Once, Twice, and Always

Bingblot

Rating: R
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 26/06/2004
Last Updated: 20/07/2004
Status: completed

How do you go on when you've forgotten the last 16 months of your life? Harry has an accident and, as always, turns to Hermione for help.

Chapters

1. The Persistence of Memory

2. The Same, and Yet So Different

3. Again the Magic

4. Remember the Love

1. The Persistence of Memory

A/N: All things HP-related belong to JK Rowling. I’m just borrowing her world for fun.

Originally written and posted at the hphg_ficathon on LiveJournal.

For thephotoman- Happy Birthday!

Once, Twice, and Forever

Part 1: The Persistence of Memory

Ever afterwards, Hermione and Harry referred to the day of the Hogwarts Alumnae Quidditch Match as “that day”, Hermione usually with a shudder of remembrance.

Hogwarts was celebrating the 700th anniversary of the Quidditch Cup, and to do so, had arranged for a special Quidditch match between two teams made up of some of the best Quidditch players from Hogwarts history, that were still living, of course. It would also include a moment of silence in respect for those great Quidditch players who weren’t living, people like Wronski who had transferred into Hogwarts from Durmstrang and was considered, therefore, to be an honorary Hogwarts Quidditch star. (Harry had been pleasantly surprised to find that James Potter was listed as one of those Quidditch greats, as the person who had Captained the Gryffindor team to the most consecutive victories: 9 to be exact, 3 games in 3 years.) And Harry had, naturally, been asked to be the Seeker for one of the teams.

The day and the game started out well. The weather was beautiful, one of those perfect balmy Scottish autumn days that were rare and so appreciated, perfect for Quidditch. Hermione had enjoyed seeing the sheer excitement on Harry’s face at the idea of playing what amounted to a game of professional Quidditch for the first time, plus he was enjoying playing with Charlie Weasley and Oliver Wood again, too. All the Weasleys had, of course, turned out to watch, with a good number of reporters, people from the Ministry Department of Magical Games and Sports, and even Viktor Krum. (Hermione couldn’t help a slight blush when she heard Viktor was coming, even though she knew both Harry and Ron had turned to look at her with matching teasing grins, although Harry’s grin was belied by his squeezing her hand.)

The game had been an exciting one, the two teams well-matched, as even Hermione with her modicum of Quidditch knowledge and interest could see.

Hermione always wondered, somewhat superstitiously, if in some odd way, she was partly to blame for what happened. She had sent Harry off with a kiss and a “Good luck, Harry” and not her usual “Be careful.” True, her saying “be careful” hadn’t exactly prevented Harry from having Quidditch injuries before but she couldn’t help wondering in some small illogical part of her mind if maybe, just maybe, if she had said “be careful” instead of “good luck” Harry wouldn’t have been so badly hurt. Illogical, yes, but as Hermione was the first to acknowledge, Harry had always been the weak point in her logical thinking, because no logic could ever explain the way she felt around him, the way she felt about him.

All Hermione knew for certain was that she died a hundred times in the few seconds from first seeing the Bludger heading straight for Harry, to seeing it hit him straight on his shoulder, to watching in horror as Harry, taken completely by surprise as his attention had been focused on the Snitch that he had just sighted and was just then diving for, fell, as if in slow motion, the hundred meters or so to the ground, to hit the ground head first with a sickening thud. Afterwards she never quite knew how she got from the special box seats where she and the Weasleys had been seated, high up in the stands to afford the best view, to Harry’s side on the field. She could have jumped, sprouted wings, crawled, and she wouldn’t have known it or remembered it. All she knew at the time and all she remembered was the one thought that literally seemed to be burning a hole in her brain and her heart: Harry, oh dear God, Harry. Let him be alright, please, dear Merlin, let him be alright...

Hermione paced back and forth in the waiting room of St. Mungo’s. Dear Merlin, how much longer was she going to have to wait? How much longer until she could see Harry for herself and see how he was doing? How much longer-

Her nervous train of thought was cut off when Ron said, gently, “Hermione, please stop pacing; you’re making me exhausted just looking at you.”

Hermione didn’t stop, only paused before continuing. She needed to keep moving, just so she wouldn’t feel so helpless.

“Harry wouldn’t want you to tire yourself out pacing like this.”

The mention of Harry stopped Hermione when nothing else had. She collapsed into a chair beside Ron, giving him a wan attempt at a smile. “Sorry, Ron.”

He patted her hand gently. “It’s going to be okay. It’s Harry; it’ll take more than a Bludger to do him in when even Voldemort couldn’t do it.”

Hermione smiled a little sadly and sighed. It was evidence of how preoccupied Ron was that he could say Voldemort’s name without a trace of hesitation or a stutter.

Violet Connelly, the Healer, paused before she entered the waiting room where she knew Harry Potter’s friends and fiancée were waiting. Of all the duties she had to perform in her work at St. Mungo’s, talking to the families and friends was the worst, and this one even more than usual. Violet closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself, before she straightened her shoulders and, opening the door, entered the room.

Hermione leaped up when a women entered, dressed in the lime-green St. Mungo’s robes. She took one look at her face and blindly reached out for something-anything, felt Ron grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, even as she realized in some corner of her mind that her mind automatically wanted to turn to Harry for support. Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself and then asked, “How is he?”

Violet turned towards the young woman whom she recognized as being Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s equally famous fiancée, and managed a smile. “He’ll be just fine. He had a broken bone on his upper arm and a dislocated shoulder, which have been perfectly healed, although the area will retain some bruising and sensitivity for a few days. That’s the good news.” She paused. “The bad news is Mr. Potter has a case of amnesia, to use laymen’s terms. He doesn’t recall anything that happened after the defeat of Voldemort. While there are certain charms and spells purported to restore the memory, in a case of mild amnesia, such as Mr. Potter’s, especially when caused by a blow to the head, we are extremely careful about using them. The human mind is a fragile thing and even with our level of magical skill, those charms are very difficult and very risky, more often than not resulting in further memory loss rather than a cure. In such cases as these, the best advice is to try to make the person feel as comfortable as possible, in familiar surroundings with familiar people. In many cases, the person’s memory will be restored either gradually or suddenly on seeing some object or thing of special meaning to them. These things are hard to predict, but given Mr. Potter’s general good health, I am quite optimistic that he will experience a full recovery of his memories before very long.”

Hermione’s mind was racing. She hardly heard the rest of what the Healer was saying after hearing that Harry didn’t remember anything that happened since Voldemort’s defeat. It had been more than a year since then. About a year and four months. An eventful year and four months, at that. Oh dear Merlin, poor Harry. To have just forgotten a year and more of his life…

She felt a brief irrational surge of anger at the fates. Hadn’t Harry already suffered more than enough in his nearly 20 years of life?

So much had happened since they had left Hogwarts… The three of them had moved into a flat that Harry had mostly paid for, insisting over her and Ron’s protests that it was his way of buying himself a home and who else could he share it with but his two best friends; she and Harry had fallen in love- or at least had realized that they were in love; gotten engaged only 7 months after that; Ron had moved out, joining the twins since they had bought themselves a large house just outside London, using the excess of room there as an excuse, although both she and Harry knew it was to give them some privacy…

It had been the happiest year of her life. And Harry’s too, she knew, because he’d told her so… And he’d lost his memory of it due to the ill-fated timing of a Bludger hit away from one of the Chasers and unintentionally right in the way of Harry’s dive toward the Snitch.

Harry was lying in a bed just rooms away from them and he didn’t know that they were engaged. The ramifications of that bald fact suddenly hit her and Hermione felt her knees weaken and Ron slip a supporting hand under her arm. He didn’t know they were engaged. He didn’t know they were engaged. The words seemed to pound through her brain and her heart, and though she knew no one, least of all Harry, was to blame, she couldn’t help but be hurt that he had forgotten their love.

