all true! Believe me, Harry, I spent so much time, trying to convince myself that it wasn't, that it was some trick someone was playing on me, but it's not! It's true, Harry! You're going to lose your life, because of me!”

“How could you know that, Hermione? How could you possibly know that?”

“I don't know!” she shouted, wiping her eyes harshly, although it was no use. “When you were gone, Harry… I saw it! I saw it! I saw the future! I saw you and me… and then you were gone! I saw you lose your life! I saw you get killed, Harry! And it's all because of me!”

“How did I get killed, Hermione?” he shouted. “How?”

“I don't know! But you came because of me, and you didn't leave, and then—“ she started to sob, and Harry could no longer understand her. He walked over to her and grabbed her shoulders. He could feel her shaking much more than he thought, as her body heaved with her sobs.

“Say it, Hermione!” he yelled. “Tell me what you saw! I need you to tell me what you saw!”

“It wasn't clear, Harry! It wasn't—“

“How could you be so sure it's real, Hermione? That it's the future?” his voice was vindictive and full of rage. He tried to talk to her and not shout, but he could not keep it back.

He was afraid. He was confused, but right now, he knew more than ever.

He did not know what to do.

“Because it happened, Harry!” she shouted, as she jerked away from him. “I saw it! I saw your battle with him, I saw him defeated! I saw you arrive at the house! I saw it all! And before any of it could ever happen, I saw you and me! I knew you were alive! I knew you were going to defeat him!” Harry looked at her, his eyes dangerous and piercing.

He felt useless, and his fury seemed to be swallowing him whole.

“Who was it?” Harry demanded, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to him. “Who sent it to you? Those visions? Was it Voldemort?”

“I don't know!” she cried out. “It wasn't clear, but it seemed as if whoever it was, was warning me! I don't know who it was!” She tried to pull away from him, struggling, but just then, she froze.

Harry watched her, a fearful look on his face, as she became still. She was not moving at all. She was not breathing. Her eyes had become the blackest black he had ever seen, and the tears had ceased its coming. Her eyes were wide and glassy.

“Hermione?” he whispered, framing her face with his hands. His voice was wavering with terror. “Hermione? What's happening?”

Suddenly, she gasped, as she coughed and wheezed for air. Harry held her close to him, but she was pushing him away again. Her face was pale, white with horror. Her wide brown eyes were filled with so much terror, and she opened her mouth, quaking.

“It's happening,” she whispered, her voice soft from so much fright. Just then, she faced Harry, grabbing his hand. Harry looked down at her trembling fingers and pale hands. She was cold.

“It's happening!” she cried to him. “Harry, if you love me, you'll leave. Leave, right at this moment. Run, please, Harry,” she begged him.

“What?” he asked her, his voice quiet from shock. “What's happening?”

“Leave, Harry!” she screamed, pushing him away. “Leave! Run away from here! Please, Harry, go! Go!” He grabbed her wrist again, and squeezed tight.

“No,” he said, in a strained and hard voice. “I'm not going to leave.”

“You must!” she screamed. “You have to, Harry, please! Please! Go if you love me! If anything we ever had mattered to you! Go now! Before it's too late!” But as she pushed him, struggling to make him go, he stood his ground. She pounded her fists against him, but he caught both of her wrists and held them. She, too weak against him, fell against him, sobbing. He held her to him, his arms wrapped around her tight.

He closed his eyes, feeling her scent invade his senses.

“Harry,” he heard her sob. “Harry… Oh my God, I love you, Harry… I love you so much… Please leave… Please… Leave me…” He held her tighter.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered. “I love you. I can't leave you.” And she cried harder.

Just then, Harry heard another voice. His eyes bolted open, as he felt Hermione also turn up her head. Harry watched, as a white, transparent and ghostly dome begin to surround them. Hermione's face filled with terror.

“It's happening,” she whispered again. “It's happening.”

Harry held her protectively against him, as a dark figure walked out of the looming shadows and snow. He felt his own fear stick their jagged and sharp teeth into him and his heart.

Its face was covered with a hood, dressed in a black cloak. Harry felt bitterness surround him, stinging his skin, that he was certain the cold could not ever bring.

It was not from the cold or snow, no…

It made his body feel weak and his lungs crumble.

It was evil.

Just then, the figure raised his hands and slowly pushed back its hood. Hermione and Harry gasped at the boy standing in front of them. Confusion, anger, and suspicion rose in him.

“Matthew?” Harry said, his voice full of shock. Across Matthew's face, a sinister and bone-chilling smile slowly spread. In his eyes was a look that made Harry press Hermione against him tighter.

“Fancy seeing you two here,” Matthew said, his voice joyful but in a frightening tone. He was smiling at them like a madman on a killing spree. Suddenly, Matthew raised his pale hand to his sleeve.

“Say… Potter? Didn't you say that all the Death Eaters were either killed or sent to Azkaban?” Harry stared at him, eyes wide with horror. He could feel Hermione shaking violently inside his arms, sobbing.

She had seen this.

She had known.

Matthew raised his sleeve, as he grinned at them evilly.

“It seems to me that you've missed one.”

And that's when he saw it. There, on Matthew's pale and exposed forearm, was a skull with a serpent slipping out of the mouth like a tongue.

Matthew's grin became wider, as his dark eyes glittered with wickedness.

There, on his arm, was the Dark Mark.

10. Crimson

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: don't own HP characters except Matthew, and if anyone steals this plot—which is all mine, by the way—I will send you a virus. Got that?

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Sorry about the threatening Disclaimer. Haha. That was supposed to make you laugh; but that doesn't mean it's not true, eh?

Okay, so Harry and Matthew duke it out! I would like to thank all of the wonderful people who have managed to stick along, after all the angst and the stomping on our poor Harry. This chapter, not a very pleasant one, but it'll explain most of your questions. Like, how did Matthew get into Hogwarts, if he was a Death Eater? Did Dumbledore know? Did Matthew know all along that Voldemort (if he was supposedly the one to be sending those visions) was sending them?

And… what is going to happen to our beloved Harry and Hermione?

This chapter will be the revealing of the truths about Matthew, and the next, about everything else. Many, many thanks to the gorgeous reviewers out there! And to romulus lupin, you are fantastic! From your one review, whew! Thank you for going out of your way to describe it all to me.

And sorry about the cliffhanger. I hate cliffhangers too, but somehow… Its quite different when it's your story.

Read on!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Crimson

Harry's heartbeats died inside of him, as a bellowing started in his ears. His lungs seemed to have stopped functioning, staring at the boy standing before them.

The Death Eater.

Matthew's smile seemed to be plastered to his face, as laughter rang out from his twisted grin, his head thrown back.

“What's the matter, Potter?” he laughed. “Didn't know, did you? Did the old, wretched, coot of a Headmaster, not tell you?” he spat. Harry's eyes widened.

Stinging thoughts and shrieking questions coursed through his mind, as he shook slightly.

“That's right,” Matthew said, sneering. “He knew. That old bastard knew, all right!” Harry gritted his teeth from the shock, anger and hate stirring inside him. He held Hermione tighter to him.

“You're lying!” Harry shouted. “You're lying!”

“Oh really, Potter?” he snapped. “You know Death Eaters can't just walk into Hogwarts. Dumbledore still has the spells and enchantment wards up since the battle. He has to disable them to let a Death Eater in. And that's just what he did,” he laughed. “That bloody bastard gave me the perfect opportunity to get close enough to Harry Potter to kill him!” His laughter taunted Harry, ringing in his ears.

“And why,” Matthew said, coming closer to them, “you ask, would the old man let a Death Eater into Hogwarts, near the precious Harry Potter?” he said, his voice full of malice and revulsion. “Because he is too trusting!” he shouted, laughing maniacally. “That bloody old man, actually believed that I was going to really help Harry Potter defeat Voldemort without some kind of prize of the glory and power! All of you, full of trust and purity, seeing inside people the good… Oh, the good! It makes me sick!” he spat. “It makes me bloody sick! You, high and mighty, thinking we owe it all to you!” Just then, he drew out his wand so quickly that Harry's heart jumped from the action.

Matthew's black eyes glittered with wickedness, his mouth curled into a sneer. Just then, Harry froze in horror as he watched Matthew's eyes move from him… to Hermione. Matthew's face contorted into a nasty smile.

“You and your bloody girlfriend,” he said, spitefully. “Harry Potter and Hermione Granger!” his voice exploded. “It's all in the papers!” he said, shaking his wand at them, as if insane. “Every single day… Harry Potter and his true love! Harry Potter and his filthy, disgusting, wretched, Mudblood whore!” Harry felt something rapidly break and snap inside of him, as he felt his rage rival Matthew's. He could feel Hermione shaking even more against him, whimpering. Harry gritted his teeth.

“Don't you dare,” he said, dangerously, his green eyes dark and hateful, “speak about Hermione. Don't you dare.” Matthew's face warped into an amused smile.

“Is Harry Potter defending his little Mudblood girlfriend? After all she did to you? Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said, shaking his head. “You go so low, Potter. Even after she broke your heart and left you to wallow in the dump? Oh, very low.” Harry's grip tightened, icy anger coursing through his veins.

“Shut up, Matthew,” he hissed. “You shut your flithy mouth.” Matthew raised an eyebrow at him, still pointing his wand at their faces. He glanced down at Hermione, and his smile widened.

“Careful, Potter,” he threatened lowly. “You don't want anything to happen to your little wench, now, do we? Always said she was too stubborn for her own damn good… Maybe we ought to soften her, eh? Have a little fun… Maybe we ought to show her the true meaning of pain and torture…” Matthew licked his lips, as Harry's eyes burned with such fury. “I always knew Mudbloods were good screamers, you know.”

“What do you want?” Harry shouted. “What do you want from me?” Matthew let out another sickening and wicked laugh. His eyes were wide, like a madman.

“What do I want?” he asked, disbelievingly. “What do I want? You're asking me what the hell I want?” he shouted, stepping closer to them. Harry quickly moved Hermione so that she was behind him. “I want revenge, Potter!” he shouted, his voice so loud that it seemed to cut through all the ice and snow. “I want revenge for my father's death! Because of you! You killed him! You killed him!” he shrieked, his hand and wand trembling. “I want power! Glory! I want to finally show the whole bloody Wizarding World that Harry bloody Potter is not worthy to be a Hero! And most of all,” he jabbed Harry in the chest with his wand, “I want you dead. I want you to suffer! I want you murdered, killed, tortured into seeing your loved ones die before your very eyes!” Just then, before Harry could react, Matthew grabbed Hermione from behind him and dragged her to him. Harry stood, frozen with fear and shock. He looked up at Matthew, as he walked back and farther away from Harry.

“Hermione!” he shouted, as he started to run after them. She was screaming, struggling and pounding her fists against Matthew, but it was no use. He held her tightly by the arm, as he dragged her through the snow. “Hermione!” he yelled again, as he slipped and landed on the snow. He got up and started to run, once again. “Hermione! Get your hands off of her, you bastard!” Harry shouted, but before he could reach her, Matthew's wand was drawn again. He pointed it squarely at his chest, a hateful and amused look in his eyes, before he quickly pointed it at Hermione. He stabbed it into the skin of her pale neck, as she was breathing hard, still and unmoving from fear.

“No!” Harry shouted, walking towards them. “No! Don't you dare—“

“I will!” Matthew said, looking at him dangerously, still clutching Hermione tightly. “I will! Don't think for a bloody second that I won't! Oh,” he laughed insanely, “what I wouldn't give to see Harry Potter's face as his little Mudblood gets murdered!” His evil and terrible laugh rang in Harry's eyes, as Harry looked at him, his anger fueled by the feeling of helplessness.

Suddenly, Matthew thrust Hermione onto the ground, as Harry started to run to her, but then grasped her tightly and brutally by her hair before Hermione could crawl off or Harry could save her. She screamed, as Matthew held on tight.

“That's right, Mudblood. Think you were going to escape, did you? No, you're going to die here, along with your little boyfriend,” he hissed. Harry stiffened, shaking with rage. Suddenly, Matthew started walking onward, dragging Hermione by her hair. She shrieked from pain as he tugged and tugged harder, and Harry ran after them.

“Hermione!” he yelled. “Hermione! Matthew, get your hands off of her, you bloody—“ Just then, he slipped again. He fell to the floor with a thud, leaving him gasping as it knocked his breath out of him. “Hermione!” he cried hoarsely. “Hermione! No! No!”

He heard the evil cackles of Matthew, as Hermione's screams pierced through the night.

“Come and get her, Potter! Come and get your little whore! Potter!” Harry pounded his fists against the snow, as he struggled to get up. His body was racked with ice-cold water that had melted from the snow, as he shook violently. His fingers were numb, his breaths ragged and tight. But as he stood up, he saw his wand, laid out in the snow; it had fallen out from his pocket. He grabbed it hastily with his frozen fingers, as he ran after them.

“Saxificus Telum!” he shouted, as he pointed his wand straight at Matthew's turned back. A glowing, white beam shot out of his wand, as it rushed at towards Matthew rapidly. But before it could reach him, Matthew had drawn his wand again.

“Obsidium Ancile!” he shouted, and a transparent shield formed in front of him, withstanding and sending Harry's spell off. Harry was breathing hard, as he raised his wand yet again, as Matthew also had his wand pointed at him.

“Ooh, Dangerous spell, Potter,” he sneered. “Very dangerous indeed. Who taught you that? There's no way that Hogwarts could've taught you such a lethal spell. This bloody school only teaches the weak, feeble, and mediocre spells and attacks.” Harry gritted his teeth.

“Voldemort was raised in this school,” Harry said lowly. “Are you calling him feeble and mediocre?” To Harry's surprise, Matthew laughed. His laughter rang through the snow roughly, pure impiety dripping from it.

“Voldemort?” he asked, still laughing. “Do you really think I give a damn about that bloody fool?” he laughed harder, as he tugged on Hermione's hair again, and Harry winced from her screams. “Say what you want, Potter! Say what you want! I don't care! Voldemort was a bastard who waited far too long, only to be greeted with his death! A fool! His power is useless! His power will be nothing compared to mine when I kill you! Then, people will see, Mudbloods and Purebloods, both worlds, that I am the true and worthy Dark Lord! I will be the Dark Lord Voldemort never was or could be!” Suddenly, Matthew shouted a spell at him, sending Harry to fly off backwards, caught off guard.

“Confringo Scelestus!” A jet of crimson sparks hit Harry square in the chest, as he landed on the snow with a hard impact. His lungs felt as if they had been crushed, as he wheezed and gasped for air, his body shaking as the affects of the spells tingled through his body. He gritted his teeth as he felt his bones break, his veins warp, and his flesh burn.

“Harry!” he heard Hermione shriek. “Harry! No! Harry!” But then he heard her screams get farther and farther away, as his vision started to blur and he could no longer make them out. He could feel the icy snow underneath him, soaking into his robes and attaching itself to his skin. He blinked furiously, trying to ignore the pain in his body, as he tried to get up on his feet.

“Hermione!” he shouted. “Hermione!” He swayed on his feet as he felt flares of pain rocket through his body and limbs. He ran blindly after them, following her screams. “Hermione!”

A few moments later, his sight started to reconstruct, as he could finally see Matthew and Hermione not too far from him. Harry ran faster, hearing her swear at Matthew and scream.

“You— Get your hand off of me!” she shrieked, as Matthew started to grasp her leg. “Get your bloody hands off of me, you damn bastard!”

“You shut your little filthy mouth, you wench!” Matthew shouted at her, as he grabbed her wand and kicked her in the gut. Harry felt his heart become heavier, his rage and fear fight and collide, as he tried to run faster in the snow. He heard Hermione's coughs and wheezes, as she clutched her side. Hermione was face down in the snow, as Harry finally reached them.

He pointed his wand at Matthew, still shaking from the intoxicating mixture of bitter cold and raw fury.

“Ferinus Iumentum!” he shouted, and a bright, ghostly beast shot from his wand, colored the red of fresh blood from a battle. He could hear the deafening roar as it struck Matthew and he staggered back, falling backwards into the snow. He was paler than before, his eyes wide and red from the spell. He was shaking violently, clutching his heart.

But as Harry began to run to Hermione, Matthew had drawn his wand.

“Quiritatio Aculeus!” he shouted shakily and full of anger, his voice rough and severing. And before Harry could block his spell, a piercing and painful screeching began to start in his ears. He gritted his teeth, as he tried to get to Hermione, but soon, the high-pitched screeching built up in his ears and deafened the rest of his senses. He fell to his knees, covering his ears and his eyes closed tightly. It rang through his mind, sharp and jagged, ripping through his thoughts and drinking his energy. He doubled over, grinding his teeth from the high, excruciating, screaming.

He tried to focus, as he tried once again to open his eyes, but an agonizing pain sliced through his head. The trill shrieks continued, his body crumbling into the snow.

But mustering all the strength he had inside of him, he opened his eyes and lowered his wand hand from his ears. He pointed it at Matthew, trembling violently.

“Intercido!” he shouted, and suddenly, the ear-piercing screeching stopped. Harry, feeling his body weak and his head heavy, got up and started to run once again.

Matthew was waiting for him, and Harry's heart began to fill with dread and horror as he saw Hermione beside him. She was on the floor, with black ropes tied and wrapped around her. Harry's eyes widened as he came closer.

The ropes slithered around her… Suddenly, he saw something rise up. Harry halted. It was a snake. The serpent's head was looking at him evilly; it's crimson eyes glittering and glaring at him. It's scarlet tongue flicked out at him, as it squeezed around Hermione tighter, and she sucked in her breath sharply. Harry could see her body shake as she sobbed silently.

Harry's eyes flashed as he looked back up at Matthew, who was smiling at him scornfully. His fists clenched, his fingers digging into the skin of his palm.

“It's game over, Potter,” he said dangerously. “You've lost. I've got your little Mudblood girlfriend, and there's nothing you can do now.” Harry pointed his wand at the snake wrapped around Hermione, as it climbed and slithered, wrapping itself around her neck.

“Are you planning to kill it?” he said, amused. “Don't waste your time. Only I can command it. Don't be foolish. If you try to kill it, you'll only end up missing and killing your poor sweetheart.” Harry's heart fell, as he felt as if he had been dropped and trapped in a frozen lake. He did not lower his wand. “You won't listen? Fine. I won't insist. In fact, I would just love to see Harry Potter kill his own love. I was looking forward to doing it myself, really, but I think I'm going to enjoy this much, much more.” A horrible smile was drawn across his face. Harry could hear Matthew's voice inside his head, teasing, taunting him.

Harry pointed it at Matthew. His green eyes were dark with rage.

“You let her go,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Let her go.”

“And why,” Matthew's sinister smile broadened, “why on earth would I do that?” Matthew's wand was also in his hand, but he was not pointing it at Harry. He was playing with it, swinging his wrist and tapping the point like it was a dagger.

“Because it's me you want,” Harry said. “It's me you want. Not her. You want me dead, remember? Let her go, and I'll come to you. Disarmed. Let her free, and I'll let you kill me.” There was no false tone in his voice, as he looked at Matthew. Matthew's smile did not fade, as his eyes sparkled with disturbing pleasure.

“You're right,” Matthew said, looking at Hermione. “I do want you dead, Potter.”

“No! No, Harry!” Hermione screamed, trying to struggle free from the binding snake. “No! Don't do this! No!” Harry didn't look at Hermione as he kept his gaze steady on Matthew. He swallowed hard.

“Well?” Harry asked. “Will you let her go?”

“Well… It seems to me that the Mudblood disagrees…” Matthew watched, wickedly pleased, as Hermione continued to struggle and scream.

“No!” Harry shouted. He inhaled a sharp breath. “Don't listen to her. It's me you want. Not her. I'll let you kill me, if you just let her go.” Hermione's eyes widened from his words, as she tried harder, tears spilling down her cheeks. The snake hissed at her, as it tightened around her, disallowing her to breath as it tightened around her neck, strangling her. Harry kept his gaze strong and his mind from sinking, but inside, his heart was splitting and breaking.

He had to save her.

He had to.

Whatever it took, he would do it. He couldn't allow this.

He couldn't let it happen all over again.

“Aww,” Matthew said, scornfully. “Look Potter… Look how she thrashes about… Just look at her… Look at how she cries and screams her little throat out for you… Oh, look… best you'd tell her to stop, Potter… that snake's going to wring her neck the more she struggles…” Harry closed his eyes for a moment, as he tried to keep his eyes from looking her way.

He was going to trick him. Matthew was going to trick him, he knew it.

He opened his eyes, but kept them on Matthew, who was smiling sickeningly down at Hermione.

“Stop it, Hermione,” he said, his voice hard and severing. His throat was hot and rough, painful to speak and swallow. It felt as if it was crushed and blocked. “Stop it,” he said harshly. “I'm trying to save you.” But she kept fighting and resisting. He could hear her muffled yells and gasps. Matthew's evil cackles chimed in his mind, ringing and ringing…

Harry could feel his lungs weaken, as he felt tears sting in his eyes. Though he kept his gaze away from her, he could still see it… He could still see her…

She was suffering. She was suffering.

She was suffering because she loved him.

Without thinking, Harry's eyes finally flickered over to her. He was glaring at her, but it was a pleading glare. He could feel his eyes become glassy; his throat feeling as if there were sticks and sharp needles jabbed into him.

“Stop it!” he shouted at her. “Stop it, Hermione! Don't do this! Stop resisting! Stop fighting!” She was sobbing, her tear-streaked face and russet hair filled with scattered and trapped snowflakes. She was crying hard, as her resistance began to weaken. The snake hissed at her, but she didn't seem to notice, as her body crumpled on her knees, down to the freezing snow. Harry looked back up at Matthew, who was maliciously grinning with pride.

“Well done, Potter,” he said. “Very well done.”

“Let her go,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “You said you would let her go.”

“Did I?” he gasped. “Did I really say I would let her go?” he mocked. Harry, fed up with the child's play, shouted a spell at him. A blue beam shot out of his wand, as Matthew easily blocked it.

Harry was breathless from rage. “You let her go! Let her go!” he shouted, hoarsely. He came forward; his wand still pointed right at him. “Let her go, you bastard!” Harry shouted another spell, as Matthew enabled another shield. Harry continued to near him, yelling more and more spells, while each and every time, Matthew created a barrier.

But as Harry was only a foot away from him, he could see the irritation and annoyance gleam in his black eyes.

“You're starting to bloody infuriate me, Potter,” he hissed, as Harry shot another spell and Matthew blocked it.

“I don't care!” he yelled. “I don't care! You let her go right this instant! Ferinus Iumentum!” the same scarlet beast rocketed out of his wand, as Matthew also shouted out a spell.

“Vipera Vermeninis!” he bellowed, as a bright and eerie green serpent injected out of his wand, crashing and colliding with Harry's beast. The two animals fought, roaring and screeching, entwining and biting. Just then, Harry watched as his beast howled as the serpent sank its fangs into him. The serpent wrapped itself around it, hissing and screeching, stabbing it with its fangs, before the beast dissolved into thin air. Harry watched in horror as the serpent rushed at him.

He heard screaming, a familiar screaming, as he felt it pass through him, knocking his breath out, and feel its icy but burning strength and skin as it wrapped around him. Harry shouted as he felt the serpent's jagged fangs sink into his neck, feeling the acid and venom seep into him and course through his veins. It burned with frosty prickling teeth, running through his body and shredding his flesh. He crumpled to the ground as the serpent slowly untangled from him and disappeared.

His heart was hammering in his ears, screams and thunderous bellowing in his ears. His pulse seemed to go rapidly too fast, his skin being clawed off and ripped apart. There were white-hot daggers stuck, sunken into his neck, poison and venomous fluid spreading through him. He was cold. Unmoving and so freezing cold.

He heard screaming. Hermione. She was screaming.

“Harry! No! Harry! Harry!” He could feel the bitter snow beneath him, his robes soaked and damp from sweat and the melted snow. His eyes were open, but his world was dimming. There was howling… whispers… taunts… laughter…

Wicked laughter cutting into the frosted and still midnight sky.

He swallowed hard, his mouth tasting bitter and bile. He blinked furiously, laying his hands hard against the ground, pressing, trying to get back on his feet.

He had to keep going.

He had to save her.

He had to get through this and get to her.

He gasped for air, still feeling the shooting pains and stinging soaring up through him. He could feel the ice crush against his hands, his fingers and palms painfully numb and frozen.

His lungs were burning. The air was toxic.

He had to breathe.

“Hermione,” he cried out, roughly and his voice broken. Speaking alone sliced through him like a sword slitting his throat and lungs. He could hear her crying out for him, calling his name, and Matthew's evil laughter.

His vision started to clear, as he blinked and blinked furiously. Finally, he saw two figures. One tall, the other short. The roaring in his ears started to fade, but the pain did not calm. He tried to ignore it as he stood. His wand was in his hand, as he pointed it and his vision started to construct with detail.

Then he saw. Matthew was laughing at him. Hermione was crying and screaming. She was fighting again, resisting, and the snake was going to suffocate her. The voices in his heart rang out loudly, and that's what kept him going. It tuned out all the pain, as he faced Matthew. Harry could feel cold sweat, and blood start to form in his mouth.

“Let her go,” he said, his voice raspy and shaky. “Let her go. She's had enough.”

“No,” Matthew sneered. “I don't think I will. She deserves to die. And I think you should see her, watch her until you want to gouge your eyes out, watch her until you're begging on your knees for me to stop and kill you too.” He pointed his wand at Hermione, his tone evil and malicious. “Say goodbye, Potter. Your little Mudblood's going to burn in hell like the rest of them.”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, his voice full of rage and hate. But, Matthew, knowing Harry's immediate actions, pointed his wand to his direction.

“Arma Ancile!” Matthew shouted, and a translucent, ghostly dome surrounded him and Hermione. Harry's attempt to disarm him bounced off and vanished, his spell seeming feeble and weak as it crashed and dissolved from the shield.

“It's no use, Potter,” Matthew derided. “Try all you want. Your little Mudblood wench is going to die, and you can't save her. But first,” his eyes gleamed as his mouth turned up into a terrible smile. “She's going to suffer. She's going to suffer, and she's going to scream her pretty little head off. You're going to see it before your eyes Potter, all of it. You're going to fight, try to interfere, but you won't. She's going to die, but she's going to experience the pain. She's going to know how it feels, and you're going to know how it feels to watch someone you love die before your very eyes. Here's to revenge, Potter,” he pointed his wand at Hermione. “And don't forget,” he smiled, “you're next.”

“No!” he yelled, as he tried to run to her. But the shield still shimmered as it covered them, as he ran into it and he was pushed back into the snow. “No! No! Hermione!” he drew out his wand.

“Dimico!” he shouted, as a vibrant violet ray shot out of his wand and to the shield. He watched as the shield sucked in the ray and it glowed even brighter. “Dimico!” Harry shouted again, and the same happened. The shield glowed and shimmered brighter.

The snake uncoiled around Hermione, as she fell to the ground, limp and gasping. Her face was void of color, her eyes wide with terror and shock. The snake disappeared as it was sucked back into Matthew's wand. Matthew looked down on her, as Harry tried to run into the shield again.

He found himself lying back against the snow, his head pounding and his fingers buzzing with shocks of electricity.

He watched, in horror and pain, as Matthew pointed his wand right at the limp and paralyzed Hermione.

“Crucio,” he heard Matthew say, silkily. Hermione shrieked, her shrilly screams piercing through Harry's nerves and thoughts, through his strength and hope. Her body was shaking violently as she thrashed about, her eyes wide with excruciating pain.

“That's right, Mudblood!” Matthew shouted. “Scream! Scream! No one can hear you now! Your little Hero can't save you now!”

Harry got back on his feet, his heartbeats hammering and bellowing. He grabbed his wand from where it had fallen and faced the shield.

“Ardesco!” Harry shouted, as a beam of fire jetted out. “Ardesco!” The flames did not weaken or cut through the shield, as it merely ate the spells and energy and glowed even brighter than before.

Hermione had stopped shaking, her face white and pallid, her curls sticking to her face from sweat. She was breathing hard, her body heaving with every painful breath. She was wilted and unmoving. Her brown eyes were dark and glassy. Matthew was looking at Harry, smiling more widely than before.

“Don't waste your precious time, Potter,” he sneered. “You can't get through the shield. Every spell you send its way, it eats the energy and only uses it to become stronger. Don't be stubborn. Don't you want to see your little dirty blooded whore before she dies?” Harry ignored him, as he shot another spell.

“Ignis Morsus!” The spell did nothing but make the barrier glow brighter and become more solid. Matthew laughed, as he turned back to Hermione.

“Crucio!” Hermione's body lashed out and quaked. Her screams were louder than before, her skin becoming paler and paler. Harry watched, tears stinging his eyes and his throat burning and stinging, vast stones lodged in between so that he could not swallow down.

He felt useless and helpless.

Like before. He had almost let her die, before.

He had sworn never to let it happen, ever again.

But he… he didn't know what to do. He did not know what to do. Everything, every spell, every single thing he knew… It was useless. Completely useless.

He could not help her.

He could not save her.

“No!” he shouted, grabbing a fistful of snow as he fell to his knees. “No! No! Hermione! No! Stop!” His vision became blurry, his throat still not letting him take steady breaths. “No! No! Let her go!” He could see her, her pained but expressionless face, her body being racked with the most raw and agonizing pain imaginable…

Harry's head was bowed, on his knees and the snow and cold wind blowing. He could hear her screaming… Her screaming… He could feel the sharp hint of tears, the pain of losing her… Another person he loved, another person he swore to protect.

He grasped the snow as he lowered his head, gasping. Her shrill and loud screams penetrated through him, stabbing his heart and strangling his throat. His mind and lungs were crumbling slowly.

His memories flashed through his mind, of her laughing, of her smile, of her deep, brown eyes… Of her inside his arms, dancing, dressed in her deep ruby dress robes and looking so beautiful…

Harry got up on his legs, shaking. He wiped his eyes hastily, flashing with anger. His chest felt tightly bound, chaining him down, but he stood and clenched his wand.

“Dimico!” he bellowed, as a strong and thick bright purple ray sparked out. “Dimico!” The shield swirled with colors and shimmered, as the spells' energies were sucked out and divided in the shield. Now it shone silver, like moonlight in the dark sky.

He saw, inside the transparent shield, Hermione's lifeless body. He did not know if his mind was telling him what to expect, playing it before his eyes, but the pain was too real. He felt his heart being torn from inside out, eaten with a jagged and toothed jaw, slashed and incised. He felt as if something, a beast of great burden, wickedness and evil, was devouring him from inside out, clawing at his organs and biting into his veins. His blood ran cold, his eyes wide and his body shaking tremendously.

Fear… Fear was a monster. But Harry did not know if that was the culprit for the pain. He was seeing her, right before his eyes, being killed and tortured until she was weak and dead. He was hearing her screams, feeling the tears and the hurt graze him.

He saw her dead and lifeless face.

It would haunt him forever, even if he was to die this very day.

Her screaming had disappeared as he looked up. Everything seemed to be silent and voiceless, as he watched what happened next. He could not even hear his own anguished screaming and yelling.

He watched Matthew, his evil lips mouthing a curse, the simple words for instant murder. Immediate death, with pain that was not ever describable in man's or Wizard's words. God himself could not have created such a thing.

It was the devil. It was dark, evil, purest evil and wickedness on the earth.

They say it was the devil's laughter, his only words.

It polluted and strangled the heart and mind, stabbing and eating the body whole. It played your darkest fears before your eyes. Pain could not describe the feeling.

“Avada Kedavra,” he saw Matthew's lips say. He saw the flash of green light. He saw Hermione's face, etched with the deepest pain and terror, her eyes wide. Her mouth was open, screaming her last scream.

Harry had started on his feet again, his wand drawn, but he was too late.

He watched, as her shrieks and screams halted into a dead silence. Her body was limp on the snow-covered ground. There was no color, life drained from her whole body.

Her eyes were open, and large, but they were not the melting warm brown that he had gotten so used to, remembered and loved.

They were the blackest black. Bottomless and endless. The color surpassed midnight.

Her lips were parted, her whole face frozen in the expression of seeing Death before her.

He was too late.

She was dead.

He watched as Matthew smiled wickedly down at her, and then turned to Harry with a look of horrible pleasure and pride on his face. Harry's rage burned and flared up inside him, as he pointed his wand at him. The shield had dissolved, returning back to Matthew's wand. His green eyes flashed with a darkness and hatred that he finally felt break through him.

This was it.

He was finally ready to kill.

“Acerbitas Incendium!” he shouted. Dark sparks and jets flew out of Harry's wand all at once, and Matthew didn't have the time to counter.

The spell hit him, as he screamed shrilly, arching his back and sinking to his knees. Harry watched, with an evil smile playing across his lips, as midnight colored fire began to blaze from inside Matthew. He could feel his heart rejoice from hearing Matthew's screams and looks of pain from his face.

Suddenly, he heard laughter. Harry turned around immediately in the direction of the noise, surprise in his eyes as he saw Matthew standing before him, laughing. His wand was drawn, still laughing easily.

“You fool, Potter!” he shouted. “Do you really think you can kill me?”

“Acerbitas Incendium!” Harry shouted again, but Matthew disappeared and the spell hit a statue, sending a splintering and loud crack through the yard.

“Oh, Potter?” he heard Matthew say, in a taunting singsong voice. Harry turned, but before he realized what was happening, Matthew had disarmed him. Harry watched in horror and vehemence as his wand flew behind Matthew.

Harry clenched his fists, his face drawn with anger and hatred.

Matthew was grinning with malice written all over his pale face. His wand was pointed right at Harry, positioned to shoot at his heart.

“Let me tell you a story, Potter,” Matthew smirked. “I'm sure you have questions, and it'd be such a shame if I let you die without answers.”

“I don't need to hear anymore words from your filthy mouth and forked tongue,” Harry hissed. Matthew raised an eyebrow, looking at him darkly.

`So you don't want to know why the bastard let me in Hogwarts? You don't want to know how I got away with being in the Order and a Death Eater? Surely you know a Death Eater cannot pass without the wretched coot knowing so.” Harry stayed silent, his curiosity trying to dominate over his rage. Matthew's smile widened. “I thought so.”

“My father was a Death Eater,” Matthew said, as he circled Harry. Harry kept his eyes on him, following him as he moved. “He was part of the Order, but he was a Death Eater. He was a spy, spying on Lord Voldemort and spying for Dumbledore. That went on, until he was killed.” Matthew's eyes glittered and dimmed at Harry, his smile fading. “The Order no longer had a spy on Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and they knew that they would be useless and weak if they did not have an eye on their activities, or their plans on killing Harry Potter.” Matthew halted, glaring at Harry. “So they chose me. They chose me, the son of a Death Eater spy, to become a Death Eater as well. To keep track of all the Dark Lord's plans and killings. I was to go to their meetings and raids, and then report back and snitch their plans.”

Harry stared at him, realization dawning inside.

Matthew started to circle around him again, his face twisted into a scowl. “But as they pushed me into those meetings, and trusted me to confide in them our activities and plans… They began to ignore me. All they wanted was the information, which I had. They did not see that I slowly became drawn into the Dark Lord's power and that I began to enjoy the killings… I murdered,” Matthew hissed, “Mudbloods and Muggles. And I loved it, with every fiber of my being. I loved tearing their bodies apart internally and hearing them scream their poor little hearts out. I slowly became a true Death Eater, but pitiful old man and the others were too blind to notice.”

Matthew halted again, peering at him with his eyes narrowed from hate and revulsion.

“And then you came. Bloody Harry Potter. The Hero. The one to save us all from Lord Voldemort,” he said scornfully. “But then, I started to see how I could possibly gain from being on both sides,” he grinned evilly. “I knew Voldemort was never a good enough Dark Lord. He was weak and he was too patient. He was blind at opportunities laid out right in front of him. I knew we deserved someone better, someone who could make both the Wizarding World and Non-Wizarding World fear him and cower. Someone,” his eyes gleamed with wickedness, “like me. So I decided to overthrow him. He was not worthy to be our Dark Lord. I knew just how to do it without anyone suspecting a thing. I made a plan,” he started to circle him once again. “A plan to help you kill him and a plan to kill you afterwards.”

“But, fool that I was, “ Matthew spat, “Voldemort began to have suspicions. He commanded one of my fellow Death Eaters to spy on me, and found out everything. I was to be killed, so I hid in the house. I told Dumbledore and he told me that my attendance would be too risky at the battle. So I got stuck,” Matthew smiled, “with your little Mudblood girlfriend, Hermione Granger. I had to tend after the poor girl, since you left her behind.” Harry winced inwardly, but kept his gaze unwavering and firm. “Little did I know that Voldemort knew I was in hiding, and where. But one day, whilst I had come with Dumbledore and his missions, the Death Eaters snatched me and led me back to the Dark Lord. He said that he was to kill me right at that moment, and would not hesitate, but he would spare me if I proved to him that my loyalty was, in fact, true. He knew that your little dirty-blooded girlfriend was also in the house, and he was to try and lure her out and use her to his advantage,” Matthew halted. “Apparently, Molly trusted me well enough to let me know where the key was. I had heard Dumbledore's precise instructions to open the portal, and did it while she was busy making supper and chatting with the other members. I opened the portal and directed it straight to her, and he was free to talk and send her visions. But unfortunately and fortunately, his power was getting weaker as he was training and as his eye was on you, and instead of killing her or luring her out, his powers leaked, and somehow, he sent her a premonition of what was to happen.” Matthew smiled. “He knew he was to be defeated long before, because he had no advantage. He knew that without an advantage, such as your little Mudblood whore, you would defeat him too easily, even if he had refused to believe it and buried it deep somewhere and covered it with determination and anticipation. He knew he was to be defeated. The contact he had with her failed, and he was forced but to go on to battle, with his reckless pride and stupidity,” he spat viciously. “But he also knew that I would be here, to avenge his death and kill you.” Matthew came closer with his wand, as Harry tried to back away.

“I don't give a bloody damn about Voldemort,” he hissed. “I wanted him dead, and I'm not going to avenge his death just because his bloody foolishness and idiocy got in the way of victory. I'm going to kill you because you killed my father. I'm going to kill you,” Matthew said lowly, “because I've been waiting my whole life to do so. And I'm tired of waiting,” he said. His black eyes gleamed with dark hunger and impatience. “Crucio!”

Harry screamed as he was struck, immense and stinging pain racked his whole body. He felt as if his bones were being splintered, broken and crushed deep inside him, with bare hands. Shooting flashes and flares rocketed through his mind, making him shout in agony. He felt as if his skin was being shredded off, as if he was being skinned alive. His heart was hammering so fast and hard that he felt it was going to explode. Acid poured down his lungs, eating and eating him from inside out. He could feel a bitter liquid travel up his throat, as he fell down to his knees and spit out a red fluid. His body was shaking brutally, his lungs poisoned and crumbling rapidly. Icy fire crawled up inside his veins and stinging needles pierced through him.

His vision was dark, though his eyes were open and wide from the pain. He heard laughing beside his screams, Matthew's words chiming inside his head.

“Scream!” he shouted. “Scream! I want to hear you scream your until your little head explodes! No one can hear you now! No one's going to save you! You're going to die, just like your bloody parents and your little girlfriend! Scream, Potter! Make this worthwhile!”

Harry was pleading for Dumbledore or Remus to come and rescue him. He prayed for help. But then, a memory flashed before his eyes.

That white, ghostly, transparent dome that he and Hermione had seen cover the whole area before Matthew had stepped out… He recognized it. It was a sound shield. That's why no one was coming. That's why no one had come running out to help them.

No one could hear them.

No one could sense the play of dark magic and spells. The shield kept everything inside. They were in an isolated courtyard. They were far from the glass doors from where he had entered.

They were alone.

Harry gasped for air, his body shivering violently as he crumbled down on the snow. His lungs were burning, his heart pierced and torn apart. His bones were broken and ground inside him. His flesh was eaten and ripped with wicked and evil jaws. There was a shrill screaming as he realized that Matthew had stopped the curse. He looked up, his vision blurry, but he still saw the evil and pleased smile on Matthew's face as he looked down on him.

“Crucio!” Matthew shouted again, and more excruciating pain engulfed and tore Harry to shreds. He twisted and shook in the snow, shouting though his throat had been warped and disintegrated. The pain went on, as Matthew kept the curse, until Harry had realized he was no longer screaming.

He had stopped the curse, grinning down on him like a madman.

“Your life, Potter,” he sneered, “ends now.” He pointed his wand at Harry's forehead.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The words echoed in Harry's ears, his vision empty and vacant except for the bottomless black he imagined he would fall into.

But he did not see the flash of green light. He did not feel the worst pain he would feel until Death overcame. He did not see his worst fears and memories play before his eyes.

He heard a pounding, a throbbing. He felt as if he was underwater.

It was his heart. His heartbeats. He was still alive.

All his realization happened within mere seconds, though it seemed to take forever. He heard a trill and high screaming, as he saw something drop beside him. He squinted, his vision still blurred as it slowly reconstructed.

It was a wand.

Trying to ignore the pain and burning stings, he looked up and tried to get up on his feet. He managed to get on his knees, squinting up at the scene before him. What he saw sent shocks and surprise to sing inside of him.

The screaming. It was Matthew. Matthew was screaming.

Harry watched with wide eyes as Matthew shook and cried out before him. His body was flopping and thrusting onto the snow and air, his eyes wide with horror and raw pain.

Harry's head seemed to still be swimming in a sea of swirling and stirring water, as he watched Matthew scream and quake. He did not understand what and how this could have happened… Who else could've saved him?

Matthew's yells and shouts echoed through the freezing night, as he fell over into the snow. His body was immobile and motionless, his lips parted but silence was only to be met. His face was as pale as the snow, color absent in his features.

Harry looked down on his lifeless body, disbelieving.

What had just happened?

Just then, there was a figure standing just a few yards away from him. He looked up, and his heart started to over function, his conscience still indistinct, but it was yelling at him. He could not believe it. He could not believe it.

It was a girl. With curly deep brown hair, scarlet and torn silk robes.

She had the face of whom he had dreamt about all those long nights and loved far too much.

She had the face of the girl whom he thought he had lost.

There was a bellowing in his ears, as he squinted, trying to see if it was really her.

“Hermione?” he whispered. There was no answer, as she merely looked at him, frozen. She had a wand in her hand, her hand white and pale. Her hair was still dusted with snow and her face was still had the moisture and traces of her tears and agony.

But her eyes… Her eyes were black.

“Hermione?” he whispered again. He pressed his palms against the freezing snow, as he tried to get up on his feet. “Hermione? Is that you?” He couldn't still quite believe it.

No… Hermione was dead. She was hit with the Avada Kedavra curse. She couldn't possibly still be… alive.

Just then, the wand dropped from her hand and onto the pure, white snow. Harry felt his heart stop as she suddenly dropped to the ground.

“Hermione!” he shouted, as he ran over to her. He picked up her head and laid it on his lap, touching her forehead and face. “Hermione!” he said, his voice shaking from fear. “Hermione, please… Please, Hermione… Hermione!” he shouted again, cradling her face in his hands. Her eyes were closed, and her face was lifeless and so pale that it seemed there was no warmth running through her body at all. His breaths were rapid and hard, as he held her wrist and searched for a pulse.

She was cold.

So freezing cold that he felt that same stone being lodged into his throat, once again. He felt the sharp hint of tears return, as he held her head and face on his lap. His body was weak, and his limbs were heavy and pained, but he didn't care.

She was alive. She had to be.

She had saved him.

“No! Hermione!” he shouted, hearing it reverberate from the night. “Hermione! Come back! Come back to me! You're alive! You're still alive! I saw you!” he said, his voice breaking as his throat became rough and hoarse. “Hermione! Please! Please, please… Come back to me! I can't…” he gasped in air, as he leaned his head in, feeling his heart slowly crumble. “I can't lose you,” he whispered, gasping. “I can't lose you… Please, not you too… No, Hermione! I love you… I love you so much, Hermione…”

Harry felt the frosty wind blow, as it combed through his untamed midnight hair and sliced through his lungs. He held her, pleading her to come back to him, just as she had before.

He had hope. He could not lose it now.

He raised his head slowly, as he felt an oncoming wind howl. He watched, his vision blurry, as the ghostly sound shield that Matthew had put up slowly dissolved into the night. He looked up at the sky, praying, begging. The moon was a thin silver smile, the stars non-existent tonight. He swallowed hard in his burning throat, as he looked down to her.

“Hermione…” he whispered, again. “Please, come back to me. I won't let you go, ever again. I won't let anything happen to you anymore.”

Just then, something caught his eye. He looked closer.

It was her silver necklace. The pendant, the color of fresh, innocent blood sacrificed in a battle for glory and victory, seemed to be… swirling. Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

There was something in it. There was a substance… It appeared to be churning and stirring, wisps of something unknown to him swimming, deep inside…

Harry's eyes widened, as a memory flickered before his eyes.

Her amulet, her necklace… The pendant had been midnight. He remembered, the details vivid and precise.

Her pendant had been the color of dark corners and shadows that loomed…

And now it was crimson.

11. Amulet

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything else except the plot and the poor little devil Matthew.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

This fic is ending very, very, very soon.

Amulet: A piece of jewelry worn to provide protection against evil, injury, disease, or bad luck.

Important Note: Read Author's note at the end of chapter. Please read the note before reviewing. Thanks very much.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Amulet

Harry felt as if he was swimming. In a deep, dark, bottomless pool. It was dark and he could not see a thing, but he could feel the swaying motion, gently rocking him with its overlapping waves and fluid outstretched arms.

Slowly and unexpectedly at the same time, he began to feel the sea's waves become stronger. He could feel it thrust him and then shoved him forward. He could feel it fill his mouth, salty, as it roared and began to collapse and crash down on him. He was sinking, slowly, as he tried to get his head high above the water for air. He felt the water try to push him down, as he strived to get more oxygen. Just then, he felt something tugging at his feet.

He gasped as it pulled him down. He was plunged deep inside the black sea, as it pulled him deeper and deeper, never ceasing or slowing down. He struggled, trying to get the icy grip off of his feet, as his lungs were about to burst. But it continued to bring him down and deeper.

He knew they were never to reach anyone or anything at all.

The sea was bottomless.

He struggled more, swinging his feet and trying to swim up, but there was no use. He was being dragged deeper and farther…

He felt his heartbeats slow into a muffled thud. His eyes were closing, as his body became still and unmoving. His arms were up, limp, as if he was expecting someone to suddenly reach down and pull him up, saving him from his doomed fate. He could feel the water humming in his ears and his mind's thoughts slowly slipping away.

The darkness seemed to deepen. The cold swept through him, but soon he could no longer feel the current or sway.

Soon, he could not feel a thing at all.

oooo

Harry woke up with a gasp, his vision dim and blurry. His throat was still burning and rough, as he took deep breaths. He felt as if he hadn't taken a breath in ages, as if he had been forced to hold it in all this time. His head ached with a throbbing pain and the room seemed to be tilting and unsteady, as the freezing cold air prickled his pale skin. He looked down, shivering, and saw a crisp, clean white blanket covering him from the waist up. He raised his gaze, and found two dark and blurry figures standing at the edge of his bed. He reached over, his hand trembling, as he took his glasses and slowly put them on.

He recognized the white walls. The big windows. The many beds all filled with colorless sheets and blankets.

He was in the Hospital Wing.

He looked up at the figures standing before him, and saw that it was their Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and a very worried Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore was looking at him with a concerned, sorry and dim look.

“I'm glad you're up, Mr. Potter,” he said, in a quiet voice. Harry looked at him intently, his vision still not quite up to detail, before looking down. He recognized that he was still in his robes from last night, though now they were clean and dry. He remembered his intoxicating and strange, haunting dream… and he felt as if he was still in that same water. Drowning, feeling helpless and weak. The room seemed to sway just as the current had, making his head nod slightly to the side before he regained his composure. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recall why he was here and just had happened. “We've been waiting for quite a while.”

Just then, he felt a deeper and fiercer cold sweep through him. Images and memories flashed in the darkness that played inside his eyelids. Last night, the ball. The dance. Hermione. Matthew, the Death Eater. Hermione…

“Hermione!” Harry suddenly shouted, his voice raspy and his eyes wide with realization and alarm. He coughed, as the sudden outburst strained and hurt his throat. Madam Pomfrey suddenly rushed to his side and poured him a glass of water, scolding him though her reprimands no longer held its regular sternness and austerity he remembered from being in here so many times. She handed it to him and he drank it down, the cool fluid pleasantly sliding down and easing his aching, parched throat. He lowered his glass when he finished, as he set it down on the table beside him, looking at Dumbledore with worry and fear in his eyes.