She had a sudden, fleeting memory of the moment when she’d known that she loved him, was in love with him…

His skin was against hers, for the first time, nothing between them, nothing separating them, just skin against skin. She couldn’t believe this was happening, that she was doing this, this most intimate of acts, with Harry of all people. Although, in some corner of her mind, she wasn’t surprised. Harry was already the person who knew her the best and whom she knew the best; they were only continuing on that path, learning the one thing about Harry that she didn’t know- his body.

Harry kissed his way back up her body, pausing the last moment before he entered her, to ask breathlessly, “Are you sure?”

She looked into his eyes, the green, green eyes that she’d seen in every mood over the past 7 years and now was seeing dark with desire and lust, and she nodded. “Just love me.” The small part of her mind that was still thinking clearly, thought she had meant to say, ‘make love to me’ but had truncated that, but she knew even as she thought it, that she meant what she had said, in every way. She wanted Harry to love her, not just with his body but with his heart.

He understood. His eyes widened slightly, before he breathed, “I do,” and it was a promise, a confession and a vow all at once, and then he kissed her on the mouth with tenderness and with passion…

Hermione came back to the present with a small gasp to realize that the Healer had just said that they could see Harry now. She took a deep breath and followed the Healer as she left the waiting room.

The Healer left Hermione at the door to Harry’s room with a sympathetic smile, and with a pause to steel her shoulders, Hermione opened the door and walked in, pasting a bright smile on her face.

Harry was sitting up in bed, looking a little pale and uncertain but otherwise ok. He smiled when he saw her. “Hi.”

Hermione restrained her first impulse to kiss Harry and satisfied herself with a brief peck on his cheek, as she said, “Harry, thank goodness you’re ok. We were so worried when we saw you fall.”

Harry gave her a crooked grin. “I seem to make a habit of falling off brooms in the middle of Quidditch games.”

Hermione refrained from saying that actually, he hadn’t fallen off a broom since he’d left Hogwarts since he hadn’t been in a real professional Quidditch game in the last year and 4 months, and only nodded, realizing fully just what it meant that Harry had amnesia.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” she asked, making a little gesture to the bandage on his head.

“I- I don’t know.” He looked up at her and she wanted to cry for the confusion on his face. “I just can’t believe it. I mean, it feels so strange… It’s October of 1999… but in my head it’s still June of 1998. There’s nothing after that; it’s all just… blank.” For a moment, Hermione suddenly thought she knew what he must have looked like whenever the Dursleys locked him in the closet under the stairs before he’d come to Hogwarts, a lost little boy. And the fact that this was Harry, Harry who had only just begun to really enjoy his life, to feel as if he could enjoy his life, broke her heart. It just wasn’t fair… But then life had never been fair to Harry. Not from the moment he’d been born under a curse to either kill or be killed, not from the moment his parents had been murdered and Headmaster Dumbledore had left a year-old baby on his aunt and uncle’s doorstep… And Fate wasn’t being fair now, when Harry who had already endured so much and fought so hard to be able to live the life he was living now, to be able to love without fear, was being made to endure more…

Hermione finally broke the silence that had fallen as she silently railed against Fate, putting a gentle hand on his arm. “It’ll be okay, Harry. Ron and I will help you remember everything.” She managed a smile. “We’ve been with you for everything so far; we won’t leave you now just because you can’t remember what happened in the past 16 months.”

He managed a smile, the lost look in his eyes lightening, and she suddenly remembered that Ron and the Weasleys must be waiting anxiously outside. “Let me get Ron and the Weasleys; they’re just outside.”

Hermione sank down into a chair to compose herself while Ron and the Weasleys visited Harry. Her mind was starting to work again, to think about what they would have to do, how they would have to change their lives to get through this. She’d have to talk with Ron, to see about his temporarily moving back in with her and Harry, since she had no doubt that Harry would feel more comfortable with Ron around. She’d have to move her things into her old bedroom again, get some extensions on deadlines for her research in the next few weeks… And somehow she was going to have to treat Harry as only a platonic friend…

2. The Same, and Yet So Different

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: For those who asked why Hermione didn’t just tell Harry: From what I know about memory loss, a person needs to find their memories naturally and not have it forced on them. Plus, they shouldn’t panic about not remembering (which they will, if people tell them things they just don’t remember at all. Being told something happened isn’t like remembering something happened.) Besides, where’s the fun in that? ;-)

For Gil, aka Romulus Lupin- Happy belated birthday, dear! *glomps*

Part 2: The Same and Yet so Different

2 weeks later…

Hermione entered the pub, glanced around, and smiled when she saw Ginny waving from a corner. She waved back and made her way over to the table, putting down her bag and slipping into the opposite chair.

“Hey, Hermione, how are you holding up?” Ginny asked sympathetically.

Hermione sighed and let her shoulders slump before looking up at Ginny with a rueful smile. “You know, I never thought it would be so hard to have to go through a day without Harry’s kisses.”

Ginny smirked. “Not to mention all the hot sex every night, right?”

Hermione blushed slightly and laughed. “That too.” She sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, Harry’s been my best friend for so many years and he still is, no matter how else I might feel about him. It’s just- different. I miss the guy I’m in love with and yet Harry’s around, and I love him but it’s just weird now.” She stopped and then made a face. “That didn’t make much sense, did it?”

Ginny laughed. “Not much, but I understand what you mean. You miss the Harry who’s madly in love with you, but love the Harry that’s just your best friend.”

“Right in one.” Hermione sobered and looked down, toying with the straw of her drink. “You know, it’s funny, I never realized how much strength I got from just being held at the end of the day. You wouldn’t think it would make that big of a difference, but it does, it really does.”

Ginny smiled. “Hang in there, Hermione. It’s not like this is permanent. You’ll have your Harry back in no time, believe me.”

Hermione’s lips tightened slightly as she spoke quietly. “You know that’s the only thing that’s keeping me going. I have to believe that everything’s going to work out fine to go on.”

“Hey, Hermione, listen to me.” Hermione looked up and met Ginny’s eyes. “It’ll work out. You and Harry falling in love and getting engaged wasn’t just chance; you two are destiny. It’ll happen. Again, that is.”

“Thanks.”

Harry was alone in the flat for the first time since his accident. Hermione and Ron had always been careful to make sure one or other was with him, just in case he remembered something or wanted to know something. Even now, Ron had been with him until he’d received a Floo call from Fred saying they needed his help on something at the store and Ron had left, assuring Harry that Hermione should be back within the half hour.

Harry had waved Ron away with a grin, saying he was a big boy and perfectly capable of being alone without setting the place on fire or something. Ron had laughed and grinned back before leaving.

So now he was alone.

Harry wandered rather aimlessly through the flat for a minute before returning to the general sitting room area, his attention drawn, as it tended to be these days, to the pictures lining the mantelpiece.

The center picture was the only one he remembered being taken, the last weeks before the final battle, of the three of them, himself in the center. They were smiling but there was a seriousness in their eyes that spoke of the danger and the uncertainty that was hanging over them all, like a cloud. He remembered those days, the tenseness of knowing that sooner rather than later, they would strike- and he would come back, a murderer or not at all... He remembered it like it was yesterday… but then to him, it had only been a few weeks ago… He only knew it was more than a year ago because other people had told him.

The other pictures Harry couldn’t place in his memories at all, knew they must have been from recently, which, in itself, didn’t bother him overly much. The Healer at St. Mungo’s and then Hermione had explained his situation and assured him it was temporary and not to worry about it. While that had been a little difficult at first, in the past week he’d come to realize, with a philosophy that surprised him, that worrying wouldn’t help him remember.