“Hermione,” Harry said, the same overwhelming and cold fear swallowing him whole, once again. His voice shook as he said her name, recollections from the night before ripping through his focus and thoughts. “What… what happened to her? Is she alright?” Dumbledore gave him a sad and worried look that made Harry's heavy heart collapse. Harry felt his lungs suddenly become filled with an unexplainable bile acid that rose up to his throat, as he watched the silent Dumbledore. “She's alive,” Harry said quietly, his hope flickering like a small flame on a candle being gently blown out. He was trying to convince he and even himself, it seemed. He seemed to be trying to convince the invisible ghosts and ears of the walls. “She's alive… Isn't she?”

Dumbledore stood unspoken, as he looked over at the bed beside Harry's. Harry tried to look in the direction his gaze was pointed at, but a pale white drape stood in his gaze. The curtain had been drawn.

Harry felt his hope grow smaller and smaller, flickering, weak and feeble. He felt his eyes sting with an icy warmth that he knew all too well, but had never let slip. His throat was blocked, and he could not swallow.

“She's alive,” Harry insisted. “She has to be. She has to be. She's alive.” The room stayed silent, as Harry felt his temper and anger flare up. The silence was deafening. It echoed all his fears and made the reality he tried to deny crowd around him. The bare white walls teased and laughed at him. He turned away, gritting his teeth.

She had to be alive. That night… She had stood. She had killed Matthew.

She had saved him.

She had to be alive.

“She's alive!” he suddenly shouted, the pale and nude colorless walls of the infirmary starting to blur. “She has to be! She has to be alive! I saw her! I saw her with my own eyes! She saved me! She killed Matthew! She just has to be—“ his heart was beating rapidly, his shouts cutting through the stillness of the room. He felt the tears fight, as he resisted with all his might not to let them escape. He could feel the feverish pain and hurt start to build up inside him again, as his breaths were tight and ragged. “She's alive,” he said, as if pleading. “She has to be. I saw her. She saved me. She saved me.”

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said sadly, his tone serious. “We…” he paused, as if trying to find his words. “We are not sure if Ms. Granger's condition can be fixed—“

“But she's not dead!” Harry shouted again, his hands clenching in tight handfuls of the chilly blanket. The world seemed to be spinning faster and faster, making him feel sick and dizzy inside. “She can't be! She just can't—“

“Mr. Potter!” Dumbledore's voice suddenly rose. Harry halted, looking at him with angry and hurt eyes. Dumbledore was obviously also upset, his lips pressed into a stern line. His once dancing blue eyes were now dark, with no sparkle or gleam existent. Harry stayed silent, breathing hard, trying to keep in his sobs and tears. “We are not sure if Ms. Granger's condition can be fixed,” he repeated, his voice firm and strong. “We understand and know that she had been hit with the Avada Kedavra curse, and you know very well that there is no cure for it, known to us or in fact, any being in the world. But… an odd occurrence has happened. She is not dead, Mr. Potter,” he said. His voice softened to a whisper, as Harry could feel his blood running rapidly.

“But she is dying, Harry.”

Harry clenched his fists tighter, looking down. He was shaking.

“No,” he choked out. “No. There has to be some way. She can't—she just can't be—“

“Harry, we understand that you and—“

“No!” Harry suddenly shouted. “No! You don't understand! You don't understand at all! She can't be dying! She can't! She saved me!”

“Please, calm down,” Madam Pomfrey interrupted, her face also full with sorrow. “Please, Mr. Potter—“

“No!” Harry yelled again. He looked at his hands. The bandages were new and clean. His eyes were burning. He lowered his head and leaned it on his palms. “No,” he whispered. “No, this can't be happening. Not Hermione. She can't be dying. I saw her. I saw her. Hermione can't be dying.”

There was that same haunting silence, as he overheard Dumbledore speak softly to Madam Pomfrey.

“Poppy, leave us, please,” he heard Dumbledore say quietly.

“Surely, Albus.” She did not make a fuss or any objections though she usually would, as Harry heard her faint footsteps through his clawing, screaming thoughts and heavy breaths. He could feel him watching him. He could feel the tears resist and fight to trickle out, but he did not let them.

She could not be so near to death. She just couldn't be.

Harry looked up. He felt the cold air stick and bite his skin, still trembling.

“I want to see her,” Harry said shakily, his voice still slightly hoarse. “I have to see Hermione.” Dumbledore nodded, as Harry shifted the blankets off of his body and legs. He stood and walked over to where Dumbledore had begun to walk to.

Harry could feel his heart come to a dead stop as he saw the bed before him.

There she was.

Her face was pale, as pale as he had remembered from the night before. Her brown curls were spread out on the snow-white pillow laid underneath her head. Her eyes were closed, her lips the lightest and softest pink he had ever seen. She was still wearing her scarlet robes from the ball. They were dry, and had been mended, he knew, because he remembered they had been torn, and they still managed to shimmer in the little light and gloom.

Harry took a quivering breath as he walked to her.

He observed her, her body unmoving and still. Her face seemed peaceful, as if all she had fallen into was a restful slumber. Harry let out a shaky sigh, as he reached for her hand. He clasped his hand on hers, and entwined his fingers. He held on firmly.

“She's cold,” Harry whispered, sadly. He could feel that same monster, fear and the thought of losing her, start to eat him whole, rapidly but in slow motion. He could feel the tears he had fought so hard to keep back just moments ago, start to fight again.

He took more breaths, short and rigid.

“Hermione?” he whispered to her, his green eyes filled with so much agony and fear, sadness and anger. “Can you hear me?”

It was as if he expected her to just open her eyes and smile at him. To make the frosty bitterness of this room melt away with just her smile and warm brown eyes.

He held onto her hand, as if pleading for her to take some of his warmth, some of his life.

She never opened her eyes, as he waited.

She never awakened and smiled up at him and made his all his pain fade away.

He closed his eyes tightly, as he fell to his knees. He kept his hand wrapped tightly around hers, as he finally felt the tears start to dominate. He could still smell her, still see her smile.

But it was not the real thing.

He was never going to see her smile ever again.

Suddenly, he felt something dart through him. Like realization and shock, combined and colliding together. A picture played before his eyes.

“Wait,” he suddenly said, as he raised his head. He looked up to see Dumbledore halt in his steps, as he was just about to leave him alone with Hermione. He turned around slowly and looked at Harry. His features were soft, his eyes filled with an honest apology. “Wait,” Harry said again.

His realization sparked something inside him, as his green eyes were ablaze with questions and determination.

“I think you deserve an explanation, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I am deeply and very sorry for the circumstances, and so I will start from the beginning—“

“No,” Harry said harshly. “You don't need to. I heard it all from Matthew. He explained everything. You don't need to explain.”

Dumbledore sighed inaudibly. “Very well, then. I'm sorry,” he said slowly, “that you had to hear it from him. I truly am. But I must tell you something, Mr. Potter.” He began walking towards him unhurriedly.

“A wand,” he said quietly, “ was found when we discovered you and Ms. Granger, outside,” he stopped as he was just inches away from Harry. Harry looked up at him, as he got up on his feet, still holding her hand. “It was only after it all had happened that I was struck with the ambiance of dark magic. Right away, it was clear to me that someone had put up some sort of shield, or barricade that kept it all inside, until it was deactivated, or that person was, in fact, dead. I knew that the vibe of so much dark magic and spells could not all have struck me so harshly at that only and one moment. The members of the Order had sensed it too, and we all rushed outside, the sense so strong that we could pinpoint the exact location. That was when we found you and Ms. Granger. And, Matthew,” his eyes dimmed noticeably as he mentioned his name. “We knew he was dead. We all knew the outcomes and affects of the Avada Kedavra curse.” Dumbledore halted, as he motioned for Harry to take a seat. Harry sighed inwardly, as he looked towards Hermione, tightening his grip one last time, before letting go and sitting down. Dumbledore sat down beside him.

“Please accept my deepest apologies, Harry,” he said, looking at Hermione. “ I am truly, deeply sorry and ashamed, to have been so foolish to let him in Hogwarts, let alone in the Order. I,” he sighed, “find that it was also my fault that he became such a convincing and deceiving Death Eater. We hadn't been paying attention to the changes. I had my suspicions, of course… But I never acted upon it. I believed too much in him. I am very sorry. And because of my foolishness… Ms. Granger is hanging onto life with barely a thread.” Harry looked away, hurt, as he stared at Hermione.

“He didn't start out that way,” Harry said quietly but with a hint of bitterness, “so evil. No one is born that way. He only felt it build and he didn't fight it. He was a Death Eater. He went to the raids and the killings. He murdered. It wasn't clear to him that he was not allowed to enjoy it, to adapt and welcome it.” He turned back to Dumbledore, his green eyes icy. “You never told him. You never made it clear. You thought he was smart enough.”

“You said that he had had some difficulties getting into Hogwarts,” he said. “And now I know why. It was because of his mark… Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me that he was a Death Eater?”

Dumbledore sighed. “We all figured that it would be best for yours and Matthew's safety. I am also deeply sorry for this. I regret my actions. We thought that if Voldemort had somehow—“

“Matthew was a spy. He betrays and tells the enemy's plans,” Harry said, callously. “To the Death Eaters, we are the enemies. Muggleborns, muggles. One who snitches to you will snitch about you.” He could feel his anger turn bitter and cold towards his Headmaster. Harry knew it was wrong, but he could not help it.

She was dying.

Because he had let a Death Eater into Hogwarts and did not keep better watch.

“The wand,” Harry continued on, ignoring his last harsh remark. “Who's was it? Was it hers?”

“No,” Dumbledore shook his head, still calm and unbruised by Harry's words. “I'm afraid it wasn't. I think that if it was, then things would've been a lot easier, for the both of you.” Dumbledore stood, as he walked over to the small table next to Hermione. He picked something off of it, as he turned and showed it to Harry. He held out his outstretched his arm, offering it to him. “I believe that Ms. Granger's wand had been in Matthew's pocket, as people from the Ministry had stopped by last night to capture his body. They searched through his things, his robes. They found her wand, but it was broken in half. It was useless, and I knew it would no longer serve a purpose,” he paused, “for anyone.”

“I believe,” he said, “that it is yours.” Harry, puzzled, took it from him. It was familiar, the right length. It was his. But he looked up at his Headmaster, confused.

How did Hermione get his wand?

Suddenly, he remembered. When Matthew had disarmed him, the wand had been thrown behind Matthew. He knew that Matthew had to have done that on purpose to keep him from getting it. Hermione's body had been lying behind him, so it must've landed right near her.

Finally understanding, Harry thanked his Headmaster quietly and put away his wand.

“There was something,” he said, interrupting the silence that had started to blanket the bleak room. There were too many questions running through his mind to have time for silence. “Something odd… but it happened. I'm positive. Out there, during the ball… when Matthew was about to kill me…” Harry faltered, unsure how to explain it. “Someone performed the Avada Kedavra on him,” he said slowly. “It wasn't me. He had disarmed me. But when I looked up… it was Hermione,” his voice got quieter. “I know it was her. I know it was Hermione. She—” Just then, Dumbledore interrupted him.

“Harry, I'm sorry to say that that is quite impossible,” Dumbledore said quietly. “The spell had already been performed on her before Matthew died. The healers had looked onto her body and we had tested the wands for any past use of the dark curses, and we found it in yours. Her wand was broken long before her supposed death. I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that—“

“But Matthew had disarmed me,” Harry cut him off, as he stood up from his seat. “He had disarmed me, and my wand had flown behind him, where her body was, which I'm positive he had done so that I could not possibly reach it. She picked up my wand, and used it. She had used it. She was the one who had killed him.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, concerned. “The healers had arrived not a moment after we called them. They said it was not possible at all for her to have moved or even take a breath after the curse, let alone stand up and gather the energy to perform the Avada Kedavra. Her blood,” he said firmly, “was frozen, Harry. Her life was taken out of her, and not a drop of energy was left to spare. It is not possible that she could have done it. It was not even possible that she could live—“

“But she is!” Harry shouted defiantly, “She is still alive!”

“Barely,” Dumbledore said, in a loud and frustrated sigh. “It is not enough, not nearly enough,” he said lowly, as if trying to scare Harry out of his denial. “It will not get her through the week. Her blood is still and frozen cold. It is a miracle, a phenomenon that no one, not even the healers, could explain. Her heart, Harry, is cold and frosted. But somehow, some way, it continues to function and beat. And somehow, everyone furrows their eyebrows and wonders in awe about, she is still alive. But only barely. She cannot make it through our days, Harry. They are far too long. They expect her heart to slowly weaken and finally die by the moon rising of this day. You must understand. You must get through this. I know that you were indeed very close to her, but—“

“But it was her!” he yelled. “She wasn't dead! She had enacted the spell!”

“But, Mr. Potter, one has to wonder, if in fact that what you are saying is true, how Ms. Granger preformed the spell. The curse is very complex and advanced, and it takes very much energy. You are the only student your age we had taught it to for it was only too necessary. I do not think—“

“You said yourself that she was the brightest and smartest Witch to enter Hogwarts in our age,” Harry said bitterly, his anger getting the best of him “Hermione can do anything. And it's possible that Remus could have taught her. I saw them. He was training her. She's smart enough to know how it works and perform it correctly—“

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Remus would have asked for my permission first and consulted me on such manners. He knows himself that he cannot—“

“But does that matter?” Harry shouted. “Does that really matter? I'm alive, because someone saved me! I didn't save myself! Matthew had done the bloody Cruciatus curse on me twice! Do you think I could have done the spell when I had been tortured and so weak?” he let out a deep sigh, as he looked at him with pleading eyes. “Please, try to understand, Headmaster… I know what I saw. I'm telling the truth. I saw her. She had done it. She can't—there has to be something--”

Just then, his gaze darted over to Hermione, rapidly. He bolted from his place, halting in mid-sentence, as he walked over to her.

He looked down on her, and his eyes did not deceive him.

Her necklace. It was still crimson. The red essence inside was still swirling and stirring slowly but restlessly, just as he had remembered.

“Her necklace,” Harry whispered. “Her necklace.” He grabbed his wand quickly and said a spell. The necklace swiftly unclasped from around her neck and landed on his palm. He turned to Dumbledore, still looking at the pendant. He walked closer to him, his memories vivid and the scenes playing before his eyes, once more.

“At the ball, when we danced, I'm certain that it was black, the pendant,” he said, pointing at it. “But now it's—“ Harry dropped it into Dumbledore's hands, insisting for him to take a closer look. Dumbledore looked at it, observing it closely. “--It's red,“ Harry breathed. “I remember that it wasn't like that at all when I ran after her outside. It was only… after she had collapsed and killed Matthew, and I went over to her… It was just like that. I can't explain it,” Harry said quickly, “but I think it did something. Like it interfered with the spell. You said that an odd occurrence had happened, because she isn't dead, and you said yourself that there was no counter curse for the Avada Kedavra, but… This isn't a counter curse at all. It's, some sort of necklace, an amulet.” Dumbledore looked up at him with worry and sadness in his eyes.

“Harry, forgive me, but there are many enchanted necklaces and jewelry ornaments out there. I find it hard to believe that this mere necklace could have saved Ms. Granger from the curse, let alone have something to do with what had happened.”

Just then, something caught Harry's eye. He snatched it from Dumbledore without a word, as he turned the pendant over. His heart raced at his discovery.

He looked at it closely, and there, engraved on the clean, silver back of the pendant, were some sort of strange and unfamiliar marks and dashes. It circled the edge of the pendant, going around so that he had to turn it to try to recognize it.

“ An inscription,” he said, turning it and squinting his eyes. “It has to be. It's some sort of language… I can't read it.” He looked up at Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling with curiosity. Harry handed it to him. “Turn it around. There,” he pointed, “the engravings. They're… I haven't seen anything like it at all.”

Dumbledore's eyes widened, as his lips were pursed into a tight line. He looked up at Harry, then back at the engravings. He turned it around and around, as if reading the carvings.

He looked back up at him again, his blue eyes no longer in the shadow of sorrow as before.

“Can you read it? It's a message, it just has to be,” Harry said quickly. “What does it say?”

“Harry,” he said, disbelievingly and quietly, “I cannot decipher all of it. But I recognize it. It's unknown and forgotten to almost everyone, Witches and Wizards, muggles and mortals… Why, it's—“

Suddenly, a stern female voice interrupted him.

“The Amulet of Pallas Athena.”

Harry's head turned in the direction of the voice, and found himself staring towards the Hospital Wing's doors. Standing in front of the closed doors was a familiar and strict looking witch, dressed in dark green robes, named Minerva McGonagall. Even Dumbledore was surprised by the sudden certainty in the answer of the voice.

“Professor,” he acknowledged her. “You know about this?” She nodded, as she walked towards them, her dark hunter green robes sweeping behind her.

“More than you think, Albus,” she said as she joined them. Dumbledore handed the amulet over to her, as she observed it closely. She looked up at them, her fair face showing lines of age and wisdom. “It was I who sent it to Ms. Granger for the ball.”

Puzzlement and confusion filled Harry's expression. He expected Dumbledore to be as confused as he was, but was proved wrong by his remark.

“I should have known,” he chuckled softly. She looked at Dumbledore, then at Harry, and then back at the necklace.

“I sent it to the house after I caught word that the battle had just ended,” she said. She turned to Harry, worry and sincerity in her eyes. “My deepest apologies, Mr. Potter.” Harry nodded, silent, still quite confused.

“But wait,” he said, “What does the amulet do? What are the inscriptions? Why is it this color now when it was a different color back at the ball?” The Witch sighed, as she looked around hastily.

“It's best we take a seat, but we must hurry. I have reason to believe that hope still remains.” Harry's heart leaped at her words, and did as she said.

They all took a seat, as the professor started to explain.

“This,” she said, holding up the necklace, “is the Amulet of Pallas Athena. It is only distinguished and told apart from the other enchanted and charmed amulets and jewelry because of its rare and foreign engravings,” she turned over the pendant, “a very ancient language of Greek that was never recorded in any books or parchments, or any one piece of literature that was known. It is said to hold the only tears Athena, the Greek Goddess of war and wisdom, as people say, ever shed in her life, whilst she was playing with another girl in her childhood and accidentally killed her. Pallas Athena was a strong Goddess, and her tears were the color of coal and midnight, as she was never to experience sadness or shed tears. And she never did after or before, only at that time. It was rumored that someone, a Witch, had captured her tears and put them into a pendant, making an amulet. It was legend that the amulet had extraordinary powers,” she said, “but it was never proven. In fact, everyone doubted it even existed for the Witch had kept it to herself and passed it down only to her family, who was also sworn to secrecy about the amulet. Thus, it became just a mere legend.”

“So, Professor… you're a descendant of the Witch who created the amulet?” Harry asked slowly, curious as to how she had gotten it if it was only passed down to the family. A rarity for Professor McGonagall, a smile spread across her stern features.

“Very smart, Mr. Potter,” she said. “Very smart, indeed. I am, in fact, a descendant of the Witch who created the amulet.” She went on, after the interruption, very quickly. “Of course, some of my earlier ancestors began to test it, trying to figure out what it was good for. They believed that the only tears of Pallas Athena held very powerful magic inside it, but they were not certain what. They never found out,” she halted, “because the only ones who tried were the Wizards, as they only gave birth to sons. There is a rumor that one Witch tried it, long ago… But no one knows for sure if it was true that she survived. I don't quite understand myself, considering that the Greek Goddess often favored men for reason that she was bore only from Zeus, her father, without a mother.”

“What happened,” Harry asked, “to the Wizards who tried it? And to the Witch?”

“They all failed and died,” she said, her tone still as serious. “But the Witch… They said that she was hit with an evil spell, a curse that could eat away life and energy from a single body within seconds… and leave dead. They say that she survived. But no one knows for certain.” Harry nodded, her words circling and mixing inside his mind, trying to find the connection.

“But… you knew, then, the possibility that it could save someone,” he said, slowly, realization just dawning on him.

A memory flashed inside his mind. That day, when Remus had been teaching Hermione outside, in the snow…

An owl had come and dropped a little black sack into her hands.

That had to have been the amulet.

“And you sent it to Hermione… Why? Why did you send it to her?” his voice got quiet, as he looked at her with disbelieving and dark sad eyes. “You knew, didn't you?” he whispered. “You knew something was going to happen to her. You knew someone was going to try to kill her.” Professor McGonagall looked down, looking sorry and ashamed.

“I… I was not certain, Mr. Potter,” she said. “I was talking with your Professor Trelawney one day, about Ms. Granger, specifically. She had come to give me something that Ms. Granger had left in her class, before she left with you. But as she was about to hand it to me… She… she had some sort of, a premonition,” she said, slowly, as if unsure. “I had a feeling, as she was talking to me… that she was not herself. Her voice and her eyes were completely different… And, she told me that there was going to be a death, an unexpected one, of the only one who held the Hero's heart so dearly. And… after, she had no recollection of what she had told me, and I did not want to take any chances. So I sent the amulet to Ms. Granger.” She inhaled a sharp breath. “Of course, I was not sure if it would work… But,” she looked down at the crimson amulet in her hands. “It did. It worked.”

“But, Minerva, no one knows exactly what it could do,” Dumbledore said. “The amulet… How can you be so sure?”

“Stories, Albus,” she said. “Not all of them are completely false. Some of them have a bit of truth hidden inside them. I've heard them all. And this,” she turned the pendant over, showing them the carvings on the silver, “is an ancient Greek language that only the Gods and ancient Wizards and mortal men used at that time. It's foreign to most of all the whole population now, but it's in my blood, and I was taught it since I was a girl.” She traced over the engravings, “it says: Another loss and bloodshed moon, crimson is the tide of the wicked. Midnight shadows the tide of secret and lost. Only wickedness can trap its own dark kind inside. Crimson,” she looked up at them, “conquers when all but a sliver of hope remains.” There was silence, as the words rang and chimed in his head.

“So… this saved her,” Harry slowly said, uncertainly. “It says that crimson conquers when all but a sliver of hope remains… So, there's a possibility that we could still save Hermione, isn't there? Because it's crimson. The amulet had been a different color before, the color of midnight, like the engravings said, because it had never been activated… it was lost and it was secret…” Professor McGonagall nodded.

“Very good, Mr. Potter, very good. But I'm afraid that you left out one very important part. Only wickedness can trap its own dark kind in,” she said. “When the curse had been shot at Ms. Granger, she suffered the pain, but the amulet had eaten and captured some of the spell, therefore it was not complete. That is the reason she had not died. The amulet had opened, activated, when the curse had hit her, because the curse is made from pure evil and wickedness. The amulet was made to protect, for Pallas Athena was a great and strong Goddess, protector of the city. Crimson is the tide of the wicked, it also says, and the amulet is now crimson, because it had captured the wicked, the curse.” She looked at Harry intently.

“You did, in fact, see Ms. Granger stand and perform the same curse on Matthew. The amulet is also triggered by strong emotion, something that is also vital in using the Avada Kedavra, because her heart was set on saving you. It was enough for the spell, but it was not enough to keep her blood rushing and keep her strong. The spell took a lot out of her, and mixed with the affects of the spell that the amulet had not captured, it is indeed fatal. That,” she said, looking over at their Headmaster Dumbledore, “is the reason of the odd state she is in. The Healers know no such thing when it comes to these cases.”

A wide smile spread across Dumbledore's features. He clapped his hands, his eyes twinkling only faintly, like a mirage of what had been there in their simpler days before.

“Brilliant, Minerva! I am thoroughly mistaken,” he said. “Brilliant, indeed. Though, you did not tell me you knew about these sort of cases, and about Matthew.”

“Headmaster, I am a teacher. I protect the lives of my students. I have to know what is happening when they are here, and even when they are away.” Dumbledore smiled, as he chuckled.

“But, “ Harry started again, insistent, determination and anxiousness shadowing over his curiosity. “How are we to save Hermione? The amulet is useless now, isn't it? It did what it's supposed to do, but that doesn't change her situation. How are we going to save her?”

“We can try, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGongall said quietly. Harry felt his heart fall.

“You're saying, there's no definite way we could save her?” he asked softly, the fact that he felt he was being let down, evident in his voice.

“There is no definite way, I am sorry, Mr. Potter. There is no guarantee. I'm sure you know that. I do not want to spark false hope inside you, for false hope, in the end, will swallow you whole. When dealing with the Cruciatus curse, there is never an absolute solution. But… I have a theory, a presumption, if you will, that we can pray will work.” They stayed silent, prompting for her to continue. Harry's heart seemed to be pounding at a rapid speed, awaiting for her attempt of a solution.

“Asclepius was the Great Healer in Athena's time,” she started, as she began to inform them. “Athena had the blood of Medusa 1, which she offered to him. He used the blood that flowed on the left side for the bane of mortal and men, and the blood that flowed from the right side for deliverance. And from that, people say that he was capable of raising the dead.” She paused her words at Harry's wide eyes, as she slipped her hand inside the pocket of her robe and pulled out a shiny silver chain necklace. He furrowed his eyebrows, but as she raised it in her hand, showing it to them, he saw an odd-looking locket or ornament attached to it. He looked closer, and then looked up at her as she was smiling at him.