One picture, in particular, drew his attention. It was just of himself and Hermione, smiling. What rather bothered him was that it had been taken somewhere he couldn’t remember having visited. It wasn’t anywhere in England; he could tell that from the tropical looking appearance of the beach he could see behind them He just couldn’t understand why if they had gone on vacation, there weren’t other pictures of the three of them together. But then, he rationalized, Ron did like taking pictures more than either himself or Hermione did and moreover, it had most likely been a short visit and there might not have been time or the opportunity to have some other passing witch or wizard to take their picture.

What struck him as odder was the fact that the majority of the pictures on the mantelpiece were of just himself and Hermione. There were a few pictures of the Trio, one of their year of Gryffindors, one of the Weasleys all together, one of the three of them with some members of the Order. But the other pictures were all of himself and Hermione. And while there was nothing odd in that, given that he and Hermione were best friends and had been for years, he wondered at the general lack of Ron.

Feeling himself beginning to worry, he dismissed those pictures from the mantelpiece from his mind and, to distract himself and because he could feel the melancholy begin to grow, decided to go to Hermione’s bedroom. He knew she wouldn’t mind, provided he didn’t snoop into her desk or anything. Also, he had discovered that Hermione’s bedroom, even in her absence, seemed to retain some of her spirit, and was comforting, comfortable.

It was as neat as anyone who knew her would have expected Hermione’s room to be, a pile of books on her desk, along with papers mostly covered with her neat handwriting. Her nightstand was bare except for a single picture, one he couldn’t remember seeing before and he moved to get a closer look.

It was a Wizarding picture but in it, neither he nor Hermione was moving, because they were asleep. He had apparently fallen asleep on a couch, as had Hermione, because she was leaning on him, his arm around her shoulder. They looked like the picture of contentment and relaxation, he thought with a smile. He studied Hermione’s face in sleep, reflecting that he’d never really noticed the difference to her waking expression. In sleep she was at peace, her eyes closed hiding the activity of her mind. She was beautiful when she was that relaxed, he suddenly thought, surprising himself. Hermione, beautiful? He didn’t think her ugly, of course; she was pretty, but since when had he thought her beautiful?

He heard the door open at that moment and Hermione’s voice. “Harry? Ron? Where are you?”

He dismissed his thought to hurry and greet Hermione at the front entrance, where she was hanging up her cloak.

She smiled when she saw him, her smile warming his heart and he suddenly realized how glad he was to see her, even after this relatively short absence. “Hi Harry.” She glanced around. “Where’s Ron?”

“Hey. Ron got a Floo call from Fred saying he and George needed Ron’s help on something at the store so he left about 20 minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

Hermione looked slightly nonplussed so he hurried to say, “I told Ron he could go. I’m not a 5 year old that can’t be trusted to be home alone for a little while, you know.”

Hermione smiled. “I know that, Harry. Oh by the way, Ginny says hi.”

“How is Ginny?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She and I met up for a drink and to talk, which is why I’m a little later than usual today.”

Hermione sat down and looked at Harry. “So what did you and Ron do while I was out?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing too exciting. We talked, played some wizard’s chess at which he beat me easily, no big surprise there.” He paused, before pointing to the pictures on the mantelpiece. “Where was that picture on the end taken?”

Hermione looked where he was pointing although she already knew which picture he was referring to. “It was taken on Capri Island, down in Italy. We went down there for a day trip about 6 months ago.” She managed a bright smile. “Anacapri is such a lovely place.” She didn’t mention that it had been something of an impulsive decision to spend the day together, just after they had gotten engaged. It had been a wonderful day of kisses, holding hands, quiet conversations, good food, and just being together away from everything and everyone else.

“Ron’s a good photographer,” Harry said, smiling, though his eyes were still on the photographs.

Hermione’s smile faltered a little. “Yes, he is,” she said in a forcibly bright tone. “I think he’s been practicing.” She hated that she felt uncomfortable around Harry, always watching what she said and did, never able, now, to completely be herself because she loved him but he didn’t remember that. He didn’t remember… She sighed softly but then quickly smiled as Harry turned his gaze from the pictures back to her. “How about watching something on the telly, Harry?”

“Sure,” he said, turning and reaching for the remote with one hand and settling back in the couch facing the television. “You sound a little tired, Hermione,” he said, glancing back at her, as he turned the telly on.

“I’m fine, Harry. It was just a bit of a long day at work, that’s all.”

Harry reached over and squeezed her knee briefly, as he’d sometimes done when they’d been up late studying at Hogwarts. “Don’t work too hard. You know I don’t like to see my girl exhausted.”

Hermione didn’t answer, pretending to be engrossed in the television. Moments like this were the hardest, when Harry was his usual caring self, dropping casual friendly touches and phrases like “my girl” that meant nothing to him, but so much to her because she knew and remembered touches that weren’t platonic at all and other words and phrases of love that he’d spoken.

A movie was playing on the telly, one that Harry appeared to be enjoying as he was smiling and laughing occasionally. Her mind registered none of it. Instead she occupied herself with studying him. Harry, her best friend, her lover, her fiancée, who only knew that he was her best friend. It was so odd that he looked exactly like the man she was in love with, the man she knew loved her, and yet acted so different in some ways. His hands with the long, graceful yet strong fingers that she’d loved to watch catching the Snitch long before she discovered the magic they could work on her body by their touch. His eyes that she was so used to seeing look at her with love in their green depths that made it so hard and so hurtful to see them looking at her with only friendship. His lips that she’d watched as they said “I love you” and “Will you marry me?” and now only ever said casual words of friendship and good humor. The lips that had kissed her with such tenderness and such passion, that now only smiled.

Hermione sighed silently. She didn’t know how to look at Harry and see only her best friend now. She saw him as her lover, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with…

Ron entered the house quietly, hearing the sounds of the television from the living room, and entering unseen and unheard by either of them. Harry was apparently engrossed in the movie and Hermione was engrossed in Harry. He saw the wistful expression on her face as she studied Harry, suddenly realizing how difficult this must be for her, to have their relationship go back to what it had been before they had fallen so much in love. They had had the kind of love that would make anyone jealous, the kind of love that practically was stamped Forever; and now, because of a freak accident, Harry had forgotten but Hermione had not. She remembered and she still loved and was hurting because of it. He sighed, deciding he had to do something to help Harry and Hermione get together. He just didn’t know what. He stepped forward, saying, “Hello, you two,” as he did so.

Harry and Hermione both turned to smile at him, Hermione with a look of unmistakable relief in her eyes. Being alone with Harry was hard for her these days.

“Ron, there you are. I just thought of something.” Ron and Harry glanced at each other with shared grins over how often they had heard Hermione say those words or something similar. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so I was thinking we could all go visit Hogwarts. We could Floo into Hogsmeade around lunch time, have lunch there, and then go visit the school. I’m sure Professor McGonagall wouldn’t mind and we can see all the places we used to know so well, just the three of us. What do you think?”

“Sounds great, Hermione. It’ll be almost like old times again,” Harry enthused.

Ron had an idea. This would be the perfect way to throw the two together for a long period of time, something he was sure would, if not make Harry remember everything, go a long way in pushing the two together, since he was sure that Harry did love Hermione; he just didn’t know it. “It does sound like fun, but I don’t think I can make it. Fred and George asked me to help them go over the Inventory of their new products tomorrow so they can be organized and put on the shelves by Monday morning,” he said, thinking quickly and improvising. Fred and George had said something about new products; they just hadn’t mentioned when they would be going on sale in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes yet. Oh well, what Harry and Hermione didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He stifled some amusement at their differing expressions. Harry looked a little disappointed but otherwise unaffected. Hermione looked downright terrified at the idea of spending a day in Harry’s company with no one else to take the edge off. He could tell she was frantically trying to come up with reasons why they shouldn’t go unless he was with them and cut her off by speaking. “It sounds like a great idea, Hermione. Remember the Healer said familiar places might help him remember. You guys go and have fun on your own, I insist. Hermione, you’ve been working so hard, you deserve a day off.”