It was a small vial, the pendant. The vial was just about he size of his thumb. It was ancient looking, but the glass vial was new looking and gleamed even in the little light in the infirmary. There was a silvery substance that swirled inside the vial, tinted a very faint blue.

“This,” she smiled, “is the blood. Legend says that it could raise the dead.”

“But, if it could, how did you get such a thing?” Harry asked in awe, curious, but not able to hide the big grin forming on his face. “Surely, it is valuable and prized, and most sought out for.”

They were going to save her.

The smile on the Professor's face faded quickly, as she looked at the vial dangling from the silver necklace.

“There used to be a lot more, Mr. Potter,” she said, “of the blood. Because Wizards found out about it and found a way to duplicate it, long ago. They had all heard the legend,” she looked at him sadly. “They tried it, numerous times. Too numerous to ever count. But they never succeeded.” Harry's grin froze, as his eyes darkened. His hope that had been a roaring fire earlier, had shrunk back into the same feeble, flickering little flame. “All their subjects, the people they had tried to save… died. They had failed. It had no affect.”

Harry's mouth had gone dry, the silence bitter in the room. He looked down at his hands covered with pure and clean bandages, disappointment tightening its smoldering hands around his throat.

“But, Mr. Potter,” she said, trying to make him raise his gaze, “they were never sure if they were using it correctly. Each time, they used a different method. They even started to doubt it was real, the legend. But I happen to have a theory,” she said, “that I've analyzed over and over again. I cannot explain it thoroughly to try to make you understand how I came up with this, but I think, if it works, there will be no explanation needed at all.” There was silence as Harry raised his gaze sadly but a glimmer of hope faint in his eyes.

Professor McGonagall was holding up the amulet. She was smiling at him faintly.

“They did not succeed,” she said quietly, “because they were missing this. The Amulet of Pallas Athena. It would take me ages to explain why or how, but I think that somehow, the blood and the tears are connected. I think that if we somehow break the amulet and get the tears out, mix it into the blood and have Ms. Granger drink it… It wouldn't be such a surprise if she wakes up… and finds all of us here, awaiting for her to come back to the world.” The grin found its way back onto Harry's face again, as he felt his heart leaping. He could feel his pulse pounding in his wrists.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said quietly. “You don't know how much I'm grateful to you.” Professor McGonagall smiled sincerely at him. He turned to Dumbledore, who was also smiling faintly.

“Well, Harry, I am deeply mistaken, and am not ashamed to say that I stand corrected. I, am also in great gratitude for Professor McGonagall,” he bowed his head slightly at Professor McGonagall as she smiled and returned the action. “Please, again, forgive me and accept my deepest apologies. I'm afraid, after these past few hours or days, I have started to lose faith.” Harry offered him a smile.

“Nobody's perfect, Professor,” he said, weakly. “No harm done.”

“Alright then,” he heard a stern female voice say. “We must hurry. If the protection and unbreakable spell on the amulet is as strong and stubborn as they say, we have much, much work to do.”

Harry stood, determined to get to work, for the first time in his life.

Suddenly, they heard a raucous as the Hospital Wing's doors burst open. They all turned their heads, alarmed from the sudden noise, and Harry saw who stood before them, red-faced and flustered.

He was still in his dress robes from the night before, though they were now wrinkled and disoriented, his red hair sticking up in all directions.

“Ron,” Harry said. “You're just in time. We were just about to do something. You don't mind helping, do you? I think we're going to need it.” Confused and angry, Ron turned to Harry. His face was flushing a deep red that he had never seen before.

“Wh-What?” he asked, not sure if he had heard his friend right or whether to be confused or angry. “Harry! You're—you're… what happened? They didn't let me visit you last night, and then I heard that you've been attacked by a Death Eater, and then I saw Hermione being brought in with about ten healers from St. Mungo's… What's going on?” he asked, breathless. “What happened? What happened, Harry? No one would let me in here last night, and they forced all the students to go back to their houses. And—and all I heard were rumors!” Ron said quickly, sputtering, as he strode over to him. “Harry, they said you were dead! They said that Matthew had—“

“Ron, Ron,” Harry said, trying to calm down the frantic Ron.

“—Tried to kill you, and then Hermione had--” he stopped abruptly at his words, as he looked at Harry. Ron seemed to be searching his face, Harry's gaze. Harry looked at him weakly, too worn out to bother to hide anything from his expression or eyes.

Ron's face suddenly turned ashen, his eyes widening. He looked at Harry, then at the Professors, and then around the room. His eyes came to a dead stop, as Harry sighed inwardly and closed his eyes, for he knew exactly where his gaze was pointed.

“Ron,” Harry whispered. “Ron, listen to me—“

“Hermione?” he said, his voice lowering down into a whisper, as he walked over to her. Harry opened his eyes, his gaze following his friend as he neared Hermione. Ron was quiet as he observed her, and Harry could feel the tense silence in the room.

“Hermione,” he said shakily. Harry watched as Ron touched her hand. Ron turned to him with wide, fearful eyes. “She's cold, Harry,” he said in a trembling whisper. Just then, he started to back away from her.

“Oh Merlin…” Harry heard Ron whisper fearfully. “Oh Merlin… Don't… Hermione's not… She's not…”

“Ron,” Harry said. “She's not dead. Not yet. But Ron, she could be. You have to help us so that we can save her.” Ron froze, as he slowly turned around.

His blue eyes were still scared, as he took a deep sigh.

“Al-alright,” he said, almost as quiet as a whisper. “I'll help you. Whatever you need me to do, I'll be here.”

Harry nodded, smiling faintly and appreciatively at his friend, trying to assure him. “Alright then. I'll explain things later, don't worry.”

ooooooooooooooo

There were big ancient textbooks laid on the beds, and stacks and piles on the floor. Harry had his wand out, flipping over the aged and thin pages of a book that Dumbledore had stored in his office.

Ron was beside him, wand also in hand, looking over another book. Harry could hear him as he muttered a spell, pointing at the amulet. Harry looked over, as the amulet did nothing. Ron cleared his throat and tried again, this time his voice much clearer and louder.

Nothing happened to the amulet.

Harry heard the disappointment in his friend's deep sigh, as he continued to flip through the pages. They had been silent, not speaking or uttering a word, since he had explained to him what had happened a while before, during their search through the first ten books.

Harry was weary, rubbing his eyes after every ten minutes or so, but never willing to stop and rest. They had limited time, and he was fighting to find the spell before the moon rose. So far, the books he had looked over had spells, unlocking spells, but none of them worked. It seemed as they got further and further, the unlocking or protection breaking spells they came across became less and less.

He was getting frustrated, and he knew that that Ron was getting weary too. Harry felt as if he didn't know exactly what he was looking for, that there was something very big that he was missing… something that could help them…

But he didn't know what.

He urged his eyes and mind to work faster, but at the same time, was afraid of missing any important spells. He tried to steady himself at a pace that he was sure not to miss anything, but go rapidly, at the same time.

His mind was set on Hermione, as he looked up and let his eyes travel over to where she lay, motionless and peaceful.

He didn't know why. Maybe it was as if he expected to suddenly see her sitting up, smiling at him.

He squinted his eyes, feeling his heart call out for her. His mind was in a misty haze, a sort of blinding and enveloping, pleasant fog.

She was still, frozen. Paralyzed. Her eyes were closed. She was not sitting up, or smiling at him.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his world tilt and his eyes ache with a dry harshness.

They stung with a familiarity that he recognized all too well.

When he closed his eyes it was so easy to get lost. It was too easy to get lost in his memories, as managed to slip out and played before his eyes, triggering emotions to flare up and ember inside of him. He continued to see her.

Smiling sweetly, happiness gleaming in her deep brown eyes. The glorious sunbeams peeking from behind her and making her seem so heavenly, like an angel.

He shook his head gently, running a hand through his untamed hair. He tried to shake the thoughts away, for he knew if he lingered on them too long he would get far too distracted and the sharp hint of tears would catch on.

He had to keep focused, stay on task.

He had a feeling; one that he kept buried inside for reason that he knew it was best, that this was a waste. Looking through ancient textbooks and reading, scanning through all the spells. There had to be something better, something more… useful. Something that he could be doing and knowing at the same time that he was getting closer and closer to getting Hermione back.

But he didn't know what that something was.

And he didn't have any other plan.

He didn't know what else to do.

Though he wanted to scream out in frustration and just start to hammer the amulet into pieces, he thought of Hermione again.

He had to do this. He had to keep his composure, he had to keep looking.

Though it seemed useless, he knew it could only help.

That was what he tried to tell himself.

He blinked forcefully, pressing his eyelids down hard as he opened them again. He sighed silently and turned back to the books.

Professor McGonagall was also in the room, looking over the books faster than both he and Ron's speed combined. One of the spells she had tried almost worked, but it was not strong enough, and only managed to make the amulet glow for a moment. That was the closest they had gotten to getting the unbreakable charms and protection spells off of the amulet.

Dumbledore was taking care of the Ministry and trying to prevent the media from finding out, or if it was already too late, prevent them form spreading any lies or false stories about the happenings. He had also said that he was going to try to talk to some friends through fire-talking, for he said he had some acquaintances and friends who were quite good with, and knowing about protection and unbreakable spells.

Harry finished off another book, dropped it into a pile on the floor, and then picked up another fairly thick and old book from the stack. He glanced at Ron, who hadn't spoken to him ever since he had confessed to him what had happened. Harry didn't know if Ron was angry with him, or if he was upset, but Ron hadn't said anything at all when he had finished. He had no questions, no comments. He had just stayed quiet, giving Harry a fearful and sorry look from his blue eyes.

He had nothing to say about it. The happenings, Matthew. He did not say I told you so, or even slightly hint it.

Ron understood that there was nothing he could do about it now.

Harry had apologized, for not telling him sooner about Matthew, and Hermione's visions. It hurt to think that if he had paid more attention, if he had told Ron… something could've been done to prevent what had happened. He could feel that same biting fear and guilt, sinking its teeth into him, as he thought about what he could have done to save her.

But he didn't.

He didn't save her.

She had saved him.

And now he was trying, he was trying. He was not going to let her lose her life for him. He knew that he could never live on that way without her.

His eyes rapidly skimmed the contents of the page, his fingers buzzing, as his gaze transferred to the next. Just then, he heard the doors open and he looked up.

A weary looking Dumbledore stood in front of the doors, as he saw Minerva McGonagall stand up expectedly.

“Any news, Albus?” she asked. Harry's heart fell deeper into the vacant pit of his stomach, as Dumbledore looked at them with sad eyes.

“The media can be contained from making any lies or rubbish of the sort at the moment, but the Ministry is furious and demanding more information. Remus and the other members of the Order are over there, trying to straighten things out before they can muster a riot.” He paused, as if trying to brace them all for the bad news. “I'm afraid… as though my dear friends know a large amount about protection and unbreakable spells, they do not have the answer to our search. The amulet still remains a mystery to them,” he sighed. “But, I did get this. One of my sources, Maria Demetrias, says that there is hope. A spell placed on an object can always be broken or unlocked. Especially,” he said, “if it is meant to be opened.” He walked towards them, looking over the books and the amulet and vial. “My dear friend was clever enough to state that the amulet was meant to be opened, because of its purpose. And that there is a spell powerful enough that can unlock it. Though…” he looked up at Harry. “She also spoke to me that if we were to search, we had to consider all of the relating possibilities.”

Harry looked at him quizzically, while he could hear Ron sigh beside him.

“Why is it that every time we desperately need something, someone has to speak in riddles?” Harry heard him mutter, as he continued to flip through the book. Harry ignored him, trying to think harder in his mind and dig deeper.

Dumbledore's words had triggered something… But he could not figure out just what. He could feel it, in the back of his mind, squirming and trying to make its way.

“Consider all of the relating possibilities…” Harry whispered to himself. His eyes widened at the idea and realization that had just darted through him.

“That's it!” Harry exclaimed, making everyone in the room look over at him in curiosity and surprise.

“What is it, Harry?” Ron asked, quickly. Professor McGonagall was looking at him from her glasses. “What's it?”

“Mr. Potter?” she asked, peering at him from her half-moon spectacles.

Harry's heart was beating faster, as it all added up in his head.

“We've all been looking in all the books that had the counter spells and charms of protection and unbreakable spells. Just those books,” he said hurriedly. “It has everything, the spells to undo the charms, but never one has worked for the amulet, because if the amulet is ancient as you say it is, those spells could not possibly rival it. We need…” Harry faltered, thinking, “…books, more books. Not just about spells. Maybe about Greek mythology, or the time period that the amulet was created. I'm sure we're to find something there, if nothing else has worked out.” A smile spread across Dumbledore's and Professor McGonagall's faces. Ron was also grinning at him.

“Good job, mate,” Ron smiled, patting him on the back. “What a Hero.”

oooooooooooooooooo

Important Author's Note: (PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU REVIEW)

This is just one of the last chapters. This isn't the last chapter yet. Please, please review! I really want to know what you think about the chapter/story so far. Thanks to all the loyal reviewers—I love you. The next chapter won't be up for quite a while.

Oh, and this chapter involved some Greek mythology stuff… Please do not flame me because my facts about it are wrong, because while I am deeply interested in Greek Mythology, I don't research it quite enough, and the information I get might be false in one way or another. I'm really, really sorry if the things about Pallas Athena and the other Greek Gods are incorrect, but you have to keep in mind that I made some stuff up, for the benefit of this fic. After all, this fic is fictional.

Dumbledore was out of character in this chapter: that is very clear to me. He is a bit frustrated and he argues with Harry because of the necklace. So I am also sorry if you are disturbed by Dumbledore or Prof. McGonagall in this story because they are out of character. This is a different side of Dumbledore that I'm afraid no one I've come across has written about before, and that is understandable, but people have the misconception that Dumbledore is flawless and reasonable and trusting all of the time. Dumbledore is only human and he makes mistakes just like the rest of us; he can give up hope and get frustrated. Another thing; he is getting quite of an old age, after all. He has trouble believing Harry because, well, he thinks Harry might just be in denial and tired—Harry's been through an awful lot, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't think straight—and he doesn't want to believe that Hermione might be dead. So please, do not flame me because of those terms; I am already well aware of it.

This chapter… I'm not very proud of it, but it's supposed to explain everything about the amulet. I know most of the reviewers were confused and asked me in their reviews to try to make the thing about the amulet clearer, and say again if I had mentioned it before. I did—it says in this chapter that the amulet was in the black sack that Hermione received from an owl during her training with Remus.

So, I will have to say again that the next chapters will not be up for a while. Reason for that is because I am suffering from a very bad case of writer's block and I have to leave the country to visit a relative for a week, which means I have to pack and get everything ready. I'm leaving by the end of this week, so I have to rush everything. Everything's been so hectic. My apologies if you felt this chapter was not very productive or… a smooth reading, I guess. I felt that it was rubbish, myself. But I would still very much appreciate it if you reviewed; please don't be too brutally honest, though.

Tip: I suggest you should put this story on your chapter alerts (I read the Portkey news) or if you want, you could just put your email address in the text of your review and I could send you an email when I update. Thanks very much and have a jolly day.

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12. The Ending Chapters: Resurrection

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters except Matthew and the plot.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Thank you to all the reviewers.

The writing of this chapter took longer than I expected because of various reasons. The two most understandable of the reasons are:

- 1. The writer's block lasted for more time than I expected.

- 2. After my trip to TN, well, on the last two days, I had a very horrible and terrible allergic reaction. To what, I have not a clue, but I was itching and itching like a madman. It's really hard to get anything done when all you want to do is scratch and make the itch go away. The doctor said I had to wait a week, and take Benadryl every six hours…. It really really sucks.

But my trip to Tennessee was very productive; I got to relax and have fun (I stayed inside -- the weather over there is so humid and hot; after about ten minutes of being outside, I had to go back inside to prevent from fainting, or, melting) and well, on the flight back, I brainstormed ideas for the events to happen in the ending chapters. Frankly, I think I was successful. I now have a more vivid and specific event list.

I hope I won't disappoint you, because you might have a very jolly ending in mind, and my work might just come up to just the simply happy bar on the scale. Oh, and I am terribly sorry if I missed you on the email updates; I had a hard time putting it all on one list, so I might have misplaced your email address. Let me know in your review if you still want me to email you when I update for the remainder of this story, and of course, type in your email address in the text.

So, here, folks, is one of the Ending Chapters of Boys Don't Cry. And yes, that is an `S' in Chapters, because this is not the end yet. Oh, and my writing may be a bit rusty, from my long break….

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The Ending Chapters: Resurrection

Harry didn't know how fast his heart was beating, or if his breaths had just ceased at that moment, but it seemed as everything had frozen and halted. His hand on the thin and fragile old page seemed to be tingling with a burning warmth that had risen from his anticipation and determination.

His eyes did not waver from the page, as he read it over and over, his breaths still trapped inside his lungs, but he did not care to notice. His mind was shouting at him, his eyes gliding back and forth across the page, as if he was not sure if this was some hallucination or trick his mind was playing on him.

This was it.

The spell, the incantation, the cure.

His hope and eagerness began to burst through him, coursing through his veins and rushing all of his thoughts.

“I found it,” he whispered, his voice shaky and quiet. Beside him, he heard the flipping pages stop as Ron halted and looked over.

“What, Harry?” Ron asked.

Harry tore his gaze from the page and looked at his friend with sparkling eyes.

“I found it,” he said, this time much louder. Ron's mouth slightly dropped open, forming an O. “I found the spell for the amulet. I found the spell that can break the seal and how to open it and mix it in with the blood.” His heart was pounding in his chest, as he heard the footsteps of their Headmaster and Professor approaching him. Their strides were quick and long, as they reached him in a matter of seconds.

Professor McGonagall stood beside him, Dumbledore by her shoulder, as they read over his discovery. Harry watched with eagerness as both their faces a faint smile began to trace their features. Professor McGonagall looked up with him with twinkling eyes, as did Dumbledore.

“Very well done, Mr. Potter,” she smiled, delight hinted in her voice. “Very well done, indeed.”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said in a quiet voice. “Excellent work.”

Harry beamed with pride, while Ron, beside him, closed his book silently.

“What does it say, Harry?” Ron asked, hurriedly. “We've got to hurry. It's dark outside and there's not much time until the moon appears.”

Harry's smile faded, as he returned his gaze to the book. He quickly glanced back at Ron, and then handed him the thick book with both hands. Ron nodded as his eyes quickly darted across the page, reading the vital information. Ron's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression grave and serious.

“Harry… I think,” he said quietly, almost in a whisper. “I think you missed something.” Harry's eyebrows furrowed as confusion was etched on his face. Ron was pale, sorrow evident in his expression as he closed his eyes slowly. Harry looked over his shoulder, and tried to search the information he had missed.

Harry's face fell, his heartbeats dying into a sharp and stabbing silence. His eyes burned, as his skin suddenly became sensitive to the cold room and atmosphere.

He swallowed hard, trying to consume the sadness and horror that had mounded in his throat.

He could feel the other two people in the room send curious and concerned glances his way. He felt a warm but gentle hand lay on his shoulder, as he tried to recover from the shock and dread.

“What is it?” he heard his Professor ask. His vision seemed to swirl and flash, his thoughts venomous and filled with a dry sting.

“Its says,” Harry read, trying to swallow once again, “if we enact the spell on the amulet and mix it in with the blood, and give it to her…” his fist clenched, his nails digging into the cold skin of his palm. “…If it fails either because she is not strong enough or her energy had been drained just barely to the last drop…. it can be fatal. She'll die an instant death, and the tears and the blood won't be any use anymore.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, as he said the last words. Silence engulfed the room, his throat dry and the words chiming inside his head, echoing his worst fears. Inside his mind, the shadows loomed out of their corners and invaded, laughing evilly and draining all of his recently recovered hope.

“Well, it's worth a try,” his Professor said. “If we don't, we will lose her in the same way. We must hurry and try the spell before we lose her and all our chances are lost.” Her voice was firm and stern, though Harry knew that her voice was just coated, and deep inside she was afraid just like the rest of them. He knew, after all these years, when her sternness was meant, and when she just used it to hide her true feelings.

“Minerva is right,” he heard Dumbledore say quietly. “We have little time left, and we must hurry and make do with what we accomplished.”

Harry nodded, as he looked at his ginger-haired friend standing beside him. Ron's blue eyes were dim with fear, but there were flecks of hope, as he nodded at Harry.

Harry sighed, a sigh that hinted finality and one that he had tried to summon up all his fears and pessimistic thoughts in. He reached for his wand, trying to steady his shaky and bandaged hand. Ron, Dumbledore and McGonagall each backed away slowly, while Harry looked at the amulet with uncertainty.

“Professor, maybe you should do it, I don't know if I could—“

“Mr. Potter,” she said sternly. “I think you know that spells such as this, complicated and with many strings attached, take intense feeling, in fact, the most intense feeling that can be found. You and Ms. Granger were indeed very close, and you are fighting a bigger battle than any of us in the situation, I think it is only necessary that you see to it done by none other than yourself.” Harry's hand was shaking, as his gaze was still filled with fear.

“I could destroy the amulet,” he said, his voice trembling and faint. “If I say or enact it wrong, I could destroy it and we'd have no chance at all.”

“Harry,” he heard Ron say from behind him. His voice pleaded for him to think straight and hinted helplessness. “Think about Hermione. Just think about her. Think about how everything's going to be when she wakes up. Just focus, Harry. The only person who can do the spell is you.”

Harry nodded, as he raised his wand, the tip pointed directly at the amulet. He closed his eyes and tried to shepherd all of his strewn and lost thoughts, focusing on breaking the protection spell and opening the amulet. Fear had already eaten him whole, but he tried his best not to let it cloud his thoughts. He had to focus, concentrate.

He steadied his hand, as he gazed out in the darkness that resided inside his eyelids. The silence roared and tipped him to distract, but he kept still. Just then, something flashed inside. Like lightning whipping across a dark and stormy sky.

He saw her.

He saw her standing out in the snow as he placed her hat on her head, smiling up at him genuinely and laughing so softly and gracefully.

He saw her.

His eyes bolted open.

“Subverto Inclamidros,” he said loudly. Immediately, a ray of glowing white shot out of his wand. He felt energy and the blood rushing through his veins suddenly thrust forward, as he felt it suddenly seep out of his body, out from his fingertips and through the wand, like crackling electricity.

Harry watched, his gaze firm and unmoving, as the bright ray struck the amulet.

At first, the ray did not affect it at all. But as Harry watched, he saw the amulet's pendant start to glow. He heard the splitting fracture as he saw it crack slowly, like rapid growing branches of a tree or reconstructing veins.

He felt his fingertips start tingle, as the ray slowly faded and bleed into the amulet with a forceful impact that shook the desk it lay upon. Just then, the ray vanished.

Harry noticed that he was breathing hard and quick breaths, as his knees suddenly felt weak. His rushing blood seemed sharp and cold, as he staggered forward.

He looked down at the amulet, his breaths slowly returning to their regular pace.

There were shards and tiny broken pieces of shining and translucent glass that almost seemed ghostly, surrounding the amulet. Inside the pendant, he saw the small and swirling pool of crimson, a jagged hole in the center of the glass that had shattered from the ray.

He let out a relieved sigh, running his hand through his untamed hair unconsciously. He felt a bit light-headed, like the world seemed to tilt and lean slightly, and there was that same hollowness at the pit of his stomach. His heart sent out thunderous beats in his chest.

He felt something lay gently on his shoulder, and as he looked beside himself wearily, he saw Ron giving him a faint but encouraging smile. Harry looked back towards the amulet silently, as he saw Professor McGonagall standing above it, observing the ornament. Dumbledore stood beside Harry's opposite side, quiet.

They watched the Witch as she looked over it, in a calm but tense manner. Finally, she looked up at them, and they were all relieved at the slight smile on her aged face.

“You were successful, Mr. Potter,” she smiled. Harry felt a fair amount of burden lift off of his heart.

“Now,” she went on, taking the other necklace out of her pocket, “we have to mix it in… The blood and the tears.” She took out her wand with her other hand and with a flick of her wrist, a dainty silver goblet appeared beside the amulet. It was smaller than a regular goblet and it looked to be quite ancient, but it sparkled and shone like it had just been freshly made.

They did not speak a word as she poured in the contents of the amulet first, the red but slick fluid flowing slowly. Once she had made sure there was not a drop left inside the pendant, she set it down carefully and reached for the other necklace. She unclasped the tiny locks that held the vial to the necklace, as she placed the silver chain on the table. She lifted the cap and tilted the vial into the goblet so that its filling would pour out slowly.

They all watched in interest and sparking hope, as the vial became empty in a matter of seconds. Finally, she set the vial down, looking inside the goblet in curiosity.

Without thinking, Harry walked towards her. He reached her side and wordlessly looked inside the shiny goblet, surprised to see that the contents inside seemed to have taken a life of its own. The silver, thick blood seemed to be mixing with the red tears. The colors swirled together slowly, as he looked down, blending and joining. A few seconds later, he saw the uneven rings of thick silver and islands of smooth crimson.

Finally, he heard her speak.

“It's ready,” she said firmly, no uncertainty evident at all in her voice. Harry nodded, as he slowly tore his gaze away from the goblet.

“Albus, you'd better get Poppy,” she said to Dumbledore. He nodded and walked towards her office unhurriedly.

Minerva McGonagall silently took the small goblet in her frail hands, as she walked over to Hermione's bedside, Harry and Ron trailing along close behind. She set it down on the table beside her, as Harry heard footsteps approaching them from the back of the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore and a fearful looking Madam Pomfrey appeared at the foot of her bed. Minerva looked at both of them expectedly, before speaking.

“Poppy, if you would please?” Harry backed away as the medi-witch walked over to Hermione and placed one hand firmly but gently on her chin, and the other on her forehead. Her hands aided and propped Hermione's head up, so the Professor could pour in the serum in her mouth without any accidents. Minerva nodded in approval, before turning to her side to retrieve the goblet.

As soon as she held it in her hand, she looked at Harry. Her stern eyes were apologetic and sincere, fearful but hopeful. Harry did not question the thought that she was feeling exactly what he and the rest of the people in the room were evidently feeling. Harry knew that she was a strong Witch, but no one was perfect. Not even Dumbledore, or anyone else. Everyone could fail and mistrust, make mistakes and feel that same biting guilt. It was nature, it was life. No potion or spell or magical amulet could change such a thing.

Everyone in the room was afraid, and maybe there were times they could deny it, but they felt no need to admit it or lie about it now. They kept quiet, the hope they wanted to believe in that will save a loved one keeping them from losing it.

Harry knew there was false hope.

Harry knew how it felt to be let down.

Harry knew the pain, the loss, the guilt and the lack of words that made him incapable of letting all of his frustrations and emotions free. He had seen death millions of times, sometimes before his own feet, sometimes before another.

But somehow, with all his experience and pain, he had a feeling that he was not ready for this. That all he had gone through could never make him ready or could ever match up for this.

He knew, deep inside, that he couldn't bear to lose another person he loved so dearly, though Remus told him that everyone learned to move on though at first they thought they couldn't.

He knew that everything was riding on this.

He wanted to believe, and maybe he did, but he needed something to believe in again. He wanted to believe that his love for her would pull her back into the world and back into his arms. He wanted to believe that his love could save her, restore her.

He wanted to believe that he would see her smile again, to get to hold her in his arms again. He wanted to believe that he would end up spending the rest of his life with her, instead of living without her.

He wanted to believe that he would get another chance to tell her that he loved her and prove it to be true.

He wanted to believe in all these things all at once… and it was all he had left.

Harry nodded at her, his eyes determined and hopeful, as he reached for Hermione's hand by her side. He entwined his fingers with hers, holding her weak hand firmly. He let out a deep and painful sigh as the skin on his palms became chilled from hers.

She hadn't been this cold before.

They were losing her.

He watched with anticipation as Minerva turned back to Hermione. She leaned forward and tilted the goblet to her lips, and the liquid poured into her mouth. Harry could feel his heart calling, shouting, protesting, as his grasp tightened on her hand.

She gave him hope, not too long ago, when he was sure that his world had come crashing down and everything was in irreparable pieces and ruin. She was the one who always told him that he could do anything if he believed in himself enough. She told him that if he believed in himself, no one else mattered.

Harry swallowed hard, his grip tightening, feeling that same painful knot in his throat.

What was he to do without her? What was he to do if he was forced to live without her? Who would be there for him when he pushed everyone away? Who would believe in him when no one else did?

Who else could he love as much as he loved her?

If he lost her, could he even be capable of loving anyone else?

The goblet had been emptied; the last drop had been poured into her mouth. Harry felt anxiety and panic start to build up inside of him, horror and anger ember inside his veins. Moments passed in silence, the stillness and lack of motion and reaction biting into the tender flesh of his heart. He could feel the monstrous jaws of realization and sinister fears confirmed before his very eyes.

He had lost.

They all watched her in fear and worry, praying and wishing that she'd move. They had told themselves that fate had bigger plans for her, that she would suddenly wake and make the day seem worthwhile. They had tried to erase the doubt; they had tried to believe that everything would turn out to be just fine.

But they were wrong. They were wrong.

She wasn't moving.

She was still and lifeless, cold and calm, undisturbed in every manner. The colorless and pale walls of the Hospital Wing seemed to taunt him, shouting their “I told you so”s and laughing at him wickedly.

Harry felt his eyes burn and his heart break with a loud shatter, and then fall to the jagged pit of his hollow stomach.

He didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true.

It was too painful, too raw to believe.

She was gone. No more hope.

But she couldn't be. She couldn't be. She couldn't have left. She couldn't have left him here all alone.

She would never leave him, she had told him so.

Suddenly, he felt his rage tower. A tidal wave of emotions and thoughts crushed his body underneath all the defeating pressure.

He tightened his hand on hers, as Professor McGonagall lowered her gaze and bowed her head in disappointment.

The silence hurt far too much.

His mouth was dry and hot, his throat rough. He felt that same pain that he had prayed he would never feel again. His knees trembled, his bones brittle. He swallowed hard, but he couldn't, for this time it was much more painful. He could feel his chest tighten with such a force that he could not breathe. His lungs were burning for air, but he couldn't bear to breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

The cold pierced his skin, and the silence bellowed so loudly it rang in his ears furiously. In his mind, everything seemed to flashing and scurrying away. He couldn't think straight.

He didn't want to believe this was real.

But it was. Reality bestowed no mercy. Reality was blind and cruel. Reality was fragile but strong and fickle. It served happiness and then once you had taken and embraced it, it stole it right back. It gave you a heart and then broke it with its bare hands.

It gave you someone to love and then snatched her right back.

It gave you everything, everything you could ever want… and then made you lose it.

Though you set out to be a winner, to be victorious, hopes and dreams only led you on. You end up being a failure, a loser, in the end. And then nothing will matter at all. You've lost everything, and you've got no energy left to fight for it back. You're left mourning and feeling that same stinging ache.

That's how he felt.

Harry didn't know what to do.

The tears clouded his vision but he refused to let them leak out. But they were much stronger this time, and he could feel his body weaken. He could feel that same tightening suffocation build up inside his lungs and his blood turn icy coursing through his twisting veins.

Madam Pomfrey checked Hermione's pulse at her wrist and neck. Her face was solemn and pallid. She shook her head slowly.

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly. Her voice was softer and gentler than all those times before, but they still echoed in his ears. He felt an acidic and bile taste fill in his mouth and tear at the lining of his throat. “She's… her pulse has disappeared completely. She's… she's dead.”

“No!” Harry shouted, his voice breaking, as he held on to her hand tighter. The tears fought and his throat was closing up. “No! She can't be dead! She just can't be! She can't be dead!” His shouts were not convincing at all.

He was the only one who tried to deny the truth. He was the only one who refused to believe.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and hold on tightly.

“Harry…” he recognized the voice. It was Ron. His voice was low and solemn, hinted fresh with tears. “Harry, it said in the book that there would be a possibility that it wouldn't work… Harry, just let her go. There's nothing more we can do.”

“No!” he shouted again. “She can't be dead, Ron! She just can't be!” he turned to Ron, whose eyes were glossy with tears. “You don't believe that bloody book, do you? It's lying! It's lying!”

His shouts were thunderous. He met everyone's eyes and he could see all of them had lost hope. They did not even try to believe that there was some hope left.

He looked back at her, hastily wiping his eyes. He still kept her hand in his as he walked towards her calm face. He raised his other hand, trembling and shaking, and brought it to her face. He pressed his palm against her cheek, a harsh feeling cutting through him.

“Hermione,” he said, his whisper quivering. “Hermione… come back. Please, come back to me. To us. Don't leave me, you can't leave me. Please. I don't know what I'd do without you. I love you so much.”

He felt the sobs dominating. His chest was bound tightly, and his breaths were ragged and excruciating.

His jaw was clenched from refusing to let it out, and his fingers were buzzing with a stinging cold.

“She can't be dead,” he whispered. “She can't be dead.”

Just then, he felt it. He felt it.

He felt a tear escape from his eyes. He felt the pain and the hurt muster in little drops of sadness and brokenness.

He had tried so hard, over the past years, to never let the tears out. He had tried so hard to be strong. He had tried so hard not to be weak.

But now, the emotions and feeling that he had kept bottled up for far too long had finally pushed and broken through the barrier. It was too much. He couldn't hold it in anymore.

But he knew, tears were no substitute. Tears could not bring her back.

He saw everything play before his eyes. He saw the picture, he saw her crying in his arms when she told him that she loved him, he saw her at the ball, he saw her in the snow… he saw her when she was struck with the curse.

But it was too painful.

He would never reminiscence like he did before. He could never look back on their memories and feel that same happy feeling.

He had lost her again. And this time, he could not save her or bring her back.

He would never see her smile and he could never look into her warm brown eyes again. He would never hold her in his arms like he never wanted to let go and he would never hear her graceful and soft laugh chime in his ears like praises from Heaven.

He had thought he had lost everything, once before.

But he didn't know. He couldn't know before.

Now, he knew it was true. He had lost everything.

She was his everything.

“Harry…” Ron tried to soothe and calm his friend but he could not even get himself together. “Harry… she's gone. She's gone. There's nothing we can do.”

“No!” Harry shouted again, glaring at Ron. His vision stung with a severity, and became blurred again in a matter of seconds. The room seemed to be fading away, blotted in blurs that he could not recognize. The four figures that stood silently in the Hospital Wing became dark smears and distorted blotches.

His reason, morals and thoughts seemed to be slipping from his fingertips, his hope vanishing into the malicious air that tugged at his heart. There was a deep suffocation that was wringing his neck, forcing him to take his last agonizing breaths though the air was now toxic and filthy.

“You promised me,” he said, his body trembling. “You promised me you'd never leave me. You promised me.” His head was bowed forward, as his eyes closed. His hands held her limp hand tightly.

He felt something slip from his eyes and slide down his cold cheek.

“You promised me!” he suddenly shouted, his knees buckling. “You bloody promised me! How could you leave me? How could you break your word?”

His world was spinning and swirling into a mysterious vortex, his pain and loss magnified into something he could no longer hold upon his shoulders or bear in his heart. He was not ready for something like this.

He was never ready to lose her.

Just then, he sank down on his knees. He could feel the cold floor chill through the fabric of his robes and clothes and embed into his skin. The floor beneath him was firm and solid, but it was sinking and eating him whole just the same. Everything was unstable, the silence, the lack of reaction, the pale and colorless walls.

He hadn't known.

All his life, he hadn't known pain like this before.

It seemed vaguely alien, yet it seemed so familiar at the same time. Nothing was clear, nothing was distinct. Nothing was believable, nothing was fake. Nothing he wanted to make sense of, nothing he wanted to be ambiguous.

He just wanted her back. That was all he wanted.

It was pain in its most horrible and terrible form. His greatest and worst fear played right before his eyes.

The impact was harsh and brutal because he hadn't expected it. He wasn't ready.

He didn't want to be. He didn't want to consider the fact of having to live on a life that didn't have her in it. He wanted to believe that his hope was enough, that his love was enough. He wanted to believe that all the fairness and good in the world would play out, he wanted to believe that his heart would mend once he saw her warm smile that could melt the sun.

He wanted to believe all these things.

But he was let down. Reality had managed to break through the light and crush his hope.

Harry let it all out. His sobs hurt but they were liberating. His body shook vigorously, his tears raining down his cheeks and falling below. In his mind there was a chant and in his heart there was a dagger that ripped and tore him apart to pieces. He felt as if he was being burned internally, from the inside out.

His hands and palms burned from the coldness of her lifeless hands and fingers. His tears stung harshly and prickled his skin. His lungs were poisoned from the bitter air and his bones felt far too heavy.

He had lost her.

But now it was for forever.

“Harry? Harry…” he felt something gentle and warm set on his shoulder, and even with the roaring in his ears he recognized the voice.

Ron was beside him, tears slipping from his eyes just as easily.

“She promised,” Harry said through his tears. “She promised me.”

“I know, I know,” Ron said, trying to calm him down. “But… Harry, she's gone. She's gone.”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “No. I won't believe it.”

“Harry, I know it's hard, but you've got to accept it. There's nothing else we can do now.”

“No, Ron,” he insisted. “She can't be gone. She just can't.”

“Harry… Please. Just let her go. Let her go.”

“No!” Harry shouted, his voice loud but rough. He jerked Ron's hand away from his shoulder. “No! I'm not going to let her go! She's not dead! She's not dead!”

Suddenly, Harry stood on his feeble and wobbly legs, his head feeling light but far too heavy to carry on his shoulders. He leaned over to Hermione and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Hermione! Hermione! Hermione, you're not dead! Come back!” he shook her lifeless body hard. His yells were thunderous and cut through the bleak silence and shattered the air. “Come back to me!” he cried hysterically. “Come back to me! You promised! Come back! I can't lose you too!”

Just then, he felt someone grab him from behind. He struggled to pry the hands off of him, but he was weak and he was in no condition to fight.

“Harry, no! Don't do this! Let her go! She's gone! You can't bring her back! No one can!” he heard Ron shout from behind him. Ron was holding him back firmly, but Harry resisted.

“No! You're wrong! You're wrong!”

“Please, Harry!”

“She's not dead! She's not!”

Suddenly, he heard a different but familiar voice. It echoed in his ears, as his strength was suddenly drained rapidly. His energy seemed to be flowing out of him, seeping and bleeding out of his fingers at a quick and fluid pace.

“Levisomnus Somnifer.” It was a quiet and gentle voice, full of age and wisdom. But as he felt weaker and weaker by the second, his vision became darker and darker. He could no longer make out the three figures standing with them in the Hospital Wing, and the walls seemed to disappear. His struggles became non-existent, as his head was filled with a heavy lullaby. There were voices, but his ears were no longer listening.

Drowsiness overcame him, his limbs far too heavy for him to raise. His eyelids drooped; his heartbeats fading and the lingering pain washing away like a stream from his heart. The voices became unclear and muffled, and his thoughts vanished into a cloudy mist.

Soon, he fell into a deep darkness that welcomed him with its endless and silky arms.

oooooooooooo

He heard a voice. One that haunted and plagued his dreams and thoughts. He saw a figure in the darkness but he was not sure if it was real, some mirage, or a dream.

The voice was gentle and soft and it cradled his heart so carefully like it was so fragile and it might break if held any tighter. The voice was ghostly but it embraced his heart and filled his heart like an alluring lullaby.

He recognized it, and it was so familiar that it was starting to hurt him with a raw ache in his chest, but it was just not clear enough for him to try to make sense and comprehend of it.

It was a feminine voice. One that was graceful, inviting and warm. It was melodious and kind.

It made his heart start to beat and function, and his ears pound with anticipation. It soothed him and made him feel safe.

It gave him faith, and hope.

He recognized it. He recognized it. He longed to hear it again and again, he longed to capture it and drink it in.

Just then, he felt something warm against his skin.

Harry opened his eyes, but only a blurry darkness greeted him. He seemed to be half awake, the drowsiness still calling to him. His eyelids were heavy and drooping, but there was something that had woken him.

He didn't have the strength to try to squint or reach over for his glasses. The sleepiness covered him like a loaded drug.

It was cold in this room. The darkness was darker than he had ever seen, but somehow, there was something different.

Just then, he felt something shift and trace along his hand. His eyes rolled back, his head so heavy and tired. There seemed to be a haze, a misty fog that he was trapped in. He felt something warm and gentle press against his palm, but still he could not see a thing.

Just darkness.

He tried to open his eyes, but they only opened halfway.

That's when he saw it.

A figure, darker than the darkness or a shadow.

It was hovering above him.

The voice became clearer, and he knew. He knew.

He recognized the warmth on his hand and the softness that was laid against it. He loved it too much to ever forget.

But though he wanted to keep his eyes open, his eyelids closed slowly. His thoughts were slow and lagging. His mind was in a dreamy haze that made his body unaware. His thoughts were not strong enough. He was not strong enough.

But he recognized the voice. He knew.

He knew.

He knew who it was.

In the darkness, he could still feel the warmth against his fingers and palm. He was slipping away again, the breeze carrying him away to a silent and peaceful oblivion.

But before he was back into that same inviting and calm state, he managed to whisper his certainty.

“Hermione,” he said, almost inaudibly.

But as he had drifted off, there was a voice. It was muffled and it was gentle, but he understood it.

He didn't know if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or if it was something his memory managed to play. Or maybe something that his heart remembered to help soothe his pain. He didn't know at all, but he knew it would do for now.

“I'm here, Harry. I'm right here.”

“In the midst of my darkest hour,

you see my tear-stained face

This broken form that no longer feels power

In no apparent place

But even when the world has turned her back on me

When it's cold where it once had burned

When my thoughts are frightening

You will never leave me….”

-- Never Leave, Kendall Payne

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13. Promise

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. Only the plot.

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Well… From the reviews, it seems that I have upset quite a lot of you. I apologize. One of you said that, if I had planned for Hermione to die, then why lag it on or drag it on for as far as I did? Now I see that you have lost faith in me and my writing.

First of all, I promised a happy ending, and yes, you will receive just that. I don't think that a happy ending requires a dead Hermione, do you? I am sorry if you think I have led you on or have lied to you, but I must tell you that I never intended to let you down in any way. I really am sorry. But there is quite more to this story, and I must ask you to stick around. Because the sun also rises and shines, you know. It's not just gloom and doom in here, though it seems like it.

Some of you told me that you were confused, from the ending of the last chapter. Believe what you want; but this chapter will reveal Hermione's fate. I am sorry that in the beginning, I ramble on for so long and you think its nonsense. But I assure you that it does go somewhere.

More importantly, the dreams that Harry has been having; swimming in darkness, and all that, is just, well, it's from the Cure's `Just Like Heaven'. If you look in the song excerpt below, it says: Alone above a raging sea… That stole the only girl I love…and drowned her deep inside of me…. Well, that's why he's been having those dreams. Swimming in darkness, and all that stuff. I can't really explain it, but it just really made sense to me, to put in those dreams, after reading those beautiful lyrics (written by the brilliant Robert Smith). Well, I hope you bestow at least more faith in me and believe that I will provide a happy and fluffy ending for our favorite pair, because that's my only plan for this story. And no, this is not yet the end. Some people are asking me if it's the end… and I ask myself if I haven't made it clear enough. I assure you that when it is finally the end, you'll know. A few more chapters.

The file was too big (I don't even freaking know why; it was only 28 pages!) and so I couldn't load it onto Portkey. I had to divide it up into 2 parts. So, go to the next chapter after this!

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“…. Daylight licked me into shape

I must have been asleep for days

And moving lips to breathe her name

I opened up my eyes

And found myself alone

Alone

Alone above a raging sea

That stole the only girl I loved

And drowned her deep inside of me….”

--The Cure, Just Like Heaven

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Promise

There was a distinct and far sound, muffled and subdued. His body was tired and weak; he felt almost paralyzed. His energy was drained, and his thoughts carried no spark or fleck of protest or spirit. His soul seemed to be battered and torn to pieces.

He was swimming in a sweet, intoxicating and addicting darkness.

It was fluid and swayed gently but ever so powerfully that it carried his tall body with the current. It filled his mouth with a warm and inviting saccharine taste, and then slid down his throat to warm his aching lungs. It was silent, but it was a sort of silence that was expected and accepted dutifully without a care or objection.

He hadn't known this before. It was calm, and he was at peace.

But this wasn't the sort of peace he thought someday he might achieve. It was one that kept him trapped inside, one that kept him swimming in the darkness, never reaching the surface or nearing it. It was one that embraced him, not lovingly, but with sinister and mysterious intentions that he was too afraid to uncover.

He felt light, but he still felt that heavy burden that he had known for far too long. His heart was still functioning, beating, sending blood to course through his veins… but somehow, it made no difference.

His heart was beating, but he didn't know if he was alive.

There was a stinging pain deep inside him that made him want to think that he wasn't. It was the only sort of pain, the only sort of wound that the darkness could not soothe or swallow.

And it became stronger.

It throbbed with raw purpose, spreading and aiming farther, stabbing deeper. It was cold but it burned without mercy, as he felt himself double over in pain. He could feel his hand clutch his chest, eyes closed tightly, biting his tongue from crying out.

Just then, the peace and solitude he knew, vanished.

The current became stronger, fierce with jaws and hands that grabbed to crush him whole. The silence was replaced with a loud roaring and bellowing that made his ears ache. The darkness became darker, and the once sweet taste turned acidic and bile.

It filled his mouth and slid down his throat, leaving a smoldering trail. It filled and made his lungs crumble in pieces, making it impossible for him to breathe.

He unclenched his jaw and yelled out, but there was nothing. His shout was non-existent.

He felt his heart beating, faster and faster. Soon it was at such a rapid pace that it hurt. He could hear its booming beats, as if it were to detonate any second from inside him. His pulse was racing and his blood was so icy it seemed to pierce through the walls of his blood vessels.

Inside his eyelids, he saw swirls of color and slivers of trinket silver. He felt something rip and claw at his skin, tearing the flesh off of his bones.

He tried to call out again, but there was nothing.

Just then, he felt his heartbeats slow into a stifled pounding. He could feel everything fading away, the sensation of his surroundings growing fainter wrapping around him. The current had lost its sway and the acid, tart taste in his mouth and throat disappeared.

The harsh roaring was now a weak solace, but it seemed different than before.

He noticed the quick transition. It was like the winter thaw before spring. It made the atmosphere different, but it didn't take anything away at all.

He didn't feel the same cold bitterness, but instead a warm and welcoming one. He noticed how the sway had stopped for a moment, and was now rocking him gently.

But he still saw the same darkness.

Just then, he saw something start to appear or emerge from the darkness. It was a face, a beautiful and delicate face. One that was fit for hearty and melting brown eyes and a genuine and wide smile.

Little by little, the face became clearer. The features started to appear.

His heartbeats ceased as he saw who it was before him.

It was her.

She was smiling down on him, her deep brown eyes sparkling and glossy with tears. And he saw himself, asleep on a bed. His vision trailed down, and he found that she was holding his hand. The scene seemed to be playing before his eyes, though he was not sure if it was real or whether it was something his longing thoughts and imagination had created.

But he had felt it. That warmth, that sweet and gentle warmth that he could never miss or overlook. He had felt it trace against his palm and entwine with his fingers.

And it had felt real. He had felt her soft hands against his.

It had to be real.

But as he watched the scene with a vague familiarity, confusion mounded inside his mind and fought against his heart's protests.

He was watching her hold his hand, though he was asleep on the bed. How could he be here, seeing all of this?

He shook his head solemnly.

It couldn't be real. Though he didn't want to believe it, he knew he couldn't fool himself again.

It was just a dream.

Suddenly, he heard a whisper. His attention sharpened on the sight before him.

“Hermione?”

Something clicked inside of his mind, but it was formless and fuzzy. He could not place the strange familiarity of the scene and whispered words.

“I'm here, Harry. I'm right here.”

Her voice was kind and gentle, and he felt his heart break from hearing her say those words.

It was a lie. She wasn't there. She was no longer by his side.

Dreams were ruthless and all they did was lie and give false hope.

It was not fair that he was still haunted by her and the accompanying pain in his dreams.

She was gone.

He didn't know how to face the rest of the world, or the rest of his life without her, but he knew he had to. He had to keep going.

But he didn't want to. He wanted to stay in this dreams forever, and just watch her. To just see her face, to just see her smile again. He didn't care if he ever woke up. Just as long as he didn't have to face the cold and harsh reality where she no longer held a place.

And it hurt, it did.

But she still held a place in his heart.

He could not make it vanish or disappear; if he had such a power he would use it to erase the pain and move on. He could not even try to soothe or help it heal.

He knew he would live on and it would still be the same; there would be no difference at all. She was still going to be there. In his heart, reminding him of the times when he was truly happy and content.