Hermione was trapped and she knew it. She forced a cheerful smile. “Okay, if you’re sure. This will be great, won’t it, Harry? I’ve missed the old castle and Hogsmeade.”

And with that it was settled. A perfect day of reminiscing, old friendships and complete and utter torture, Hermione thought.

3. Again the Magic

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author’s Notes: For Anne U.- Happy birthday! *glomps*

Thank you to everyone who’s reviewed this so far!

Part 3: Again the Magic

When Hermione entered the living room the next day, she found Harry waiting for her, wearing a dark green wool jumper and black jeans, looking good enough to eat. She swallowed hard. Come on, Hermione, calm down, you can do this. It’s just a day.

She managed a grin. “Oh good, you’re ready. We’ve got great weather for the trip too; we really lucked out.”

Harry grinned back as his eyes ran over her form-fitting cream-colored turtleneck jumper and trim khaki pants. “You look good, Hermione.”

Hermione looked flustered as she smiled. “So do you.”

He smiled but said nothing, only stepped back as they reached the fireplace, gesturing for her to go first. She smiled and said, “See you there,” before stepping into the flames and disappearing.

Hogsmeade had one central Floo station. Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace into it, wishing they could have Apparated. But thanks to the Anti-Apparition rules of Hogsmeade as well as Hogwarts, that hadn’t been possible. Besides that, though, Apparating was discouraged by the St. Mungo’s Healers for anyone who had suffered any kind of head injury recently, unless it was for a short distance. In another minute, Harry also stumbled out, with slightly less grace than she had exhibited. She caught his arm, helping him regain his balance, and he shot her a grateful smile while she ignored the spark she always felt when she touched him.

They ate lunch at the Three Broomsticks, where Madam Rosmerta welcomed them with a smile and telling Harry it was good to see he hadn’t suffered any permanent injuries from his terrible fall at the game a few weeks ago. Hermione kept her smile from faltering only by dint of will; they had all decided it was best to keep Harry’s memory loss from the public, agreeing since it was probably only temporary, it wouldn’t do to have the media hound him or exaggerate Harry’s condition into a case of complete amnesia.

Harry smiled and shrugged off any questions of how he was smoothly, seating himself and Hermione at a table in the corner, slightly separated from the others. He was sorry that Ron hadn’t been able to come, of course, but it was nice to be able to spend some time with Hermione. She’d been spending a lot of time at work this past week, citing a snag in her research for the Institute of Magical Maladies and Remedies, and he missed her.

As if by some unspoken understanding, they kept the conversation light, punctuated with ‘do you remember’s’ and quiet laughs of remembrance. They didn’t talk about the dangers they had all gone through or the fear or those they had lost…

Until the end, when a short silence fell, which Harry broke by asking quietly, “Do you remember meeting Sirius?”

She smiled gently. “Of course. I’ll never forget it. I was so afraid that he was there to hurt you and I’d have to watch and not be able to stop him…”

Harry smiled back, somewhat absently. “I was more concerned with Ron to worry about me and then I was too angry.” He paused and then grinned at Hermione, his expression clearing. “Besides, I always knew I had you to worry about me, so I didn’t need to worry about myself.”

Hermione laughed and sighed. Yes, she had worried about Harry so much over their Hogwarts years. She sometimes thought one reason she was relieved that Voldemort had been defeated was that now she could worry about Harry less. It was much easier being in love with Harry when there wasn’t a constant threat to his life, she reflected wryly, as they finished their lunch and left the Three Broomsticks.

In silent agreement, they walked up to the Shrieking Shack after lunch.

Hermione glanced at Harry as they approached it. A slight shade had fallen over his expression, darkening his eyes, as he looked at the dilapidated old building where he had first met Sirius. She said nothing, knew Harry too well to think that anything she said would help, only reached out and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. He squeezed back, seeming disinclined to release her hand afterwards. They stood for a while in silence, still holding hands, until Harry shook his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts from it, and looked at her with a smile. “Hogwarts now?”

She smiled back. “Right behind you, Harry, lead the way.”

Harry laughed, tugging her closer to him. “Behind me? Don’t be silly, Hermione, you’ve never been behind me. You’ve always been beside me,” he added, the laughter leaving his face and voice. “Always beside me,” he repeated, softly, his eyes serious as they met hers.

Hermione didn’t answer, just squeezed his hand again, but she knew he understood what she meant. And I always will be. Because I love you, she thought and wondered when she would be able to say those words to him again…

“Good old Hogwarts, it never changes, does it?” Harry said, voicing both of their thoughts when the castle was finally in sight. And it was true. It was the same castle, as beautiful and as imposing as it had been when they’d first seen it more than 8 years ago. All that had changed was themselves. Now they knew the castle, knew its strange ways, knew what changed and what never did… And, Hermione thought somewhat inconsequentially, when they were students, she and Harry would never have been holding hands…

A glance, a shake of the head, a slight nod and a smile were all it took for them to decide that on this visit, at least, they’d wander the grounds and not go inside the castle itself.

Harry wondered at how comfortable he was at holding Hermione’s hand, something he’d never thought to do before. It felt right, though, as if his grip on her hand was keeping him on earth, keeping him calm when it was beginning to register that he had really been away from this place for more than a year and hadn’t just left it yesterday as it seemed to him. He had forgotten his life after Hogwarts. How much had things changed; what else had he done besides move into a flat with Ron and Hermione? Finding that he had moved into a flat with them hadn’t been that much of a surprise; he remembered deciding over Christmas vacation their 7th year that, if he survived his confrontation with Voldemort, it was what he wanted to do, to have a real home and who else would he share it with but them, his two faithful friends that had shared everything else with him… What about the other things, the smaller things? What else had he forgotten?

He could feel himself beginning to worry, panic rising, and he automatically gripped Hermione’s hand a little tighter. She was his anchor to normality, even in his perpetually abnormal life and in this abnormal situation. He looked at her, to see her gazing around with the hint of a smile on her lips, and he felt calmer. He could hear her voice in his mind, from when he’d come back to the flat after St. Mungo’s, “Don’t worry about not remembering. Ron and I will be here and we’ll help you and tell you what you need to know. Don’t worry…” He looked at Hermione, the way she held herself, the confidence in her bearing and in her gaze, and finally relaxed, allowing himself to enjoy the day, the perfect October weather, and being back here at Hogwarts with his best friend.

They passed by what had been Hagrid’s hut and paused to look at it. It was unused now; the new grounds-keeper had had another cottage built, better suited to a normal wizard’s size.

“Dear Hagrid,” Hermione finally said, quietly.

Harry blinked. “Yes,” he said so softly it was almost a whisper as he stared at the hut, memories of the half-giant, who had become his first friend and one of his most staunch helpers, flooded his mind. “I miss him. He was the first person from the Wizarding world I met; he introduced me to it and it always seemed as if he was there to protect me somehow…”

This time it was Hermione’s turn to grip his hand tighter. “I know, Harry, and he did, he did protect you. He wouldn’t want you to be sad over him, Harry. He knew what he was doing…” Her voice trailed off and she blinked back tears at the memory of Hagrid… he had died defending Harry after Dumbledore had been killed, his loyalty to Dumbledore combined with his loyalty to Harry stronger than ever at the end. He had known that Dumbledore had been depending on him to protect Harry after he was gone and he hadn’t hesitated a moment in charging in, providing the distraction that had allowed Harry and Remus and the surviving Order members to escape. Hagrid had literally saved Harry’s life.

Harry sighed, knowing Hermione was right; she was always right about things like this, and, after a moment, he turned to smile at her. “The Quidditch pitch now?”

Hermione’s answer was to grimace and roll her eyes in mock annoyance. “You and your obsession with Quidditch.”

Harry grinned, tugging Hermione along with him, and as he turned away from Hagrid’s hut, he could almost swear he heard Hagrid’s voice from somewhere in his mind, You’ll be alrigh’, Harry, so long as you’ve got Hermione with you.

The Quidditch pitch was deserted when they arrived, although the Ravenclaw team was practicing on the practice pitch. Harry, as always, headed for the broom shed, picking one of the newer school brooms to ride. Hermione sat down on the bench, watching with a smile. “Be careful, Harry.”

Harry glanced back at her, quirking an eyebrow teasingly. “You know, you’ve said that to me every time I’ve ever gotten on a broom. I fly rather well, you know.”

Not every time, Hermione thought as she smiled at him. I didn’t, just once, and you fell off…

Harry mounted the broom, kicking off the ground with his usual ease, starting out with basic moves, just testing the broom’s power. He glanced down at her and grinned, before shooting up nearly vertically and diving back down again, swooping back and forth gracefully. He always looked so at home in the air, Hermione thought, for the billionth time, as she watched him fly. She could imagine, even if she couldn’t see, the sparkle in his eyes as he dipped and turned, could see the joy he took in flying in every line of his body.

“Look! It’s Harry Potter; I know it is. Nobody flies like him.”

Hermione turned to find that several first years by the looks of them and Gryffindors, she knew by their scarves, were watching Harry.

One of them turned to Hermione, asking “It is Harry Potter, right?”

Hermione smiled, “Yes, it is.”

“Cool! Look at him up there. We can never make the brooms go like that,” another one commented.

“Yeah, really.”

Harry shot upwards and then down in quick succession, trying out a Wronski Feint, and the kid that had first spoken let out a whoop. “Too cool…” the boy breathed. “I’ve got to learn to do that.”

They watched in silence for a few minutes until finally, they got up to leave. “Tell Harry he’s an awesome flier,” one boy said before leaving.

Hermione smiled at them, “I will,” before watching them go, a few of them still glancing back to watch Harry.

Harry flew down to her after another few moves, grinning and gesturing to the broom. “Care for a ride?”

“Harry, you know I don’t like to fly,” Hermione protested, half-heartedly.

“Aw, come on, Hermione. I wouldn’t let you fall. Don’t you trust me?” Harry gave her a mock pleading look before grinning his crooked little grin and she was lost, as she always was, to the look and the grin that never failed, even after 8 years of friendship and love, to make her heart flutter.

“Just hold on to me. I won’t let you fall,” Harry said as she gingerly mounted the broom behind him, putting her arms around his waist.

She knew he wouldn’t. She buried her face in his back, thinking of that other flight, their first, on Buckbeak’s back, to save Sirius, so many years ago. They’d come so far since that day but one thing hadn’t changed. She would still do anything to help Harry; he was still the most important person in her life. She smiled at that thought, holding on to him just a little tighter, enjoying the closeness to him, the familiar smell of him, the feel of him. After all, flying wasn’t bad, not when she was with Harry…

They took the Floo back to the nearest Floo station, since they couldn’t Floo directly into the flat. (They had all agreed at the beginning that it would be best and safest to only have one fireplace connected to the Floo network and that only to Floo out or make Floo calls, not to Floo in. Arranging that had been somewhat complicated but, as always, Harry’s name made all things easier.)

From the nearest Floo station it was only a few minute walk to their flat, which they walked in a comfortable silence. They didn’t need to talk, Harry thought idly. He loved how he could be quiet with Hermione and still feel completely content just to be with her; it was a rare thing, he had realized over the years of sharing a room with 4 other guys at Hogwarts, to be comfortable in silence. A gift, really…

Afterwards, he never knew how it happened or why; he only knew that at that moment if he hadn’t kissed her, he would have died or some other such disaster. It was odd, this compulsion to kiss her, whom he’d never thought of in that way before, and suddenly kissing her was all he could think about.

It happened so quickly. One minute they were just smiling at each other in the still dimly lit front entranceway of the flat, and he’d just thanked her for a wonderful day… “Your good ideas are still the best,” he teased.

She smiled and shook her head slightly, in that way she had when she wanted to disclaim the credit. “It was a nice day, wasn’t it?”

“The best I can remember.”

There was a flash of something, something that looked like pain, of the emotional kind not the physical, in her eyes, when he said that.

“What is it, Hermione?” he asked softly.

She managed to smile at him, though there was the hint of tears in her eyes, and said, “Nothing, Harry, it’s nothing,” but he knew she was lying. She wasn’t meeting his eyes fully, for one thing, and also because he could hear it in her voice.

“Liar,” he accused, gently and still softly.

She looked up at him, in some surprise, her lips slightly parted, and that was when he knew he wanted to kiss her, kiss away the hurt in her eyes, the tears that were making her eyes shimmer.

He stepped closer the few steps necessary and bent his head. Her eyes fluttered closed and he had a fleeting feeling- a memory?- that there had been another time when he’d kissed her and seen her eyes close. Another memory? Impossible, he knew he hadn’t kissed Hermione before; they were only friends. He was going mad or delusional or something in trying to remember things that had never happened… He forcibly stopped thinking anymore, just closed his eyes and kissed her. He heard or sensed her sharp intake of breath and the way she stiffened slightly, before relaxing, as he slid his arms around her, slanting his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss. He heard her moan deep in her throat and wondered that kissing Hermione, even for the first time, felt so familiar, so right. It felt like coming home, he suddenly thought. The thought brought him up short and he broke the kiss to stare at her, his breathing quickened.

Home… a word he hardly knew the meaning of, really. The Dursleys’ hadn’t been home; Hogwarts had been his home, yes, but not really and not completely; he’d still felt alone and isolated at times, not to mention the times he was in danger there. He knew this flat was home and had been for all the months since they had left Hogwarts but he didn’t remember it as such. He didn’t remember… And now, this one kiss had told him that he didn’t really need to remember… because this flat wasn’t his home. Hermione was.

She made him feel comfortable, safe, at ease with himself. It was her presence that made this flat a home for him even without the memories of it. And kissing her felt like a homecoming.

Kissing her… He looked at her as if for the first time, really seeing her, the way her eyes glowed and had golden glints in them in the dim light, her long eye-lashes, her smooth perfect skin, her hair, tied back sensibly but he knew how it looked when it was down, and her lips, the lips he wanted to kiss again. And again and again…

“Harry, I…” she breathed and the sound of his name somehow affected him as it never had before. He didn’t know what was happening really, felt as if he were in some strange dream, but he knew he wanted to kiss her again and so he did.

He kissed her as if it were the first time and the last time all at once, as if he were dying and the touch of her lips would save his life. He kissed her gently, tenderly, and then stronger, as the sudden surge of tenderness for her became an equally sudden surge of lust.

She fit herself against him, her hands sliding into his hair, keeping his lips on hers as if he had any idea of stopping the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer to him, and then slid his hands under her and lifted her up. He broke the kiss to ask four words that would change their relationship and their lives permanently, somehow knowing as he did so that this was inevitable, “Your room or mine?”

She brought one hand up to touch his face, almost reverently, as the beginnings of a smile lifted her lips, even as her eyes still showed a hint of tears. “Mine,” she whispered, before kissing him again.

Kissing while walking backwards was a bit complicated but they managed it until they fell onto her bed. Even as they made quick work of their clothes, a part of him couldn’t believe he was doing this, couldn’t believe he was about to make love to Hermione, his best friend, didn’t understand how she’d suddenly become the woman he wanted, no, needed, to touch in this way…

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, just studying her in the dim light of her room, and she was, even more than he’d thought. She was slender but not overly thin; she had longer legs than he’d realized but then he’d never thought about her legs before now, and her breasts were perfect…

She brought his mouth down to kiss him again, deeply, as his hands began to explore the body he’d just indulged himself in looking at. She gasped against his mouth while her own hands went to his shoulders before moving down his back.