And maybe it would keep him bitter and cold. Maybe he would lock himself out of contact from the world that had stolen the only girl he loved away from him. But he knew better, though at times he insisted that he didn't. Sometimes he didn't want reasons, and sometimes he might just wanted to mourn over his loss and broken heart.

But he would still see her face. Her warm and laughing brown eyes that he would get lost in at times. Her smile and her soft laughter that he adored.

A memory. A place in his heart and a mere memory.

Is that really all he could offer?

But before he could try to search for such an answer, an overwhelming and deep feeling filled him. It was light but powerful, and it made his blood rush faster and his heart beat with fervor.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was plunged deeper inside the darkness. It was sort of like… falling. But there was no panic or frantic thoughts scattering in his mind. It was soothing and it felt better than anything else.

And so he gave in without resistance.

He fell.

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Harry opened his eyes, his eyelids still heavy. He could feel the dryness surrounding his eyes and he knew it was what was left from his tears from the night before.

He sighed, as he stared up at the blurry white, nude, ceiling above him.

It was still dark, just hours before the sun would rise. The curtains had been pulled over the windows, but he knew just what was waiting outside the Hogwarts grounds. He recognized the chill in the Hospital Wing enough to know that there was a light snowfall happening right at the moment.

He swallowed hard, trying to consume that dry and rough feeling in his throat.

He lay motionless, his gaze unwavering from the ceiling. His breaths were shallow and paced, his arms were completely still beside him. It was as if he was afraid to move. As if something was to pounce on him if he were to move an inch.

In his mind, there was a disturbing silence. But he saw things; he saw his memories playing before his eyes. It was heart breaking and painful, for they only reminded him of what he had and what he had lost, but he could never stop them if he tried.

He closed his eyes slowly.

His body was weak, tired. He felt as if his limbs were far too heavy to lift or move. His heartbeats were only occasional, a faint thud now and then. In his head there was a gentle lullaby playing that seemed to be fading with every tick the clock sounded.

He refused to think about what had happened, but he had no choice.

He knew that Dumbledore had enacted some sort of spell on him. And he wasn't bitter or angry about it at all. The spell had relieved him and made all the agony and pain vanish. Seeing her there, lifeless on one of the pure white Hospital Wing's beds, was something that made him lose his control and made him hurt more than he could have ever imagined.

She was gone.

And though he didn't want to believe it, a small part of him did just that.

He felt weak, small and defeated.

He had lost.

He didn't want to think about his life. He didn't want to think what was to happen after he left this room, or after he left Hogwarts. It was too much to bear. He didn't want to think about how he would be without her, or how the silence and emptiness of a small room could break him down and make him fall to his knees. He did not want to think about how he would think about her everyday, or the fact that his heart would never be mended.

He didn't want to think about the pain reminiscing would bring to him when he thought of her. He wanted to lock away all of his memories, clear his mind.

He knew he would never be able to move on if the thought of her still opened up new wounds, and stabbed into the old ones. He knew it would keep and hold him back. It would keep him underneath the same storm clouds; keep him living in the same painful past.

He didn't want to let go.

He hadn't wanted to lose hope.

But he knew that there were times where life didn't give choices. It shoved one choice in your way, and that was all you could make do with. He knew that life wasn't fair and that people lost people who were too pure and innocent. He knew that sometimes death took the ones who didn't deserve to go.

He knew all this.

He could accept it.

But it stuck white-hot daggers through his heart and pierced through his weary body, and he found himself turning away from it, stubbornly.

He wondered when the world had become such a place like this. Where no one was ever safe when they thought they finally were, and where wickedness could overcome a heart in good. He wondered why revenge became so important and he wondered how revenge could blind a person and everything and anything else didn't matter anymore. He wondered when the world became cruel and heartless, where people lost their love to the shadows of death and evil. He wondered why the world no longer held a shining torch for hope.

And maybe he had seen and known this all before. Maybe he had accepted it and maybe he had never questioned it. But somehow, thinking about it now, staring up at the colorless ceiling, he had a different view. He used to think he was just an onlooker, a bystander who saw all these things and tried to put a stop to them. But he had lost a person close to his heart, and he didn't know if he was just a spectator anymore. A passerby who had seen such things could have never felt such pain, such heartbreak, such loss. It was different. Everything was different.

And Harry didn't know if he could speak about such things to anyone, or voice them into the silent air surrounding him. Maybe over time, maybe if he lost himself enough to push the pain away. Maybe if he found another love. But he found it unspeakable, for the time being. He was voiceless on the matter. Whether he chose to be, or he just was, he didn't know. All he knew was that the pain was just too sacred and deeper than he or any person could ever imagine. He was just afraid that if he were ever to speak about such a thing, he would lose or run out of words. It was indescribable. There just weren't enough words.

Harry opened his eyes, and was met with the same sight. It was still silent in the infirmary, besides his rhythmic shallow breaths. Gloom and a faint sadness drifted about in the air, though he was positive one who didn't know what recent events that had happened here could never tell the difference. The walls had ears, the ceiling had eyes, the room alone had so many secrets to tell to those who would listen.

Harry sighed inaudibly, the blank sight he was gazing upon becoming blurry. His eyes stung with familiar warmth. He could feel his lungs start to ache, his heart start to thrash and call out.

Things just weren't the same. They were so different. Things were so sad, so serious, so silent. This wasn't where he wanted to be. The silence allowed memories and reminiscing. The silence allowed him to dwell upon what had happened. The silence allowed him pain, and nothing else.

He wanted an escape.

Harry closed his eyes tightly, as if trying to convince himself this was some dream, or nightmare that he would wake up from soon enough. But as he opened his eyes, he was met with the same sight. He felt the warmth escape from his eyes and slide down his face, colliding with the coldness of his skin. He couldn't help but give out a ragged and deep sigh, as he closed his eyes again.

He felt it building up inside him, inside his chest, inside his lungs, inside his heart. That same burning, creeping up inside his flesh and tearing at his organs. His lungs became hot and compacted, and he couldn't breathe in any more than he could breathe out. It was a painful, internal suffocation. Somehow he knew this feeling once before, but it was much more stronger now.

Harry wiped his eyes and willed himself up. He pressed his hands against the mattress and sheets of the bed, as he sat up on the bed. He found his vision weary and unclear, even with the tears, as he reached over for his glasses. He put it on slowly, but without hesitation, as he sighed again and looked around.

There were faint shadows shading the walls and parts of the floors, like marked territories. He looked beside him, and he found the beds neat and tidy, the blankets clean and unwrinkled. The pillows were fluffed and kept. But as he turned his head in the opposite direction, he found himself looking at a sleeping boy. Harry slightly smiled, as he saw familiar ginger hair peeking out from the pale sheets. And then he turned his gaze right across from his bed, to the row of beds in front of him. His smile vanished and his gaze dimmed, as he saw that they hadn't sent her body elsewhere overnight.

With a heavy heart, he got up from his bed and walked over to her bed quietly.

He pulled up a chair beside her bed, and leaned forward, his elbows propped on the bed, as he reached for her hand. He enclosed his hands around it, slowly, before he entwined his fingers with hers. He watched his actions, trying to memorize the feel of her smooth, creamy skin with his. Something inside told him that there was something different, but he ignored it and shoved it in the dark corners of his mind.

His eyes trailed up her arm, still in her crimson dress robes, as they finally landed on her face. He felt his eyes sting again, as his heart became heavier and heavier.

She had the face of an angel. Calm, peaceful, kind, and beautiful in a way that he could never describe in words.

His memories returned, this time vivid and detailed, as if he was reliving it all over again. He saw her again, at the ball, the way he had gotten lost in her eyes and the way the world and their other peers had vanished in a matter of seconds. He remembered the warmth that had trickled up his body, holding her in his arms again. She had looked so beautiful that he had known he had to try again, just try to make her understand that he couldn't be without her.

He saw her, her face streaked with tears and her eyes hurt, and pleading for his reasonableness to return. He remembered the way she had cried onto his chest, the way her tears had soaked through his robes and shirt, sticking to his skin. He remembered the way she clung onto him so tightly and firmly, never wanting to let him leave. And he remembered not wanting to leave. He remembered wanting to confess to her, pour out what was burdening his heart, what had kept it too heavy all through these years. He wanted to let her know that he would do whatever it took to come back for her, he would do whatever it took to come back and be with her.

He loved her.

But he loved her too much to tell her.

He remembered the way he held her, and his heart ached; all he wanted was to hold her again. All he wanted was to see her smile; all he wanted was to hear her voice. All he wanted, in this world, was to be able to live with the only girl he had loved all these years. All he wanted, was to be happy.

He heard it in his ears, once again. The way her voice was so soft and gentle, so fragile and delicate. He remembered how it shook from her tears, but how it was so honest and strong. He remembered when she had told him that she loved him.

Harry bowed his head forward, holding her hand tightly between his. The tears were leaking out, slipping out from his eyes with so much ease. His heart was so heavy, still so burdened. He could feel the bittersweet drops slide down his face. He could taste it in his mouth. Salty, translucent as it seemed. It tasted of sadness and pain, sorrow and loss. Heartbreak. Lost love. Broken love.

He had tried to be strong. He had tried to overcome every obstacle: leaving her, fighting Voldemort, returning. He had tried to overcome every single problem without letting his heart fall in pieces and ruin to the pit of his stomach. He had tried to be strong.

For her. It was all for her.

He had to be strong for her.

He had always tried to keep the tears back, to keep it from slipping out though at times it hurt too much to bear. He had done just that. At times when he was weak and he needed reassurance but there was none to be found, he had kept it inside. When he had to leave his heart behind with his cloud of doubt growing stronger with each second, he had kept it in.

But this… this, was just something that had taken him and broken him whole.

It broke his spirit, his faith, his hope, his heart. His thoughts were useless and now they were aged and weary. His hope had been blown out like a single, flickering and weak candle in a dark room. His faith had been carried away into the tide of the lost. His heart… his heart.

His heart was where she was. His heart was with her.

His heart, no matter what she thought, was and always had been in her hands. He had given it to her completely so long ago, that he had almost forgotten. Over time, he came to rely on her, like the oxygen he needed to inhale every moment. She was vital, she was important.

He never found it unusual, or awkward.

He remembered there were times when they would just sit alone, staring up at the sky in the Astronomy Tower. He remembered the sky would paint itself blushing and soft pinks, striking oranges and brilliant yellows. And he remembered looking at her, watching the way her eyes lit up and sparkled, and the way her mouth would be pulled into the most breath taking and beautiful smile he had ever seen.

He came to thinking this was all he needed. It was what he lived for.

Her smile.

It was enough. It was just enough, no questions at all.

He remembered thinking about it, those late nights when he could not sleep. He didn't remember realizing when he had fallen in love with her, or when he had started to love her, but it seemed as if he had always loved her.

And each day, every moment, every breath he would let out and back in his body, it would get stronger.

He knew nothing else. He didn't know, he couldn't imagine not loving her the way he did. It was just there, scarred into his soul and imprinted onto his heart. He knew nothing different.

He remembered thinking that he could never leave her, but he did. He remembered vowing never to let her in harm's way, but… she was. She was. Because of him. Just because of him.

He felt the pain increase inside of him, and soon the silent air about in the Hospital Wing was disturbed. It seemed as if the walls were listening attentively, the ceiling looking down on him sympathetically. But the silence was broken by the sounds of the sobs of a boy, who had done his best never to cry, but had lost. The pain was too great, the loss too immense.

Boys don't cry, he told himself. He had told himself so many times before.

But it didn't matter now. It didn't matter at all. He didn't care anymore. All he wanted was for the pain to end; all he wanted was something to calm him. He wanted her back. He just didn't understand.

What had he done? What had he done to lose her? Why did he have to lose her?

The questions echoed inside his mind, as his body shook and heaved from his sobs. The tears continued to fall easily, without objection. He still held her hand, but now his hands were burning, his skin seemed to be ablaze. He did not bother to wipe away his tears, or dare try to hide it.

The silence was broken.

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Go on to the next chapter!!!! I had to cut this chapter in half because it was too big to upload.

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14. Promise-Part Two

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the characters. I only own the plot of this story.

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I really didn't want to cut the chapter in two; it really kills the mood. I don't know what happened; last time I uploaded a 32-page chapter and it was just fine.

Anyway, Review!!

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Promise- Part Two

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered. “I love you so much. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.” His heart was so heavy, so troubled. He could feel it start to drop, he could feel it start to tear and rip. The tears in his eyes stung with a harshness that sliced through the coldness of the air in the infirmary. His body was trembling, his words so hurt and pained. He held her hand tighter.

“Hermione… I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do without you. I need you here; I need you here by my side. I know I can't bring you back… but, please. Please. I love you so much, Hermione.”

His throat was rough and dry, as he tried to swallow the painful knot that had started to form. His chest and lungs felt as if they tightly wrapped and compressed; he could not breathe.

But he didn't care.

He didn't care.

“I wasn't ready to lose you,” he said, his whisper shaky. “I don't know what to do. It hurts so much.” He bowed his head, and he closed his eyes. He felt his tears travel down his face, and he could taste them as they entered his mouth.

He had always believed there was a God. He had always believed that there was fate, a destiny for each of them. He knew there were choices; he knew there were consequences.

But now he found himself asking him, God. He asked him what he was to do, how he could wash away the pain. He asked him why he had to take her away from him, and if he would ever find happiness again.

He asked why. He just had to, he had to know.

He asked him why Hermione was stolen from him.

But there was nothing. No response. Just a roaring in his ears, and the pounding heartbeats and hammering pulse in his veins. He could hear his sobs. He could hear the shattering, the breaking.

What was his fate to be? Alone and sad? What was he to do when everyone found happiness and love, and he was left all alone?

What was he to do then?

He missed her. He missed her. He just wanted her back.

“I miss you, Hermione,” he whispered. His words were shaky and almost silent, but he could hear it chime through the Hospital Wing. “I miss you.”

He was lost. He had never felt it as strong as this before, he had never felt it grabbing at his throat and strangling him. Doubt was invading him and he could feel the hints of anger and bitterness start to grow. He could feel bony and cold fingers jab into his heart, and enclose around it like a prisoner. He couldn't yell or shout for help. No one would hear him. No one would come to save him, to rescue him.

“Harry.”

It was a gentle and soft voice. It was kind. Like an angel's. He recognized it. He heard it in his dreams. He heard it ring in his mind, filling him pleasantly, like a summer song. He missed it so terribly, he wasn't sure it was real. His eyes were closed tightly, and he could still feel his body shake. The tears were still falling. He knew no way to stop them now.

“Harry.”

His mind was playing tricks on him again. His longing thoughts had triggered this. He kept his eyes shut, but this time he pressed harder. He saw flashes of colors dancing inside his eyelids.

Suddenly, he felt something shift inside his palm. It brushed against his fingers, and pressed gently against the skin of his palm. It was soft and warm. His heartbeats faded into silence, as he opened his eyes.

The world seemed to freeze, time halted.

He raised his head, and he was met with a sight that made his heart stop.

He didn't know if it was real. He didn't know if it was a dream, a trick, or a mirage. But he couldn't think straight anymore. His thoughts seemed to have scattered and run away. He was speechless, as he opened his mouth.

Hermione smiled down at him. Her brown eyes were warm and kind, her fingers entwining with his. Her smile wasn't wide, but it was gentle and loving. She was sitting up, her brown curls framing her face. Her hand enclosed around his, and he felt warmth erupt from his fingers and palms, tingling its way up his arm.

His eyes were aching; his breath had halted in his throat.

“Harry,” she said again, in a whisper. It filled his ears like a lovely secret, caressing his heart and warming it, melting away all the frost and mending all of its tears and rips.

“Hermione?” he said, as he quickly drew in a breath. His eyes were disbelieving but his heart wanted nothing but to believe. “Hermione?”

She nodded slightly, her smile widening and her eyes starting sparkle.

Immediately, without thinking, Harry got up on his feet and embraced her.

It wasn't a mirage, or a trick. It was her. It was really her.

He inhaled her scent, and it was just as he remembered. He felt tears well up in his eyes, once again. He held her tightly, firmly, never wanting to let go.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him.

He buried his face in her hair, letting the tears fall from his eyes. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. He blinked hard, letting more tears free, as he tightened his embrace.

“Hermione, I thought I'd lost you,” he whispered into her ear.

“No… no, Harry. You could never lose me. I'll always be right here, right beside you. I promised you. I'd never leave you.”

Harry let out a sigh, feeling his heart beat ecstatically. His blood was pounding inside his ears, his nerves crackling and sparking, embers flashing from inside him.

She was here. He hadn't lost her at all.

He could feel his heart rejoicing, praising, shouting. The sudden happiness overwhelmed him, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He felt as if he couldn't breathe.

He just couldn't believe it.

Just then, he could feel her slowly pulling away. He held onto her, but she unwrapped her arms around him.

“Harry… Harry, let me look at you.” Hesitant, he pulled away.

He looked at her, into her eyes, his face just inches from hers. Her eyes were dancing, but still faint, as he saw her take in his features.

“I've missed you, Harry,” she whispered to him, as she brought up her hand to his cheek. She touched his cheek with her fingers, and he could feel warmth igniting from her fingertips. She laid her palm against him, as she moved her hand slightly forward. “I kept seeing you. I kept trying to make my way back to you, but I couldn't.”

Tears glimmered in Harry eyes, as he also raised his hand and laid it against her cheek. His fingers traced against her jaw line, her cheek, and brushed against her lips.

“I love you, Hermione,” he said, tears slipping from his eyes. “I love you so much.” And with that, they fell into each other's arms again, holding tightly, focusing on the feeling of each other in their arms.

Harry let out a tearful smile, as he could feel her heart pounding against his.

She was here.

She was alive.

It was moments later that they pulled back again, and Harry was surprised to find tears in her eyes as well. He brushed his thumb underneath her eyes, wiping away her tears.

“Don't cry,” he said to her. “Don't cry.” Hermione broke into a wide smile at the ironic remark, as she sniffled, and this caused Harry to laugh faintly.

“But, Harry…” she raised her hand and stroked his cheek. It was only then that Harry realized that she was wiping away his tears, also. “You're… you're…”

“I'm crying,” he whispered, as she smiled up at him. “I'm crying as well.”

“But… I'd never… you've never… cried, in front of me,” she said, her voice so soft.

“I thought I'd lost you,” he said quietly.

“That's silly,” she smiled, tears slipping from her eyes. “You'd never lose me, Harry.” Harry chuckled faintly.

He met her eyes, his eyes full of seriousness and love, longing and reason. Her eyes were innocent and calm, but somehow, there was something in them that he knew… was different. It was something like, fear, or uncertainty.

“Promise me,” he whispered to her. Her eyes flickered, searching his.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Promise me that I'll never lose you. Promise me.” The color of her deep brown eyes deepened, as a faint breath played on her lips.

“I promise,” she whispered, catching his other hand in hers. “I promise that you'll never lose me.”

“You don't know that, “ Harry said, his voice lowering. “You don't know that.”

“I'm sorry,” she said to him. “I really am.”

“Tell me… tell me this isn't a dream. Tell me I won't wake up and find you gone.” She smiled kindly, her warm brown eyes sparking embers and flares inside him.

“This isn't a dream. This is real, Harry. You're not going to wake up and find me anywhere else but by your side. I love you, Harry.”

Just then, Harry saw it. In her eyes. He knew what was different. Something was missing, something was absent and lost. Usually, her eyes were knowing and they told him her concerns and worries. But this time, they were innocent and… dark. Something was wrong.

“Hermione,” he said quietly, pulling his hands away from her. “What happened?” Harry watched Hermione as her gaze lowered, looking at her hands, which once held his. “What happened?” he pressed. “I want you to tell me.”

She looked back up at him again, but her eyes were wide. He saw fear and confusion, uncertainty darkening her eyes.

“Harry,” she breathed. She was shaking.

“Hermione?” he said, his voice fearful and worried. His eyes were flickering, panic crossing his features. “What's wrong? What's happening?”

Just then, he saw her eyes roll back, and her body fell onto him. He grabbed her shoulders, trying to keep her up so he could see her face, but his body was still weak. His fingers were trembling with horror, his eyes flashing with alarm.

“Hermione? Hermione? Hermione!” he said, his voice getting louder. “Hermione? Come back to me! What's happening? Please, Hermione!” Harry's thoughts were scurrying again, he could not think straight, his heart beating faster and harder in his chest. “Hermione! Please! What happened?”

“Harry?” he turned his head in the direction of the voice, and he discovered to see Ron, sitting up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. “Harry? What's happening?” his voice was raspy and rough.

“Ron!” he shouted, frantic. “Ron, go and get Madam Pomfrey! Now! Go!” Ron's eyes widened in confusion, but his eyes traveled over to Hermione, and Harry saw fear flash across his face.

“What's happening?” he asked, confused.

“Go get Madam Pomfrey! Go, Ron!” Ron nodded his head, uncertain and scared, as he quickly swung his legs over the bed, untangling himself from the sheets, as he bolted to Madam Pomfrey's office.

Harry still held Hermione in his arms, his breaths ragged and hard. He was so scared, so afraid. She had been here, talking to him. He had been holding her.

He couldn't lose her again.

They couldn't take her away from him again, no, they just couldn't.

Harry's heart was beating faster than he cared to notice, but his mouth became dry and his fingers were fidgeting. His body was shaking in fear.

Just then, he heard oncoming, rapid footsteps. He turned his head and saw a confused but determined Madam Pomfrey, Ron running in front of her. Ron hurried to his side, while Madam Pomfrey fastened her pace and reached Hermione's opposite side.

Madam Pomfrey grasped both of Hermione's shoulders, as Harry let go of her, and they laid her back on the bed. She was muttering things under her breath, not out of the sudden interruption, but out of confusion and fear. Harry watched, as Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him back, Madam Pomfrey put her fingers to Hermione's neck and wrist.

She looked up at them, her eyes wide, alarm drawn all over her face. Harry's breath ceased in his throat, at the look in her eyes.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley,” she said, her voice quiet but hurried. There was shock but no hesitation at all evident in her voice. “Run over to your Transfiguration class and fetch Albus and Minerva. They are supposedly still trying to understand the amulet. Now, go, and hurry.”

Harry nodded, as he got off the bed and he and Ron sped out of the infirmary, and out into the corridors.

Harry ran at his full speed to their Transfiguration class, his breaths hard but paced. The hallways and corridors were empty, and their swift footsteps echoed. The torches were still lit, the flames flickering and dancing weakly in the dim darkness. They passed classrooms, and ran up flights of stairs, before the doors of the classroom finally came into view. Harry willed his legs to go faster, as he passed Ron and burst into the classroom, where a confused and a stern looking Professor and Headmaster stood.

Ron soon caught up to him, as he halted right at his side, putting his hands to his knees and panting heavily. Dumbledore looked at them in alarm, his blue eyes behind their half-moon spectacles darkening noticeably.

It was Harry who spoke first, his determination and fear evident in his eyes and quick but firm words.

“It's Hermione,” he said, still breathing hard. “She was alive, but she- there's something wrong with her. Madam Pomfrey needs you in the Hospital Wing quickly and urgently.” Dumbledore nodded once, as he and Minerva walked towards them in a brisk pace. Minerva McGonagall halted in front him and Ron, giving them a firm look.

“We'll meet you two boys there,” she said, and with a swish of her hunter green robes, she had walked past them and disappeared.

Harry turned, Ron following closely behind, as he ran out of the classroom and into the corridor.

He stopped, turning his gaze in both directions, puzzled. There was no trace of them, and the corridor went on for a lengthy way.

“Where'd they go?” Ron said, still lightly panting. “They were just here. There's no way they could have walked or even run that fast.” Harry let out a sigh.

“Let's go,” Harry said, not answering his question, and he got on his feet again, back to the Hospital Wing. Ron followed behind him.

oooo

They finally reached the Hospital Wing, out of breath, tired, and a pain forming in the sides of both of their bodies. Harry stopped in front of the infirmary, his heart pounding, trying to leap out of his chest, and a burning ache throbbing at his side. He reached for the handles, and held them down as he tried to push in, but they wouldn't budge. Harry tried again, with more force this time.

“What's happening?” Ron asked, his voice raspy.

“It won't open,” Harry said, as he tried again.

“What? How could- how could that happen?” he asked, confused and afraid.

“I don't know,” Harry replied, still trying. “Come on, help me.” Ron got to his side and pushed. The doors still wouldn't budge. They tried again, Harry pushing with all his might.

“Maybe, maybe they've locked it.”

“What? Why would they do that?”