And then it was a blur of skin against skin, arms around each other, pulling each other closer, lips on skin… He only paused once, meeting her eyes, to ask softly, “Are you sure?” although a part of him knew that they had already crossed the point of no return. But he needed to ask before this final intimacy completed the destruction of the platonic friendship they’d built over the years…

Inexplicably she smiled a little, tears welling up, as she said, her voice soft but sure, “Love me.” She brought his mouth to hers again, kissing him with a passion that surprised him but somehow was familiar…

It was later, much later, when Hermione had fallen asleep, one hand resting on his chest, that he thought of what she’d said. Love me...

He looked down at her sleeping face; she looked so calm, so content. He wished she could always look this way, no worries, no hurt, no sadness…

Love me… He brushed his lips against Hermione’s hair, as he closed his eyes, beginning to drift off to sleep himself. And his last thought before sleep claimed him was, I do…

Hermione opened her eyes to a sight that was strange and yet so familiar, a sight that brought tears to her eyes even as she smiled. Harry, sleeping soundly, beside her, with just a sheet covering him. Carefully, so as not to wake him up, she slid out of bed, looking down at him for a moment. Her skin was still sensitized; she could still feel his hands, his lips, on her skin, bringing her every nerve to life as only Harry could… Her heart clenched a little as she studied him, his long lashes (it should be illegal for a man to have lashes as long as Harry’s were…), his face that had filled out and fulfilled the promise of male beauty, the scar that was his curse and his public identity, the Harry Potter everyone knew but not the Harry she knew. She knew the real Harry, knew his weaknesses as well as his strengths, knew his insecurities, his humor, his kindness… And she loved him for all those things and more…

She sighed, glancing at the clock to realize that she had to leave. Her research at the Institute wouldn’t wait. She bent over, brushing a kiss on his lips. Her Harry… still hers, even if he didn’t know it… And for the first time since the accident, she smiled at the thought of her love, suddenly sure everything was going to be fine.

4. Remember the Love

Once, Twice, and Always

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Author’s Notes: And this is the end, so this is for all of you who have read and reviewed this fic. Thank you!

Part 4: Remember the Love

Harry awoke slowly and reached out to touch… nothing. He opened his eyes, reaching for his glasses that he just remembered dropping carelessly on Hermione’s nightstand, and putting them on.

There was a folded piece of parchment on the pillow beside him, with his name written on it in Hermione’s familiar handwriting.

Harry,

I had to go to work but I’ll try to come home early today.

I love you.

Yours,

Hermione

Warmth started in his heart and spread, making him smile softly. It was amazing the effect that 5 written words had on him. I love you. Yours, Hermione. Only 5 words, 5 simple words and yet they warmed his heart as no other words could. Hermione loved him, and she was his…

He was still smiling to himself when, a few minutes later, he opened the drawer of Hermione’s nightstand to find a comb to attempt to tame his hair, and saw it.

A ring… Slowly, his hand trembling suddenly, he reached inside and picked it up. It was an engagement ring, with one larger diamond in the center and two smaller diamonds, one on either side…

His hands trembled, and his breath caught. Images and voices were spinning through his mind… And he remembered…

He had been walking along Bond Street in London and somehow it seemed the most natural thing in the world to walk into Tiffany’s… It was as if his subconscious mind had already decided and knew what he was going to do, and somehow he wasn’t surprised. He loved her, always would love her. This wasn’t the sort of thing that ended; it wouldn’t end even if he died, he was somehow sure. She was a part of his soul, part of himself… There was no decision to make, after all… The salesperson smiled at him. “It’s one of our most beautiful rings; a very limited number were made so it’s quite special.” He responded, “It’s for a very special person…” The words were trite, perhaps, but he knew he’d never said anything he meant more. She was special, his Hermione, with her intelligence, her kindness, her humor, her confidence and her insecurities…

He knelt, in the deserted park, looking up at her, as she stood looking down at him, one hand covering her mouth, tears shimmering in her eyes, and he thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. He could feel his heart beating faster. Was he asking too soon? What would he do if she wasn’t ready for this? If she said no? But then his eyes met hers and he knew that, whatever she said, he had to say what he felt and it was easy. He had practiced several speeches but found he didn’t need them. He just needed to look at her eyes, dark in the dim light of the park but he knew how warm and true they were, and he knew what he needed to say… “When I think about my future, the only certainty in it is you. You are my rock, my life-line that keeps me from drowning. I- I love you. I could say it a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough… Hermione, will you marry me?” She was crying in earnest now, as she threw her arms around his neck, “Yes! I love you…” He blinked. “Really, you will?” She laughed through her tears, “Honestly, Harry, as if I could say no. I could never say no to you.” He kissed her then, showing her with his mouth all the love in his heart, and he could have sworn he felt the missing pieces of his soul fall into place… He was complete now, with his Hermione in his arms.

Hermione… kissing her, caressing her, worshipping her body with his hands and his lips… “You’re beautiful.” And her little teasing smile, “It took you long enough to notice.” He hadn’t smiled, only shook his head slowly. “No, I always knew it; I just never said anything.” She blinked back sudden tears, bringing his mouth back to hers to kiss him again…

Asking, “Are you sure?” and the incredible sweetness of her expression and the confidence in her soft response, “Just love me”… He thought of the night before and understood why she had smiled when he asked her again whether she was sure… Love me… She had said that to him twice now, once at the beginning and now again, because he’d forgotten his first promise… He winced, suddenly hating himself for how much he must have hurt her these past few weeks…

He remembered it all- how could he have forgotten? The little moments, the touches, the kisses, the laughter, the happiness…

He remembered telling Ron, “I’m in love with Hermione,” and waiting, half in fear, for Ron’s reaction and not receiving any until he’d finally looked at Ron, to find Ron still watching him as if waiting for him to say something more. “You- you don’t have anything to say?” And Ron beginning to grin and finally to laugh, laugh nearly to the point of tears, “Oh Harry, the look on your face when you said that! As if you were announcing the end of the bloody world…” He had stared at Ron as if he’d suddenly grown two heads, “You knew?” Ron had laughed more at his admittedly comical expression. “Of course I knew, you prat, I’m not blind, unlike you, apparently.” And finally Ron had sobered and said, “Harry, Hermione has been the most important person in your life for years, the person you always looked for first. Even before you were friends, you looked out for her, remembered her crying in the bathroom. I was just waiting for you to wake up and realize what I finally realized about a year ago, and should have known sooner if I hadn’t been such an ass.” Ron had paused, taking a sip of his butterbeer, before grinning sideways at him, saying casually, “Just know that if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” He had finally burst out laughing at the difference in Ron’s words and his tone and expression. Ron had quirked one eyebrow up in a smirk and added, “I’ll tell her the same thing, of course.” And suddenly they had been laughing together, two best friends, and any fears that this would disturb the friendship of the three had been relieved…

He remembered the way the world had stopped moving, narrowing down to that one moment and the two of them, when she said, “I love you, Harry” those first times… Remembered telling her he loved her for the first time, suddenly and out of nowhere, when they had been cuddled together on the couch, half watching the television, half watching the sunset through the window and completely enjoying the closeness of the other, when the words had just welled up inside him until he had to say them, thought he would burst if he didn’t…

Harry came back to the present with a sigh, staring at the engagement ring he still held. Dear Merlin, Hermione had been so strong, to be able to treat him as normally as she had these past few weeks. He was torn between pride at how strong she was and guilt that he had caused her such pain… He couldn’t imagine how it must have hurt her to have to put her engagement ring away and not wear it at all these past weeks. He needed to make it up to her, somehow. But how…

Ron was a very satisfied man that morning as he lounged idly on the couch in the living room of Harry and Hermione’s flat, nursing a cold butterbeer. He knew Harry had spent the night in Hermione’s room; Harry’s open bedroom door and the untouched bed had been evidence enough. Silently he congratulated himself on the success of his little plot. Now Harry and Hermione could be happy again.

He had told them both that if they hurt the other, he’d kill them. Granted, he’d been half-teasing but it was also true. He cared too much about both of them to do otherwise, short of killing, he amended silently, grinning to himself. Harry had hurt Hermione, through no fault of his own of course, and Ron knew Harry well enough to know that when Harry did remember, he would hate himself for it, never mind that he could hardly have helped it.

When Ron finally heard Harry step into the living room, he quickly stifled his smirk and turned with a smile, determined to act as if he had no idea what had happened. “There you are, sleepy-he-” He cut his teasing greeting off at the sight of Harry’s face. And he knew. Harry was himself again; he remembered… It was clear from the expression of guilt, the torment in his eyes that Ron recognized only too well from their Hogwarts years. He sighed a little before saying, “You have your memories back.” It wasn’t a question.

Harry nodded silently, throwing himself into a chair facing Ron. “I hurt her so much didn’t I?” he finally asked quietly.

“Yes but it’s not your fault and you know it, Harry,” Ron began, straightening up. “Our Hermione’s smart,” he added, smiling wryly at the understatement, “and she doesn’t blame you at all; I know she doesn’t. It was an accident, just something that happened.” He paused, allowing himself to grin. “Bloody bad luck for that Beater, I must say. Fred and George caught up with him afterwards and… well, let’s just say he’ll never hit a Bludger without looking where he’s aiming it again.”

Harry managed a chuckle at Ron’s deliberate attempt to lighten his mood. And as he sat there, the beginnings of a plan began to form in his mind…

When Hermione got home that afternoon, unsure of how she should act, how Harry would act when he saw her, she found the flat empty. Frowning slightly, she searched the living room and the kitchen for a note, found none, and then went to her own room and stopped short.

Spread out on her bed was a dress in her preferred color of dark blue in a shimmering, sparkling material, designed with a slight flare on the skirt and the hem cut diagonally. And on top of the dress was a folded piece of parchment.

Put this on.

Hermione smiled slightly, changing out of the comfortable slacks and jumper she usually wore to work and into the lovely dress. It fit perfectly and felt wonderful. Idly she wondered if Harry had had some kind of comfort charm cast on the dress to make it feel so comfortable and fit so well.

The words on the parchment had changed: You look beautiful.

Hermione couldn’t help laughing out loud at that. How would Harry know; he wasn’t even here to see how she looked…

And then she gasped, smiling as her breath caught and her heart warmed. The parchment now read: I don’t need to see you to know you’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful to me.

Hermione touched two fingers to the parchment gently. Was it any wonder she loved Harry? For a moment, she felt a fleeting flare of pity for all the women out there who would never know what it was like to be loved by Harry, to know that they were so needed, so important, to someone…

The parchment had changed again: Go to Queen Anne’s Square.

And then she knew…

This wasn’t just Harry giving her a romantic night out after their night together; this was Harry apologizing… He remembered… He must. To ask her to meet him at Queen Anne’s Square, the small park a few streets away that they liked to walk through. It was where he had proposed to her…

She had a sudden memory of that night, that wonderfully happy night… They were walking leisurely, hand in hand, after having a quiet dinner at one of their favorite Muggle restaurants, when Harry suddenly stopped as if he’d thought of something. She’d looked at him curiously. “What is it, Harry?” He’d half smiled at her but she could see that something was bothering him, was beginning to worry a little, when he took out a small box from his pocket and given it to her. She’d gasped when she opened it to see the ring, happy tears beginning to well up in her eyes when he knelt in front of her…

He remembered; her Harry was back. She didn’t stop to wonder what had happened, how his memory had been restored. She could wonder and find out later. For now she just needed to see him…

She grabbed her purse and left the flat at a run, not even caring, for once, that people she passed were looking at her oddly. Later, at some other time, she would care that she probably looked very strange, dressed so formally but carrying a practical, everyday purse, running as if her life depended on it...

But that was later. Not now. Not now when she was running to Harry, her Harry, whom she’d missed so much…

She saw him turn when he heard her coming, saw him stand up and face her. He was dressed formally too, in the dark green silk shirt she’d given him for his last birthday and black slacks, black tie and black jacket. He was beautiful. And he was hers…

She ran until she was standing in front of him, close enough to touch him but not touching him yet, her breath coming fast both from running and from excitement. Slowly, she reached out a trembling hand to touch his face gently with her fingertips, as if afraid he was going to vanish. “Harry?” His name came out as almost as a whisper.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her, and she saw everything she needed to see in his eyes. I love you. I’m so sorry. I remember now. Forgive me…

And then she was in his arms, holding on to him, crying, babbling somewhat irrationally, as she later thought, “Oh Harry, you’re back, you’re really back. I missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re back…”

Harry blinked back tears as he held Hermione to him, his heart aching like a living thing at this proof of how hard these past two weeks had been, to reduce Hermione, his Hermione, to this. She was so strong, so capable… And he had done this; he had made her cry… He kissed her hair. “Please, Hermione, don’t cry like this. You know I can’t stand to see you cry…” His own voice broke slightly. “I’m so sorry… So sorry… I love you…”

Her answer was to lift her head, kissing him hard, infusing all her love, all her tears, all her understanding and her forgiveness into this meeting of lips. He aligned his lips with hers, his arms tightening around her bringing her body so close to his that there wouldn’t have been room for even a pence between them, so close that he could feel her heart beating against his own chest.

And Hermione felt all her hurt fade away into nothing. Her Harry was really back; he remembered everything and she was in his arms, kissing as if there was no tomorrow, as if they hadn’t seen each other in years… And in some odd way, it did feel as if she hadn’t seen Harry in weeks. Or at least, not this Harry… Last night had been wonderful, had gone a long way in healing her heart; it had been so good to kiss him again, to touch him, to feel his hands on her skin again… but it had not been the same. He was still her Harry and his touch had still kindled a fire inside her but it had been different. It had been different because, at least for Harry, it was their first time. Now, though, Harry remembered it all and oh the difference it made…

She didn’t know how long it was before the kiss ended and they parted although just enough to see the other’s face.

Harry lifted one hand, touching her cheek ever so gently with his fingertips, his lips curving in the ghost of a smile. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.

Hermione smiled, one of her rare, tender smiles when her heart was in her eyes and on her face for everyone to see. “So do you,” she responded equally softly. “Thank you for the dress.”

“You’re welcome.” His expression changed, became self-deprecating. “I have more to give you; I just forgot about them until now…” His arms dropped, although he retained her hand in his, as he turned away to pick up a basket that had been sitting by his feet that she hadn’t even noticed until now.

The basket was filled with fresh flowers, and she caught her breath. Irises. Daffodils. Her favorite flowers. And in the very center, a single red rose. She raised shining brown eyes to meet his green ones. “Harry, it must have cost a fortune to get fresh daffodils in October.”

He shrugged, smiling, not saying anything either in denial or in confirmation.

And then he opened the fist that was holding the basket, allowing two things that had been tied around the handle to fall from his grasp, hanging above the flowers.

Hermione gasped, tears filling her eyes. Hanging from a ribbon was their engagement ring. She had taken it off once Harry had been released from St. Mungo’s, knowing that Harry would notice it and needing to preserve his sense of normalcy had meant putting aside this tangible symbol of their engagement. It had hurt more than she had ever thought possible, to have to take her ring off and put it away in her nightstand, but she had done it, for Harry, to help him recover…

Very slowly and deliberately, Harry set the basket down, untying the ribbon and taking the ring. Again he knelt in front of her, looking up at the dear, wonderful face he knew so well, the face he was going to wake up to for the rest of his life. He let out his breath. Somehow this had been easier the first time. It was so much harder now, knowing how much he had hurt her, knowing that, because of him, she had had to disavow their engagement for days… Finally he just said what was easiest. “I love you, Hermione, for now, for always.” He slid the ring back onto her finger where it belonged, kissing it, before standing up and gently cupping her face between his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you again,” he vowed softly.