“I don't know. To keep other students out?”

“Ron… I don't know.” Harry sighed, letting go of the handle and stepping back. “Everything's been so… odd, lately. Everything's been so tiring, and frustrating. I don't even know anymore. There's a part of me that wants to know, but the other part's just refusing. Everything's just been so bloody devastating. I don't know if I can take anymore of it.” Ron was silent for a few seconds, obviously thinking.

“Harry… when I woke up… you and… What happened?” His eyebrows were furrowed and there were creases of puzzlement on his forehead.

“Ron, I—”

Suddenly, the Hospital Wing's doors opened. Harry and Ron stepped back in alarm and surprise. Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway, her face still stern. Harry tried to see what they had been talking about through her expression, but it was evident to him that she hid it on purpose, and that she didn't want them to know.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley,” she acknowledged them. In the background, he could hear Dumbledore speaking.

“It's extraordinary, all my years here, I have never seen anything like it,” Harry heard him say. He glanced at Ron, and he was positive Ron had heard it too, from the look on his face.

“Professor, might we come inside?” Harry asked.

“I apologize, Mr. Potter, but—“

She halted her words at the sound of Dumbledore's voice, louder this time, obviously directed at her.

“That's alright, Minerva,” he said. “You can let them in. What we will discuss is important for them to hear.”

“Very well, then. You may come in.” She opened the doors for them, as he and Ron walked in, and she closed the door promptly and quietly behind them.

Harry took note of the looks on Dumbledore's and Madam Pomfrey's faces, and was eager to hear to what they had to tell them. Dumbledore's sapphire eyes were dancing, his aged face supporting a smile. Harry took a deep breath, as he sat down by Hermione's side, where he had been before. Ron took a seat beside him, his eyes flickering between the teachers.

“First, Mr. Potter, before we can tell you about Ms. Granger's condition, we need you to tell us what happened, so we can be sure and clarify any mistakes or miscalculations.” Harry nodded, prompting Dumbledore to go on.

“Very well, then,” he continued. “Mr. Potter, we need you to tell us exactly what happened, from the moment you awoke to the moment you called for help and assistance.” Harry took a deep breath, as he looked at Hermione. She was still on the bed, though her eyes were closed and she was still and motionless.

“I woke up, and it was still dark. I couldn't go back to sleep, so I got up and walked over to Hermione's side, and sat down where I am now.” Dumbledore nodded. “And… I just sat here.” Harry wasn't sure if he was to tell exactly what he had been doing, meaning his tears, but the look in his Headmaster's eyes assured him that he needn't need to, and that he already understood. Harry went on. “I bowed my head, and closed my eyes… and there was a voice. Her voice. But I didn't look up, because I thought that it was just my imagination or mind, playing some sort of trick on me. But I heard it again, and she was saying my name. And I looked up. And that's when… that's when I saw her.” A faint smile played on Harry's lips, as he revisited the memory. It had felt so good to see her again, smiling down on him.

“She was sitting up, and I couldn't believe it. We talked for a short time, but I noticed that there was… something, something different about her.” The smile faded, as his gaze darkened. “It was in her eyes. I-I just couldn't explain it. But then, I asked her what happened. And that's when it happened. She looked scared, and she… she fell against me. She seemed to be unconscious. And that's when Ron woke and I told him to get Madam Pomfrey.”

Harry's eyes were on her face, not daring to look up at the spectators. He had an uneasy feeling inside him, but there was something, a voice, that was telling him everything was going to be just fine. He didn't know whether to believe it. He wanted to. He wanted to believe it with all his heart.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” he finally heard Dumbledore say. He could hear a smile in his voice, and that's when Harry raised his gaze, to find a joyful Dumbledore looking down on him. He watched Dumbledore also turn to Ron. “And you too, Mr. Weasley,” he chuckled. “I am happy to announce joyful news. Ms. Granger is going to be just fine.”

Harry found that he couldn't breathe, and he had to steady and calm himself.

He heard Ron let out a big sigh next to him, and he felt him pat his shoulder, as Harry looked to him and found him smiling at him. Harry finally let out a breath, as he closed his eyes for a moment, relieved.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” he said quietly. He heard Dumbledore's chuckle.

“Mr. Potter, Professor McGonagall and I apologize. It seems that the amulet had worked. It was a strange and sudden turn of events and occurrences, really. We were certain that she had passed on. Her pulse and her heartbeat had completely stopped. But, I guess you can say, love can really conquer anything and everything.” Harry smiled, as he finally got his body to take a breath.

“However, Mr. Potter,” he looked over to a concerned looking Professor. “Though the outlook is clear and calls for relief and celebration, there are is a… setback.” Harry's smile vanished.

“What is it?” Harry asked, Ron's hand tightening on his shoulder.

“Well,” she hesitated, as she looked over to Madam Pomfrey, who nodded. “You said yourself that there had been a difference, in Ms. Granger. She had not answered right away when you had asked her what had happened, correct?” Harry nodded. “We have discovered that Ms. Granger… well, it is very difficult, Mr. Potter, to be the one to say this to you, but Ms. Granger has no account of what happened from the incident, or much less after that.”

Confusion and questions were etched all over Harry's pale face.

“What?” he asked.

“She cannot remember,” Dumbledore answered for the Professor, “what happened, Harry. Apparently, the amulet worked, but her memory had been altered and her most vivid and recent memories have been wiped out. She does not remember, or know, what happened the past few days. But, the change is not permanent. Madam Pomfrey has given her a serum that will restore it all back. Though this will take time, we are sure that it will be successful and Ms. Granger will have all of her memories.”

Harry sighed in relief, closing his eyes for a second.

“But, how long will it take? Until she's well? Graduation is only a matter of months—“

“Graduation,” McGonagall corrected, “is little over a month away.” A slight smile began to spread through her features. “Mr. Potter, the serum is quick, and very powerful. It will take less than a week, around two to three days. However, we must ask that you not visit until she is fully recovered,” Harry's heart sank at this, “it may slow the process and maybe even alter the purpose and intentions of the serum.”

Harry nodded, silent.

“Alright then,” he said. “We won't visit. But will you tell us immediately when she is well?” Professor McGonagall nodded.

“Mr. Potter, we won't waste a minute. Madam Pomfrey will do just that.” Madam Pomfrey nodded, reassuring him.

“Okay. Thanks,” Harry said, weakly. He just realized how tired his body still seemed to be.

“Well, now that has been cleared out of the way,” Dumbledore said, cheerfully. “I think you two boys should head on back to your dormitories, and change into fresh clothes. Only very few classes will resume, for we have done the required tests about several months ago. I must warn you to be careful about what you inform your peers; there are many peculiar rumors floating around these halls, and I wouldn't want a media explosion outside of our doors. I have to ask you to tell as little as possible, and confirm even less. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” the two boys nodded.

“Well then, you two better get on your way. It is just about an hour before the sun should rise, if I am correct, and you might want to catch up on some sleep. I am sorry these past few days have been very suspenseful and tiring, but one should hope this is the last time these things should happen.”

And with that, Harry and Ron stood, shaking their Professor and Headmaster's hands, and made their way out of the Hospital Wing, with a light heart and a sparking eagerness for their oncoming days.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.0.0

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15. Remember

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. Only the plot is mine.

oooooooooooooooooo

Okay, slight error that I have to change and probably will later on: The Ending Chapters part of the chapter before the last one. That is incorrect, and I will have to ask you to ignore that. The next time you will see The Ending Chapters caption is the second to the last chapter of this fic. Another error: Harry's age. Harry is only 17, turning 18 in the summer (a big thanks to the reviewer who pointed this out, a while back). Sorry for my miscalculations, and I may or may not change it later on; depends on whether I feel like it. But I think I might as well, if I am going to change that `Ending Chapters' thing. Once again, my apologies.

Yes, I know that when I ramble on it is boring and you want to skip ahead, but every author has his or her ramblings about one thing or another; so just bear with it. Yes, over the writing of this chapter I have received an amount of reviews (they were quite offensive, but I don't know if it's considered as a true flame) telling me this story was dragged on way too long and that if I `cut here or there, it might actually be good.' Gee whiz, thank you ever so much for bringing up my spirits! However, as I look at it, I'm not quite so sure myself if this fic is really all that good, but every bad fic has its own fan base too, I noticed. So, it really is just all up to the person. I don't think there will be a truly good fanfic or story or movie in everyone's eyes. Everyone has different tastes; everyone can like one thing and dislike another. No one is forced to like anything. And though I do agree that my writing can drag on and that I have taken this angst too far, in some opinions, I don't think the turnout is too bad. It's not the best, not even near it, but it's an accomplishment and it's practice. And, as people say, Practice makes perfect.

So, to those who have felt that reading this rather long fic and felt that it was a complete waste of time and energy, too bad for your loss because we cannot all be good writers and storytellers, now, can we? I try not to be rude and keep an open mind on some cases, but some people get rather fed up. I appreciate the effort on letting me know on how unsatisfactory my writing is, and I thank you for your effort. I think that should not be left unmentioned. But, a vast thank you to the loyal reviewers who gave my fic such a chance and let me tell my story and left comments to encourage; my gratitude cannot be measured in anyway at all. Thank you.

And to the lovely fenriswolf. I recognize your name. You reviewed for my other fic. Not such a pleasant review, but a review all the same. I haven't read any of your pieces but I'm sure they're great. After all, I was reading over the votes and nominees for the awards and I saw that you were on it. I wish you the best of luck, though you thought my fic was disappointing. I appreciate your criticism though sometimes it can come off rather harsh. I think that in this world, we all need to get used to critics and comments that put us down if we want to make it. Thanks again to everyone.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Remember

“Harry, what are your plans after Graduation?” Seamus asked, across the table, while filling his goblet with more pumpkin juice. A few heads turned Harry's way, when his answer was not immediate.

“I… I really don't know,” Harry admitted, picking at his food. It had been two days since he had stepped out of the Hospital Wing, and still no word about Hermione's recovery. He knew he shouldn't worry, but it came so easily, and he just couldn't help it.

“Ron, what about you? What are your plans?”

“Merlin, Seamus, must you ask every single person what their plans are after Graduation? What's it to you, anyway?” Ron said, grabbing another muffin hastily from the plate across his.

“I don't know. My mum and dad are asking me what I'm going to do with my life, and I was hoping that you guys would help me think of something.”

“Well, I'm buying my own flat, since my grandma's passed away,” Neville offered. Seamus snorted.

“Really, Neville? Are you sure? You're absolutely positive? Don't you think you'd get a bit… scared?” Seamus raised both his hands and wiggled his fingers, imitating a menacing ghost or monster, his eyes wide to look threatening. Neville shot him a glare, scowling. “What if the boogeyman creeps out of your closet? Or better yet, what if he calls all of his little friends to come crawling out of your bed to haunt you? Or… or, what if he calls Snape back from the dead and he comes to haunt you?” Seamus erupted in a burst of laughter, as other listeners at the table also joined in.

“You're such a dimwit, Seamus,” Neville huffed. “I can make it on my own, I'm going to live in my own flat.”

“Neville, you're going to come running to your next door neighbor, bawling like a little baby,” Seamus chuckled. “You've always been a little scaredy-cat. Don't try to deny it.”

“Shut up,” Neville snapped. “I don't hear you making any plans after Graduation, you big sissy. You're scared out of your wits more than the lot of us are. Admit it. You're scared, that's why you're going back to your mummy and daddy and mooch off of them until you're fifty.”

“Hey!” Seamus said. “That's not true! That's not true at all!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it,” Neville narrowed his eyes at him.

“Boys, boys,” Ron cut in. “Don't get into it. You're both going to do fine. Whether it be living with your mum and dad, or living with the monsters and boogeyman.”

“Hey!” Neville and Seamus both cried out. Ron sent them a puzzled but amused look, before they went back to their business.

Harry was still absentmindedly staring at his plate. He had barely eaten, but he hadn't had an appetite these past few days. He was just so concerned and worried about Hermione. He knew that she was going to be just fine, but he still found himself thinking about her. He just wanted to see her again. He missed her terribly.

“Harry?” Harry seemed to be in a daze, back into that hazy fog that he often got lost in, ever since the happenings at the Hospital Wing. He seemed to be drifting off into some other world, and he found himself thinking too deeply, or sometimes not even thinking at all. He didn't know what it was.

“Harry?” He was still oblivious to the calling of his name.

Harry snapped out of his trance as he saw a hand waving in front of his face, and his attention suddenly turned to his Ron, who was beside him, looking at him with concern and curiosity evident in his blue eyes.

“Harry, are you alright, mate? You've been…. I've called your name twice, and you've been acting really odd, lately. Is there something the matter?” Harry sighed, running a hand through his untamed hair.

“I've just been thinking,” Harry said.

“Oh?” Ron raised an eyebrow at him, as he bit into another muffin. “What about?”

“Hermione,” Harry said, lowering his gaze. He could hear Ron let out a deep sigh beside him.

“Harry… she's going to be just fine. Believe me when I say that. You've got to loosen up; you heard what Dumbledore and McGonagall said. She's fine, Harry. Relax. Besides, it seems like you're the only one who doesn't have the pre-Graduation jitters. I sure don't look like it, but I do. I'm so scared I'd jump out of my knickers any second someone shouts out that bloody word.” Harry managed to crack a smile at his friend's words. He looked at him, and seeing the uneasy and green look on his face, he knew he wasn't kidding.

“Really, Ron? You're scared?” Harry asked, chuckling. His worries about Hermione seemed to fade away, as he let his mind dwell on another matter.

“Don't talk so loud, mate,” Ron muttered. “Seamus might hear you. He'll give me the taunting of a lifetime, let me tell you that, and I might not able to resist one last time to tackle him to the floor and beat the bloody pulp out of him. Harry, have you noticed, since when did Seamus become so bloody annoying?” Harry chuckled as he raised his goblet to his lips to take a sip of his pumpkin juice.

“But Ron, what have you got to be afraid of? You're going back to the Burrow, aren't you? Fred and George have gotten their own place; I don't think you've got much to be scared off, unless they're planning to spend some quality time with you,” Harry said when he set his cup down on the table.

“Don't jinx it, Harry,” Ron snorted. “Mum sent me a letter yesterday and said that Fred and George were thinking about letting me stay over at their place for a while.”

“Oh.”

“Oh is right. Anyway, enough about me. Were you serious when you said you didn't know what you were going to do after Graduation?”

“Um… yeah, actually, I was.”

“You're not kidding? You've got to think of something, Harry, anything.”

“I don't know what to think of. I really don't want to actually,” Harry admitted.

“Don't tell me that the concept of the future and getting a job scares you?” Ron asked, distorting his face, clearly disgusted. “Because, mate, well, let's just say you're not alone.”

“Hey, Ron, whatever happened with you and Luna?” Harry asked, taking note of the blush that appeared on his face once he mentioned her name. Harry grinned widely, while Ron lowered his gaze, the flush on his cheeks getting brighter and redder. “Come on, Ron, you've got to tell me.”

“Oh, alright then. She wants to see me over the summer.”

“Well, that's good, isn't it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then why do you look like….”?

“I'm nauseous?”

“Exactly.”

“Because, Harry, I've only gone out with her during Hogsmeade trips and that one ball. Nothing special. A few butterbeers, flowers, dances. What am I going to do when…. well; I'm totally clueless at this dating thing, you know, out of Hogwarts. I don't know what I'm going to do.”

“Ron, I'm sure everything will be just fine. Luna's crazy about you. Just don't do anything foolish.”

“That's just it!” Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I don't know what foolish is!” His loud outburst earned a few looks their way and some giggles. Ron blushed even deeper.

“Anyway, you changed the subject,” Ron muttered, looking at Harry. “We were talking about you and your plans for the future, not my business with Luna.” Harry was silent, as he looked down on his plate.

He really didn't know what he was going to do. He hadn't spent any time thinking about the future, let alone what he was going to do or his plans. He had only thought about marrying Hermione, and that was just about it. Suddenly, a thought flashed through Harry's mind.

He knew he had to ask Ron if it was alright to ask for Hermione's hand in marriage. He didn't know why, maybe it was because Hermione was also his best friend, but he knew he had to do it before he asked her.

Harry looked up at Ron, who was still looking at him expectedly.

“I'm not going to bugger off, you know,” he informed Harry. “And don't even try to change the subject, because I will not be swayed as easily as before.”

Harry just looked at him, trying to decide whether the time was right. Finally, he looked around to see if anyone was listening, and then he let out a silent sigh. Ron was taking a sip out of his cup when Harry finally asked him.

“Ron, will it be alright with you if I ask Hermione to marry me?” Ron's eyes bulged out, wide with surprise, as he suddenly made a choking noise and not a second later, Harry watched him as he was coughing and choking. Harry made a nervous face, as he reached over and patted Ron on the back, while he was still coughing and spewing out pumpkin juice. Unfortunately, the sudden raucous made people look over, curious and amused.

Finally when Ron had stopped coughing and had gotten better, he turned to Harry, his blue eyes wide with astonishment.

Harry knew what he was going to do, and he tried to warn him before he did it.

“Ron, don't—“

But he was too late.

“You're going to ask her to marry you?” he had shouted, shock and disbelief in his voice. Harry winced, as the table suddenly quieted to a deadly silence and his words rang out in the hall, causing nearby tables to look over.

Harry could feel the burning stares of his peers on him, as he tried his best not to look around. He only looked at Ron, whose face was surprised. There was no glint or hint of oncoming anger in his eyes, just purely shock.

The silence was roaring in his ears, and he could feel his face heating up, his heart pounding. His mouth was dry, as he swallowed and tried to make the rough taste go away. His attempts were not successful.

This was not how he had imagined it would be.

“Oi, did someone say marry?” he heard someone shout across the table. Harry cringed noticeably. He recognized the voice, and he hated it so bloody much right at the moment. Seamus couldn't have come at a worse time. “Who's marrying who?”

Harry didn't answer. His face felt like it was on fire.

“Harry?” Ron asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Harry glared at him, scowling. Ron looked around, overcoming his momentary shock. He smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to… shout it out loud like that. But Harry… marriage… wow.” Harry was still glaring at him, and Ron's face was starting to blush as well, under the fiery eyes of his friend, and, well, everyone else.

“Sorry,” he said again.

“Who's marrying who?” the same voice shouted again, and Harry was starting to get really peeved at Seamus. Harry didn't understand why he needed to yell like that; he was only across the table and two seats away from him. Harry thought that the concept that Seamus was making all of this much worse on purpose was not so ludicrous and out of the question, so he settled for that. “Oi, Harry, was that you?” Harry sighed, frustrated. He whirled around, facing Seamus, glaring daggers at him.

“Yes, Seamus, it was me, if you just have the bloody need to know!” Harry exploded at him. He saw people's eyes widen, as Harry winced at the sound of whispers rush around the hall. He turned back around to Ron, who was looking around. Suddenly, he heard yells of objection as Seamus pushed the people sitting in front of him away and occupied their seat. He wound up sitting next to an angry Neville and an irritated Ginny.

“Marriage, Harry? After Graduation? By Merlin, that's the most frightening plan I've heard so far!” Seamus said, leaning towards Harry.

“Shove off, Seamus,” Ginny snapped at him. “Harry,” she said, smiling, “I think it's romantic.”

“Nobody cares about that romantic stuff, Ginny,” Seamus whined. “Leave that to those girl talks you have with Parvati and Lavender!”

“Oh, shut up, Seamus,” she said.

“Only if you'll stop talking about that sickening romantic—“

“Oh Seamus, shut your bloody mouth,” Ron interrupted him. Seamus scowled at him, and Ron glared back, before turning back to Harry. “As you were saying, Harry?” he said pleasantly.

Harry sighed. Everyone was listening now, as he saw Lavender and Parvati trying to scoot closer to hear. He shook his head, and told himself that everyone was bound to find out sooner or later, anyway.

“I asked you if it was alright with you if I asked her to marry me,” Harry said, lowering his voice. Seamus had leaned forward to try to hear, as Ginny elbowed him in the rib to get him to sit back down.

“Merlin, Ginny! I was only trying to hear!” Seamus said to her.

“Well your bloody bum was brushing against my arm, and Seamus, don't you dare—“

“So, you were looking at my bum, were you?” Seamus had a mischievous look on his face, grinning.

“Shut up, Seamus,” Neville cried out. “Bother someone else's girlfriend!”

“Somebody, please, hex him before I bloody do!” Ginny yelled out, aggravated.

“Seamus!” Ron said, his voice loud. “SHUT UP.” Seamus quieted down; due to the look Ron was giving him. Ron turned back to Harry, and a grin was on his face.

“Of course I'm alright with it, Harry,” he beamed. “But…” he faltered, uncertainty in his eyes and his smile fading. “Are you sure? I mean… I know you love Hermione and all, but… don't you want to… step out into the world and… you know, date around a bit?”

“Ronald!” Ginny gasped. Ron gave her an apologizing look, while she glared at him, and Harry was struck with a familiarity of Molly Weasley. Ginny had her mother's glares and looks down very well, Harry thought to himself.

“Oi, Ron!” Seamus winced, as he shook his head.

“What?” he asked innocently. “I'm just making sure! He's my best mate! I've got to ask him those questions! He might not be ready for commitment!” Harry laughed, and Ginny, Seamus, Ron and Neville looked over at him, curious to what he had to say.

“Well, Ron…” Harry paused, not quite sure what he had to say. He was most definitely sure that he didn't want to `date around,' but the looks they were giving him were too funny. “I don't really want to date around, but I'll think about what you said,” he said, trying to keep a straight face.

Ron sighed, as he put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Harry, I'm just looking out for you, you know that. But wait, Ginny,” he turned his head and put down his hand, “what do you think Hermione might say?”

“Yes, of course!” Ginny exclaimed. Seamus shook his head, as he clicked his tongue.

“I don't know, Harry… girls… are just too odd. Peculiar. All of them are different.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Ginny huffed. “Are you saying she might not say yes?”

“No… and yes,” Harry raised his eyebrows at him. “All I'm saying,” Seamus said, “is just because Harry thinks he doesn't want to date around doesn't mean Hermione doesn't want to.” Ron, Neville and Ginny were all glaring at Seamus.

Harry was silent, Seamus's remark bringing obvious questions in his mind.

What if Hermione did want to date around first?

“Seamus, keep your mouth closed, please,” Ron groaned. “You sure know how to bring a man down, don't you?”

“Hey! I was just keeping things in a realistic perspective!” he defended.

“Seamus, advice over the summer; get a girlfriend,” Neville said.

“Shut up, Neville. Get a brain.”

“Oh, that's witty,” Neville snapped. “Real witty, Seamus.”

“It's time to face the truth, Neville,” Seamus retaliated. “I've heard there's some good and pretty cheap stores where they sell brains over in America; you ought to make a trip there over the summer and buy one. Heck, go crazy and buy two.”

“Seamus, you could buy a million brains and you're never going to be smart enough to get a girlfriend.”

“That's only for people who have nothing else and choose to settle for brains as their attractive quality to bring up their self-esteem.”

“Is that what your mummy tells you? After she tucks you in and reads you your bedtime stories?”

“Okay, Neville, Mr. Big-Shot, you know I'm ten times more handsome and manly than you'll ever be!”

“Oh by Merlin's—Seamus, your ego is bigger than Malfoy's!” Ginny cried out.

“Too manly to get a girlfriend? That's a laugh, Seamus!” Neville snorted.

“I'm saving myself!” Seamus shouted.

“For who? Santa Claus?”

“Oh shut up, Neville.”

“Sorry, Seamus, but he's taken by Mrs. Claus. Haven't you read the papers? 50th anniversary last week!”

“Again, Neville, I could summon Snape up from the dead, you know!”

“Oh yeah right! Go ahead and try!”

“Okay, I will!”

“Okay, go then!”

“I will!”

“Go!”

“I will!”

“I don't see you going!”

“I'm going to go right after your mum's—“

“Boys, Boys!” Ron shouted. “Shut up! Just shut up! Do we need to have a baby-sitter for you two bloody babies? You're always bickering! You're graduating, for Merlin's sake!”

Seamus rolled his eyes and snatched a muffin off the plate, and bit into it, but didn't say another word. Neville reached for his goblet and sipped into it, but kept quiet. Ginny raised her head from the tabletop and started mouthing praises.

Ron sighed, while Harry, beside him, was amused by the bickering but still deep in thought about Seamus's comment.

“Those children,” Ron muttered, sighing, as he refilled his cup. “I swear it's like they never get any older.” Ron took a sip, as Harry picked up his fork again and picked at his muffin.