Hermione smiled but shook her head, despite the tears in her eyes. “That’s not true,” she corrected him gently and quietly, her eyes sober as they searched his. “You’ll hurt me but I will hurt you too sometimes, because we’re human and we make mistakes. We can hurt each other and we’ll forgive each other. And that’s okay, because we’ll always know… that I love you and you love me, so it’s okay if we fight, if we do hurt each other sometimes.”

He smiled tenderly. “You’re so wise, my dear Miss Granger,” he said softly, before bending his head and kissing her again. This kiss was different; there was no urgency, no driving need to get as close to the other as possible. Lips brushed against lips, fluttering soft touches of his lips to hers, an affirmation of love and trust and faith.

When the kiss ended, Hermione drew back and smiled a little into Harry’s eyes. “I missed this so much.”

He looked slightly confused. “What?”

“I missed kissing you,” she clarified, a teasing glint appearing in her eyes. “You’re a very good kisser, you know, Mr. Potter.”

Harry smiled a little uncomfortably, wondering that Hermione’s teasingly spoken statement somehow made him feel more accomplished than winning the Quidditch Cup or anything else. He looked down, knowing Hermione was enjoying the signs of his sudden embarrassment, his gaze falling on the basket of flowers and the one last thing he had gotten to give Hermione.

Hermione smiled to herself as she watched Harry react to her teasing compliment. She loved his modesty, the more so because it was so sincere. That was the sometimes surprising thing about Harry; he honestly didn’t seem to realize how special he was. In part she knew that was because of the way he’d grown up and she hated the Dursleys for it, but it was more than that. It was just Harry; he didn’t see what he did as being unusual because for him he had never considered any other option. She had known that from the moment she saw him and Ron come running into the girls bathroom to save her; it never occurred to Harry that no one else or hardly anyone else would have remembered a girl crying in the bathroom when she wasn’t even their friend. Harry had remembered, had come back for her, put himself in danger for a virtual stranger, and had done it without a moment’s hesitation or a second thought.

It was why she loved him so much, first as her best friend and then just as hers…

He was so generous, too generous really, she thought tenderly and half-ruefully, even as her breath caught as she saw what Harry was holding in his hand: a gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant, lined with diamonds that even in the dim light of the park, glittered and sparkled with a life of their own.

“Harry,” she finally breathed, “it’s lovely, but you really shouldn’t have…” She looked up at him and Harry had the sudden thought, clichéd as it was, that the tears on her eyelashes sparkled brighter than any diamond.

He shook his head slightly, denying her statement that it was too much, before smiling gently. “I hope those tears are tears of happiness and not dismay at my extravagance.”

Hermione let out a little laugh, stepping closer to him, smiling into his eyes. “The tears are because I’m the luckiest woman in the world. I don’t deserve this…”

He sobered. “I think you do,” he said seriously and softly. “I’m so sorry I-”

She cut him off with a gentle hand over his mouth. “No, it’s okay. No more apologies; it wasn’t your fault and I never blamed you for it.” She met his eyes, a teasing smile lifting the corners of her lips. “And I forbid you to blame yourself, understood?” she asked in her best Hermione-the-Prefect voice.

Harry smiled against her fingers, kissing them before reaching up and taking her hand in his. “As you wish,” he answered softly. She said she was the luckiest woman in the world; he was certainly the luckiest man… He didn’t know what he had done to have this woman love him so completely, with all her loyalty and her kindness, but he sent up a silent thank you to the Fates as he kissed her again.

Epilogue: What’s Meant to Be

Later that evening…

Ron stood up when he heard Harry and Hermione enter the flat, leaning one shoulder against the wall as he watched, smiling to himself, as they laughed quietly together about something one or the other had just said. “I take it you two had a nice night out?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.

They both turned to smile at him, Hermione greeting him with a kiss on the cheek in an uncharacteristic display of affection. “Oh Ron, there you are. Did you have dinner?”

“Yes, no thanks to you two,” he answered, with mock irritation. It was something of a running joke between them, Ron pretending disgruntlement when Harry and Hermione went out to dinner without him. (Hermione loved that the friendship between them was so strong, so unshaken by her and Harry’s special relationship that they could joke about Ron being left out.)

Harry and Hermione fell in with Ron’s teasing and it was like old times again. There was nothing to hide, nothing to forgive, Harry was himself again…

Harry hit his forehead with his hand. “Bollocks, I knew I forgot something. Completely forgot to pack up our left-overs and bring them home for you, Ron.” He turned to Hermione with an exaggerated expression of hope. “Did you remember?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I was too busy thinking of you, Harry.” She kept her voice as sincere and sober as possible, despite the fact that a corner of her mouth was threatening to smile.

Ron let out a huff of mock annoyance. “I see. Well, I guess I’ll just have to go without dinner tonight, since you’re too interested in each other to spare a thought for your poor hungry suffering best friend…” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Sad thing really…”

Harry pretended to inspect Ron’s stomach. “Still looks like you’ve got some fat stored up there; you can skip a few meals…” He shared a grin with Hermione at the very idea of Ron being fat, Ron who had gotten to be so tall and on the lanky side.

Ron gave up the attempt to stay serious and started to grin and then laugh, Harry and Hermione joining him and Ron thought, now things are just the way they should be…

~*~

It was in the way he touched her… There were times when he was passionate and their love-making was quick and explosive. Then there were times, like tonight, when he was tender, when he lingered over every inch of her skin with his hands, his lips and his tongue, letting her know by his actions that to him she was the most beautiful woman in the world…

Something about his touch tonight told her he wanted to draw their love-making out, his mood communicating itself to her as always. It was just part of the understanding, the soul-deep connection they had always seemed to share; she didn’t understand it, just accepted it as a gift…

He looked up at her, green eyes locking with brown for a long moment, and she felt the by-now familiar thrill she always felt when she looked into his eyes, saw the depth of the love in them, his eyes clouded with need.

She bent down and kissed him, letting her tongue explore the familiar space of his mouth, her fingers entangling themselves in his messy hair. The kiss was long, tender, and sensual and when they finally broke apart to look at each other, Hermione saw there were tears in Harry’s eyes.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

“I can’t believe I forgot this,” he breathed so softly she could barely hear him. “Forgot how it feels to be so close to you, to touch you like this…” moving his hand in a way that made her catch her breath and arch closer to him.

She shook her head slightly. “Shh,” she whispered, lifting one hand up to touch his face gently, tracing his scar with her fingertip and then with her lips, feeling him relax into her touch, before she drew back just enough to meet his eyes again. “I said no more apologies, remember?” she reminded him. The slightest of smiles crossed her lips. “Just love me.”

And this time he smiled, the smile which she knew she was the only one who ever saw, the one that made his eyes seem lighter, clearer, like new leaves on the trees in the spring, the smile that said more than any words could, I love you.

“Always,” he promised softly, his voice deep and slightly husky with sincerity. “I’ll always love you,” he repeated, suddenly remembering how he’d once told her that the only certainty of his future was her… He’d been wrong… The other certainty was that he’d love her; he’d loved her for so long even before he knew it; she’d been with him for so long he didn’t know how not to love her…

The moment felt sacred and Hermione had the fleeting thought that this was what wedding vows were for: this feeling, the knowledge that went beyond intellect to touch her very soul, that this man, this feeling, this love was forever… For better or worse, even after death did them part… This was Destiny…

She knew he felt it too; she could see it in his expression, the wonder in his eyes. She nodded, sealing their vows with just one word. “Always.”

And they both knew, as they kissed again, that it was true, no matter what the future held in store for them. Always…