He was no longer certain on the matter. Should he ask her? But would she really want to marry him? She loved him, yes, he knew… but would she really want to marry him? Maybe she had planned to date around a bit after Hogwarts, try a relationship with a bloke or two.

Harry's heart sank, as he picked at his muffin.

Did he really want her to try a relationship with another bloke? Did he really want someone else to take her out, talk, and romance her? Did he really want to give another man a chance to fall in love with her just as he had, long ago?

Harry shook his head, as he dropped his fork and stared at the muffin.

No. Not at all. Not a bloody chance in hell.

He loved her; he wasn't prepared to let her go again and give her the chance to fall in love with another bloke and let him sweep off of her feet. Harry didn't want to see her with another man. Harry didn't want to see her with anyone else but him.

He couldn't let her go.

But… if she wanted to date around…

Harry's heart sank even deeper. He didn't know if he could take such a devastating blow.

…maybe he could… sort of court her.

Harry's gaze rose higher.

That was it. He could buy her flowers and wait by her doorstep. He could sing songs to her and he could write her poems.

He would show her exactly how much he loved her and that he wasn't going to let her go.

“Harry?”

Harry stared at his muffin, thinking of his decision.

“Harry?”

Harry knew it was something he would do, despite the overwhelming feel of nervousness and doubt. He had not really… done anything like that before. He had heard stories, and seen some Muggle movies… but well, those were always sort of biased.

“Harry!” Harry practically jumped up from his seat, from the loud and sudden exclamation. Harry was breathing hard, clutching his chest, as he turned over to Ron, who was chuckling at him from his reaction but curiosity twinkling in his blue eyes.

“What?” Harry said, quite irritated. “What is it? Did you really feel the need to scare me like that?”

“Sorry,” Ron shrugged. “I was calling you before… but you know, you're Mr. Oblivious nowadays.”

“I was just thinking.”

“Harry, you're always thinking.”

“Yeah, Ron, you should try it, it's what your brain's made for. And I've heard it's quite healthy.”

“Ha, ha,” Ron said, sarcastically. “Very funny, Harry, oh, you almost made me fall out of my seat. Oh please, tell me more, oh humorous and brilliant one.”

“Whatever, Ron.”

“Harry, I was only joking. And besides, it's true. You're always out in here, one minute… and the next, you're in space. What were you thinking about, anyway?”

“Hermione.”

“Merlin, does she run your mind or what?” Ron asked, shaking his head, as he reached for another muffin. Harry sighed, giving him a look. Ron waved his other hand, as he bit into another muffin. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot. One must never make fun of best mate or his girl, I know.”

Harry looked down.

“It's just that, well, what Seamus said—“

“Oh, don't tell me you actually listened to what that old dimwit said!” Ron said.

“Well, Ron, he has a point!” Harry sighed, frustrated. “I don't know. He just made me think, alright?”

“That's amazing. Since Seamus doesn't even think himself. The wonders of our world.”

“Ron, cut it out, please, I'm not in the mood.”

“Yeah, so I've noticed.”

“Ron….”

“Okay, okay, I'm serious now.”

“It's just that… what if Hermione does want to date around a bit? Try a relationship with another bloke?”

“That's codswallop, Harry. She loves you. She's crazy about you.”

“Well, you know… neither of us know what she thinks….”

“And I thank Merlin for that, Harry. Hermione's mind is working twenty-four hours a day. She doesn't ever sleep. She bloody scares me sometimes, you know?”

“Ron, your mind is asleep all day, everyday,” Harry said, dryly. “I think I speak for both of us when I say that her mind and smarts is what saved us on numerous tests and dangerous adventures. And, don't talk about her like that.”

“Oh, alright,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “You're perfect for each other, do you know that?”

“Oh, Ron, stop it,” Harry said sarcastically. “Be honest.”

“I am.” Harry sighed, giving him another look.

“What?” Ron asked, innocent. “I am being honest! You two are a match made in Heaven!”

“Thanks, Ron, but I told you to cut out your funny humor and sarcastic remarks today, okay?”

“Right, I haven't forgotten.”

“Ron, I really need your help here! I don't know what I should do!”

“Well, what are your choices?”

“Do you think I should ask her? Or do you think that's too soon? Or do you think I should just… I don't know, Ron.”

“Maybe… maybe you shouldn't ask her just yet, you know, to ask her to marry you. Maybe you should just date and see each other over the summer, and see how that goes. And, well, if you just have to have her as your wife and you can't wait another minute, then… I suggest you just go for it. Ask her.”

Harry smiled weakly. “Thanks, Ron.”

“Anytime, Harry. Glad to be of help. Though, all that thinking really did me in… Say, did it get quiet here all of a sudden?”

Harry looked around. People were still laughing, talking… But something really was missing….

Harry's gaze halted right in front of him, three absent seats staring back at him.

Harry sighed.

“Ron, where's Neville, Seamus and Ginny?”

“Well, I don't know. I was speaking to you. I guess they've probably sneaked out while we were talking.”

“Well, that's never a good thing, is it? Neville and Seamus… I know Ginny's pretty strong and all that, but do you think she could hold off two boys from beating each other up?”

“I wouldn't worry about Neville, Harry… you know, I've had to be the one to hold them back at times… Neville's pretty flimsy and weak, you know?”

“Oh. Okay then.”

“Sometimes, I think it's my sister who's doing all the protecting. That isn't good in a relationship. But well, Neville's always been… Neville.”

“Ron, I really think we should look for them.”

“Why?”

“Because you know how they are. And Ginny might not be able to do much this time.”

“That's codswallop, Harry. Why, my sister could beat me up if she wanted to.”

“Really? She could?”

“No.”

“But you said she could.”

“Yeah, but… I was joking.” Harry saw the look on Ron's faced and laughed, realizing his little cover-up.

“Ron, come on. We have to go look for them.”

“Fine, Harry. I don't understand why we always have to be the one who are doing these noble deeds and that nonsense. We should let Neville get beat up once in a while,” Ron said, as they got up from the table. Harry glared at him.

“Ron!” he said.

“I said `once in a while'!” Harry sighed, shaking his head, as they made their way out of the Great Hall.

ooooooooooo

Once again, this chapter was too big to upload into one chapter, so I had to split it in two.

GO ON TO NEXT CHAPTER!

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16. Remember- Part 2

Boys Don't Cry

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter or the characters. Just the plot of this fic, thank you.

oooooooooooo

Once again, THIS IS NOT THE END OF THIS FIC JUST YET.

Just want to clear that up. Although it would be a perfectly good place to end it, I promised a happier ending, I think. I have something planned; something more firm and definite. Something that will set Hermione and Harry for the rest of their life.

ooooooooooooo

Remember- Part 2

“Harry, we've been all over. They're not anywhere. Can we please just… stop looking for them and go back to our dormitories?” Ron said, as they searched the corridor for the fifth time.

“Ron… but what if—“

“Seamus killed Neville, ran out and dumped him in Squid's lake, and then eloped with my sister?” Harry stopped, turned, and gave him a look. Ron sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What? It's a possibility!”

“Oh, Ron, you're so optimistic,” Harry said sarcastically, as he started walking again.

“Harry… we've been looking for ages! I'm tired, and frankly, I don't really care what Seamus and Neville are doing! Whether it be one of them burying the other in a ditch, or both playing tag in the corridors!”

“Ron, Neville is our friend. We've got to look out for him.”

“We've already done the bloody looking, Harry! We've looked everywhere!”

“I know, Ron… but, just….”

“We've looked in the dormitories and common room three times, wandered the corridors and flights of stairs, looked inside the empty classrooms….”

“Ron… do you think…. we haven't looked in the Hospital Wing, have we?” Harry asked, hesitant, as he stopped in his steps. Ron also stopped beside him, obviously thinking.

“No. That's one place we haven't looked in this whole bloody school.” Harry stood still, motionless, staring at the floor under his feet. He heard Ron's footsteps become faster, and then he heard it stop, as he halted a few feet in front of Harry. Ron walked back to him.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Hospital Wing, right? Come on, Harry, we've got quite a long way. Let's hurry up and get this over with.” Ron started walking again.

“But Ron,” Harry said, and Ron turned around.

“What? What is it?”

“Don't you remember? We can't go to the Hospital Wing. Hermione's there, and if we go in there, we might alter or change the intentions of the serum. She isn't well yet.” Ron noticed the hint of sadness in Harry's voice, as he looked at him. Ron sighed, looking around.

“You're right,” Ron said, walking back to him. “So then… can we just go back to the dormitories then? I wasn't lying when I said I was beat.” Harry nodded, and they turned and started down the corridor.

It was quiet, as neither of them said a word. Their footsteps echoed in the hallway, as the flames on the torches flickered on the walls. Harry was sure there wasn't another soul near here. They were either in their dormitory, out on the grounds in the snow, or in Hogsmeade. Harry had made the firm decision to stay, in case Hermione suddenly got well. He could tell Ron was having a sort of torn heart, between staying with his best friend to wait for his other best friend, or going to Hogsmeade with Luna, his girlfriend. Harry had convinced him to just go along with Luna, but though Ron could no longer insist, he said that he would stay until lunch and then he would go along to Hogsmeade. Harry appreciated Ron's efforts to keep him company, he did, but after all that had happened…. He didn't exactly feel so lonely when no one else was around. He rather liked his alone time, the silence and the way he would just think to himself. But with Hermione being in the Hospital Wing and his heart still with her, his alone times were always really spent thinking about her. When he was with company, they let his mind shift and think of other things, and he was glad for that. Thinking of Hermione only reminded him of how much he loved and longed for her, and it only made him miss her more. He knew impatience for a quicker recovery wasn't a very good thing, so he tried more to think of other things.

Of course, there were times when he succeeded and times when he failed.

“Harry?” he heard Ron ask suddenly, but quietly. His voice was calm and soft, and Harry knew this was something Ron had been thinking of for a bit.

“Yeah, Ron?” Harry replied.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “Ask away.”

“Well… I was wondering if you knew what McGonagall meant when she said we couldn't visit Hermione in the Hospital Wing. You know, about the serum. I couldn't help but wonder how our visiting could interrupt the process of her recovery. I didn't ask because… well, I only thought about it yesterday.” Harry sighed silently, as Ron looked over at him as they walked. Their footsteps fell in step with the other, the rhythm same.

“I think… well, this is the only explanation I could come up with. But well, while it makes sense, it only makes sense in my case; why I can't go and visit Hermione.” Ron nodded, prompting him to continue. “Well,” Harry sighed again, “I think it's because the past recent memories that she had lost had me in it, and I played a very important role. I think, if she saw me… I could sort of hurry the process of her memories and something might go wrong.”

“Oh,” Ron said.

“But I think why we can't go see her is because she can't take in any new memories while she isn't well just yet. While she is making new memories in that Hospital Wing, she'll most likely forget the details and there won't be any pressure on her mind. See, if we came in…. it'd be a whole different story. The more she sees things or people that holds a place in her heart, the more she'd want to remember the moment. She can't put that sort of pressure on her mind.”

Ron nodded, as they neared the end of the corridor.

“Well, that makes sense,” Ron said.

Just then, they heard someone calling Harry's name. Ron and he both stopped in their steps, as they saw a running Neville heading their way.

“Harry!” Neville called, out of breath. “Thank Merlin I found you!” Harry's eyes darkened as he saw Neville, concern flickering in the deep emerald pools. When Neville finally reached them, Neville had to lean over and rest for a bit, panting hard and sweat on his forehead.

“What is it, Neville?” Harry asked, concerned. “Did Seamus do something to you?” Harry heard Ron snort beside him, but he chose to ignore him.

“Harry… I… was in the Hospital Wing… and… Madam Pomfrey…” Neville had to stop in between words to pant, still out of breath. Harry felt sympathy for him and did not hurry him with his growing impatience; he knew he had to have come a long way. “… she told… me to come… and get you… it's Hermione…” Harry's heart stopped, as he felt something suddenly flare from inside him.

“What is it?” Harry asked, quickly. “What about Hermione?” Neville was still panting.

“Good God, Neville!” Ron groaned. “Just spit it out!”

Neville glared at Ron, but did what he said.

“Hermione's… Hermione's well… she remembers.” Harry stiffened, but he heard his heart's praises. “Madam Pomfrey told… me to come look for you and… tell you that Hermione's… asking for you….”

Harry felt energy and excitement bolt and crackle through his veins, as he suddenly took off down the corridor, his feet pounding against the shiny and clean dark marble floor. His only intention was getting to the Hospital Wing.

“Hurry, Harry!” He heard Neville call out to him. “I must have spent a good ten minutes looking for you!” He heard Neville ask Ron where they had been, in an irritated tone. Shaking his head but grinning widely, Harry turned his head slightly for a quick moment.

“Thanks Neville!” Harry said, and turned away in time to see Neville wave at him.

Harry ran down the corridor, his robes sweeping behind him, as he turned and headed down to the Hospital Wing. He ran faster, the torches dancing and flickering weakly against the walls. He knew he was quite a distance away from the infirmary, and he wanted to get there as soon as he could.

He passed a portrait, as he heard it call out in a scolding tone about his running, but Harry ignored it, and kept going. He could feel the excitement and determination sparking inside his veins, and seep into his thoughts like a sweet and controlling mist.

Finally, as he felt a pain starting to form at his side from his running, the Hospital Wing's doors came into view. He urged his feet to go faster, as this sparked more determination in him.

Finally, he burst through the doors, as he ran into a silent Hospital Wing. He stopped, as he crouched down, panting and breathing hard. He looked up as he saw Madam Pomfrey come out of her office, eyeing him. She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she started towards him, her heels clicking against the smooth floor.

“Mr. Potter,” she said, hovering above him. “I expect you got Mr. Longbottom's message?”

Harry nodded, still breathing heavily. “Yes,” he said. “Where is she?” Harry looked up around the Hospital Wing, but all the beds were empty and kept. There wasn't another soul in here.

He heard Madam Pomfrey sigh, as she started walking and Harry's eyes followed her. She walked towards the windows, and drew back the curtain just a bit with her hand, so that only she could see. Harry could see white peeking out from the window, and he knew that there was still light snowfall.

“I don't know why Dumbledore insists on having snow at the nearing end of this year. He said it was quite fun and that it was for your benefit, since you spent most of your winter cooped up inside the house. I say,” she sighed, staring out. “I say it isn't very delightful but it's cheery all the same.” Finally, she looked at Harry. Her expression was soft this time, not stern or scolding.

“It seems Albus was right. Miss Granger saw the light snowfall outside and said that she'd like to have a stroll outside. I, of course, set a firm no but she went ahead anyway. She's become rather rebellious, that one. But no matter. It's her last year, and it's also yours. Go head on out. She's in the courtyards, overlooking the Forbidden Forest; the one that Albus had built just last year. I should have told Neville to tell you to first fetch a cloak,” she said, giving him a concerned look, “but I suppose you can just enact a warmth spell if you get too cold. Besides, Albus didn't make it too frosty today, and the chill won't give you a frostbite, so it will be quite alright.” Harry nodded, as his breaths had shallowed and returned to their usual pace and now he was standing upright.

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” he said, and then paused. “For everything, the past years. For taking care of her.” She nodded; flashing a slight smile that Harry had never seen her give all his years here.

“It's my job,” she merely said. “Over these years I've grown to taking care of nuisances like you,” she chuckled. “Now go on, shoo. I didn't tell her that you'd be coming so quickly, so it's a surprise. But hurry on up before she decides to head inside. It is rather beautiful and calm outside.”

Harry nodded, as he turned and headed out of the Hospital Wing. He walked down the dim corridor, and knew exactly where to go. He turned and was met with a faded black door with an antique silver handle. He looked over to the Portrait that stood beside it, who was eyeing him curiously.

“Say, are you the boyfriend of the girl who took a stroll before you?” the lady in the crimson dress asked, raising an eyebrow. “A Ravenclaw and her friend stood in front of me and I skimmed the article some days ago. I recognize you from the picture. You're that Hero, aren't you? What she did was pretty horrible, but I expect that it isn't true?” Harry said that she was correct. “Hmm,” she said, nodding her head. “Those petty articles. Even in my time they were a nuisance. I can't believe someone hasn't put a stop to it yet. Anyway, password?”

“Charmed Flame,” Harry responded. The Lady nodded and bid him Good day, as the door opened slowly. He returned the polite gesture and walked through the door, before it closed neatly behind him.

Harry looked around him, and the pure white of the clean and unsoiled snow was almost blinding. He shivered only faintly, as he saw the snow falling around him softly. He looked forward, and saw the fountain that Dumbledore had put in; a statue of an Angel with her wings spread, towering in the distance. Water was still pouring from the Angel's fingertips, just as Harry remembered.

Harry looked around, turning, trying to find Hermione. Finally, he spotted her. Harry smiled faintly, feeling the restless butterflies in his stomach and his heartbeats thudding inside his chest.

Her back was turned to him, facing the forest. She was wearing her school robes, as Harry observed, and figured that Madam Pomfrey had asked someone to bring it up. He could see her deep brown curls falling past her shoulders only by an estimated inch, as little snowflakes got trapped in her soft locks. Harry let out a sigh, and saw a mist appear before his lips before it suddenly vanished. He took a step forward in the snow, as he walked towards her silently.

She was still, just standing and watching the snow-covered trees and frost bitten sky.

Finally, when Harry was only feet from her, he spoke up, feeling a foolish grin on his face.

“It's odd, isn't it?” Harry called out to her. Harry saw as she suddenly stiffened. Harry swallowed and continued. “How Dumbledore favors snow and insists on having snow when it is supposedly spring and nearing summer? If you look beyond the Quidditch pitch, you'll see green hills and grass. No white snow-covered tops. It only snows here on the grounds.” Harry was nearing her now, just two feet away from her back. She turned her head slowly, and Harry smiled as she saw him from the corner of her eye. Harry saw her smile, as she turned her head again, so that he could no longer see her expression.

“I like snow,” she said softly, but Harry heard it like a proclamation to the world. “Especially like this. It's nice.”

He stopped when he was beside her, as he grinned at the feeling of hearing her voice ring inside his ears again. His heart was doing cartwheels inside him, and his nerves and thoughts were on flaring and embers were sparking inside him. His green eyes sparkled, his untamed deep raven hair falling in beautiful contrast with it. He hugged his robe tighter, his fingers cold but he could not find one complaint about the moment. Finally, he turned to her.

He smiled wider, as he took in the sight. Her cheeks were tinted in a soft blush from the chilly weather, and her brown eyes sparkled so brightly that it seemed inhuman. She turned her head and looked at him, and smiled faintly.

“Good day, Hermione,” he said softly to her.

“Same to you, Harry,” she chuckled quietly. Finally, she turned her body so that she was facing him. She took a step closer, her smile fading from her features.

“It's good to see you, Harry,” she whispered, her eyes deepening in their rich brown color. “I've missed you.”

“You couldn't have missed me more than I missed you,” Harry smiled. Hermione laughed kindly, as she looked into his eyes. She sighed, as a small smile graced her lips.

She looked around them, as Harry only had eyes for her.

“It really is beautiful, isn't it?” she said, looking at their surroundings. Harry's smile was plastered on his face.

“Yeah, you really are,” he said. Hermione froze, and then turned her head back to him, smiling widely and blushing.

“After spending two days in the Hospital Wing?” she laughed. Harry stepped closer, as he wrapped his arms around her. She didn't object, but instead entwined her hands at the base of his neck. She smiled up at him, her brown eyes dancing.

“Even,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, and raising a hand to sweep his finger across her cheek, slowly. “After spending two days in the Hospital Wing. You're beautiful. Parvati would be jealous,” he grinned. Hermione returned his wide smile.

“I'm sure she would be,” she said.

“You'd better be careful,” he said, leaning closer.

“I needn't need to be,” she whispered, as she raised her lips closer to his. “I've got you, don't I?”

Harry's response was a kiss, and that was all she needed for his answer.

Harry wrapped his arms around her tightly and firmly, kissing her with such passion. He felt his nerves suddenly halt and burst into fireworks inside him, a pleasant roaring and bellowing in his ears. He could feel a gentle breeze ride by, weaving its arms around them first, before untangling and moving on.

Harry had never felt so grateful and wonderful in his life. She was here, and he couldn't ask for anything more.

They ended the kiss slowly and softly, before they both looked into each other's eyes and pulled back only slightly.

“Do you remember?” Harry whispered. “Everything?”

“I do,” she replied, her voice just as soft. “Everything.”

Harry smiled. It was a sincere and sweet smile, gentle and kind. It didn't reach his eyes, but Hermione appreciated it just the same.

“I heard you, you know,” Hermione told him. “I heard you, when you were crying.” Harry's eyes twinkled.

“You did?” he asked, in slight disbelief. She nodded.

“Yes. I'm sorry,” she said, her eyes compassionate and apologizing. “I'm sorry for making you feel so hurt and alone. I never wanted to make you lose hope.” Harry sighed, smiling at her.

“Don't apologize,” he said. “It wasn't your fault. I'm fine now. You're here. Everything's perfect. Life is good again,” he grinned.

There was a comfortable silence between them, as she refrained from speaking. She looked into his eyes and raised her hand to his cheek. She swept back his hair from his eyes, his eyes smiling at her.

“I love you,” she said softly. “I love you too much to ever leave you. I want you to know that.”

Harry's smile softened only slightly, but his eyes darkened noticeably.

“I know that now,” he told her, just as softly. “But Hermione… we can't make promises to what we don't have control over. We can't predict something fickle and that's always changing. Don't say that,” he said, his eyes hurt and darkening. “Don't say that you won't leave me. I don't want you to.”

Hermione's smile vanished, as her eyes also dimmed from his words. They took her by surprise, as her hand froze on his temple. She lowered her hand, and his bangs swished back into place.

“Harry… I'll always be in here,” her hand was on his chest, right on the place of his heart. Her hand was soft and light, and he barely felt the pressure underneath her palm and fingertips. Harry smiled down on her softly. “And no matter what… I'll never leave you. I'll always be in your heart. I won't ever walk away and time can't fade what you have inside there. That's exactly what….” She took her other hand and captured his, which lie on her waist, and brought it to her, right on the place of her heart. She set his hand down and clasped her hand atop of it, as Harry felt the warmth of her hand rest on his. He felt his heart melt at the look in her eyes, and the way the edges of her mouth quirked only so slightly in an endearing smile.

“….Exactly what I have inside here,” she said, “in my heart. You have a place in here that nothing and no one can ever touch, replace, or erase. Nothing can change it, nothing can alter it. Not the darkest Wizard or the most powerful memory-erasing spell. I love you, Harry,” she said gently. “With all of my heart.”

Harry, a wide grin dominating over his features, leaned down again, and placed his lips on hers. He could feel Hermione smile against him as she also leaned in, her hands enclosing around his and bringing them to her sides, where Harry embraced her and brought her closer.

She threw her arms around him as he suddenly picked her up and she gasped against his mouth. She broke from his lips and laughed, as he spun her around, and their laughs pleasantly broke through the silence and gentle soft landing of the snowfall.

In the Hospital Wing, someone was watching from them a curtained window. Her hand only drew it back a couple of inches, enough to watch them. She smiled, laughing to herself quietly, before she closed it and turned around. She was surprised to see a smiling Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall standing some feet away.

“Young love is always such a beautiful thing,” Dumbledore smiled. Madam Pomfrey sighed and nodded along, agreeing.

“Yes, Mr. Potter and Hermione Granger… Not such a surprise, those two,” Minerva said, chuckling, shaking her head.

“Certainly not,” Albus said. “Always had a hunch. Then again, I am getting of an old age, so I might be mistaken.”

“Oh, you can't have missed those looks those two secretly sent at each other when the other was not looking. It was quite amusing, if you watch them closely.”

“Really, Minerva? In class? Oh yes… now I remember. I remember Severus remarking about it quite rudely to me, back when he had been here.”

“He knew it too,” she said, and Dumbledore surprisingly chuckled.

“Yes, he did,” he agreed. “Even he knew that those two were bound to be together one day.”

“Well, even a cold and heartless act can tell when it's true love.”

“Now, now, Minerva. We must pay at least some respect to Severus. He wasn't always the man that he was. He gave his heart to a girl, once, when he was Mr. Potter's age. Only, it wasn't as successful and joyous as their situation. Love is a fickle and tough thing. Not everyone can conquer it.”

“They can, if they try. Severus gave up.”

“Yes, unfortunately so. But, might I say, even those who give up can still find it. It only takes a longer route, a lengthier path. But all the roads lead to the same destination, as frightening as the beginnings seem, or as gloomy and dangerous the first step of the trail. Everyone finds happiness, whether they want to, or not.”

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